In the Shadow of Arabella (3 page)

“My friend Sally Drayon calls them the eligible widowers,” Marie put in.

“Which is no reason for you to do so, miss,” her father replied dampeningly. “They have both lost their wives, it is true, but I find it most unfortunate for men so young to have their lives disrupted by tragedy.’’

Seeing that Charity’s and Katherine’s interest had been captured, Lady Brent continued, “Oliver lost his wife—it must be more than six years ago—in childbed. They had been married only a few years. She was a fair, gentle thing, seeming not at all frail. It surprised everyone when she had trouble with the birth, and she lived only a few hours after the child was born. The babe was quite strong and healthy, however, and I hear he is the image of his mother.”

“And Lord Rudley’s wife?” Charity asked.

“Ah, the lovely Arabella,” Lady Brent went on. “She contracted some malady three or four years ago. I do not believe the doctors ever knew exactly what it was. She and Rudley also had a child, a daughter born early in the marriage. She must be nine or ten years old by now, for Rudley was quite young when he wed. I have wondered why they never had other children. I should have thought Rudley would have wanted sons.”

“He is a young man, Sophy, and can easily marry again,” her husband remarked. “But even if he don’t choose to, there is no lack of heirs to the title. There is Oliver and his young son Nicholas, as well as Rudley’s youngest brother John and his sons.”

“As to Rudley’s marrying again,” Lady Brent countered, “he certainly has shown no inclination to do so, though I have lost count of the matchmaking mamas who have cherished hopes in that direction.”

“What about Lady Milicent Battle, Mama?” Marie asked.

“Yes,” Lady Brent mused, “I was beginning to wonder about her. He escorted her to the opera recently, and I have seen her driving with him in the park. She is a beauty, no question, but her tongue is too sharp for my taste. Even so, he does not act like a man who is eager to settle down. Why, only last week Beatrice Weatherby was telling me that she saw him with yet another of those actresses—” She stopped suddenly in some confusion when her husband cleared his throat noisily.

Into the rather awkward silence that followed this interruption Katherine interjected a question. “Does Lord Rudley’s daughter live in London?”

Pleased to be back on a safe subject, Lady Brent answered readily. “No, my dear, Rudley’s daughter and Oliver’s young son both live at his lordship’s seat in Hampshire. I must agree that the country is the only place to raise children, even if they must be separated from their parents for long periods of time. Although, I must say, most parents see more of their offspring than do either the earl or his brother. Both gentlemen reside at Rudley House and live much of the year in town.”

At this point she interrupted herself. “Oh, dear, just look at the time! I promised Beatrice Weatherby we would call on her this morning, and we must not delay our visit to the shops. We have little enough time before your first party.” Rising from her chair, she lost no time in sweeping her daughter and houseguests from the room.

Lord Brent watched them out of sight, then settled back into his chair and opened the
Times.
He was certain that with three young ladies in the house it promised to be an interesting and busy Season.

* * * *

In an imposing mansion in Cavendish Square, Lord Rudley lounged in his favorite armchair, a glass of brandy in his hand. His feet toasted near the hearth where a lively fire crackled.

During dinner he had endured a full twenty minutes of his brother’s superlatives concerning the person of Miss Charity Harrington. They agreed that it had been many years since such a beauty had descended upon the London scene. More than a few mamas with plain daughters would find their precious ones looking plainer still once Miss Harrington had entered the room.

Oliver had eventually gone on to his club, but Rudley declined to accompany him, preferring, he said, to spend the evening reading. And, indeed, he intended to do so, but the volume he had chosen lay unopened on the table beside him.

It would have surprised Katherine considerably had she known it was she, and not Charity, whom Rudley most remembered from their meeting last winter in Leicestershire. He had joined an early morning party of riders; Miss Stillwell was among them. Even now, as he stared into the fire, he could see the great bay horse she had ridden that day. He was at least sixteen hands, with powerful quarters, widely spaced intelligent eyes, and more fire that any one animal should possess.

It was not unusual to see such a fine animal, nor was it unusual to find a woman who rode well. Few women, however, cared to exhibit their skill on an animal as strong and spirited as the one Miss Stillwell rode that day. Her riding was superb. He could still recall the stunning picture she made: her cheeks flushed in the cold air, her eyes dancing with excitement. Later that same day Rudley had asked his host, Lord Beecham, who she was.

“On the bay gelding, you say . . . Oh, you must mean Katy Stillwell. Her father was a particular crony of mine—taken in his prime by the influenza. Katy has been coming here since she turned fourteen. No better seat in the county in my opinion. She has no decent beast of her own, so I mount her on the best I have, and she shows us all the way. Take that bay—heart of a giant, but hates people. He threw two of my grooms last week; one of them broke his arm. Katy started with the horse Tuesday. It took her only three days to convince him to accept the sidesaddle, and she assured me he was ready to go today. And, by Jove, she was right! He went for her like a lamb.”

At the ball the following evening Rudley sought an introduction. When he complimented Miss Stilwell on her riding, she thanked him, then introduced him to her friends, the Harringtons. She soon joined the dancing with Lord Parnaby and Rudley moved away.

He found his attention attracted to her several times during the ball. She spent most of the evening near her dazzling blond friend, who was lame and did not dance.

Miss Stillwell herself was no beauty, her features being more pleasing than handsome. He judged her to be about five foot six, too tall to be modish. Though she was past the first bloom of youth, he admired the way her simple gown flattered an excellent figure. She had an abundance of richly colored chestnut hair, and if her features in general were unremarkable, her eyes were not. They were smoky gray in color, large and widely spaced, and framed by sweeping dark lashes. Deep dimples appeared whenever she smiled, which was often.

Rudley found himself wondering what sort of person she was. Curious, he thought, how one person could observe another indefinitely and be able to discover little. Yet given the opportunity of ten minutes uninterrupted conversation, one could normally gather enough information to form a relatively valid judgment. His casual observation told him only that Miss Stillwell was a graceful dancer and that she had more than a passing interest in young Parnaby. Rudley had not asked her to dance that evening, however, and he had left the house party two days later without speaking to her again.

The earl slowly finished his brandy and set the glass aside. If Miss Stillwell and Miss Harrington were to stay in town, he would undoubtedly meet them often. He found himself looking forward to the dinner party at his home the following week. If he was given the opportunity to advance his acquaintance with Miss Stillwell, perhaps he would discover what had brought such soberness to her fine gray eyes, which had once sparkled with humor.

* * * *

That same evening, while the Earl of Rudley was remembering the first time he met Miss Stillwell, she was sitting at a small writing desk in the handsome bedchamber allotted her by her hostess. She carefully opened the journal she had purchased earlier in the day. On the top of the first page, in neat spidery writing, she inscribed “James Haygarth, Viscount Parnaby.” She turned to the next page, running her finger down the crease to make the sheet lie flat. Then, dipping her quill again, she wrote “Mr. Oliver Seaton” at the top of the second page. At the top of the next she hesitated, glancing across the room to the sofa where Charity sat reading.

“What is the Earl of Rudley’s given name, Charity, do you remember?”

“I believe it is Edward.”

“Ah, yes. I am sure you are right.” She then entered “Edward Seaton, Earl of Rudley” across the top of the third page. “Well, that makes three.”

“Three what?”

“Three prospective husbands.”

“You are writing down their names?” Charity asked, crossing the room to look at the journal.

“Not only their names but everything I discover about them.”

“That is a large blank page,” Charity observed. “Will you fill it?”

“I should be able to. I have several months, and I intend to be observant, listen carefully, and collect all the information I can.”

Charity looked doubtful. “I cannot help but think this is not the proper way to go about finding a husband, Katy. It seems so . . . calculating.”

“Perhaps—but practical, too. I am under no illusion that an earl might fancy me for a wife, but he
is
single and therefore eligible. I intend to list all possibilities, however unlikely. If I discover later that a particular candidate either drinks or gambles to excess, I will simply strike him off, for I am determined not to involve myself with any man cast in the same mold as my stepfather.”

“I should think not,” Charity responded with feeling.

When Charity returned to her book, Katherine made some notes on the pages bearing the names of the Seaton brothers. Then she turned back to the page where she had lovingly written Lord Parnaby’s name. She had once believed she would be his wife, that his name would be hers. But the death of his father the previous year, followed by the discovery that his inheritance had been severely depleted, made him shy away from a commitment to her. He still insisted he loved her, but he never mentioned marriage. Leaving his page blank, she closed the journal and tucked it away in the bottom drawer of her desk. She did not need to keep notes on James.

Lady Brent knew the earl to be as good as his word and was therefore not surprised to receive, the very next day, an invitation to Rudley House the following week. “Dear me,” she exclaimed over breakfast, “that gives us only six days to provide you with proper gowns.”

“We brought our best gowns with us, Aunt Sophy,” Charity offered. “Surely they will do for his lordship’s party.”

“My dear child,” her aunt pronounced emphatically, “this is a party at Rudley House. The invitation mentions a ‘small gathering of intimate friends.’ That could mean as many as thirty guests, perhaps more. And you may be sure they will be only the cream of London society, for Rudley, you must know, moves in the first circles. If you attend such a gathering in last year’s styles, believe me, it will be nothing short of disastrous. You will be stamped dowdies from the moment you set foot within the door!”

The vehemence of Lady Brent’s reply convinced the girls that she was determined to rig them out in the latest style. Immediately after breakfast they began their second exhausting shopping expedition. They needed morning dresses and evening gowns, walking dresses and ball gowns, each with shoes or slippers, bonnets, gloves, and wraps to match. They chose fabrics and patterns and were assured by the dressmaker that the gowns they ordered for his lordship’s party would be ready in plenty of time. For that evening Charity chose a gown of pale blue crepe over a slip of white satin, while Katherine settled on India mull-muslin and Brussels lace.

Katherine and Charity did manage to purchase much less than Lady Brent intended. Though Lord Harrington had placed no limit on his daughter’s expenditures, Charity was, nevertheless, modest in her purchases. Katherine, in her turn, was conscious of her limited budget and intended to spend each shilling to the best advantage. Elegant but not extravagant, she told herself, quality, not quantity. She must do nothing to endanger her plans.

When Lady Brent urged Charity to order a lavish ball gown, she protested. “Need I go to balls? I have no intention of attending every function to which we are invited.”

“I should think not!” her aunt replied, clearly shocked at such a thought. “Once it is seen that you have been the guests of Lord Rudley, you will receive invitations of every sort. You may rely upon me to choose only the best and most proper ones for you to accept.’’

“Of course we shall depend upon you, Aunt, to guide us in such matters.” Charity spoke meekly, but Katherine knew that she found the situation as amusing and absurd as Katherine did.

To Katherine the London world had always seemed preposterous, quixotic. She had come three times for the Season: when she was eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. She had stayed each time with a maiden aunt of her mother’s who had hovered just on the fringes of polite society. Katherine had been invited to a great many social engagements and had enjoyed herself, but as far as her stepfather was concerned, she had been a social failure. She had failed to find a husband—Sir Humphrey’s only reason for permitting her to go in the first place. When the old aunt died before Katherine’s twenty-first birthday, the visits to London ceased.

Now she had come again, discovering it was still the dramatic change it had been for her the first time she visited. In the country she was often occupied with housekeeping duties, but now the biggest decision of her day was whether to have the blue silk or the French muslin! She found herself in the midst of a society of leisure where people seemed to think of nothing but dressing, dancing, eating, and making polite, jejune conversation. She was distracted by the absurdity of it all but determined not to lose sight of her goal.

The following morning Charity and Katherine set off for Bond Street, where Charity had a fitting scheduled. The day was fair, cold but sunny, so they decided to walk, taking Charity’s maid with them.

When the fitting dragged on, Katherine grew restless. “Would you mind if I stepped to the milliner’s across the street?” she asked. “I could look for a bonnet to match my blue cloak.”