Joan Smith (14 page)

“Perhaps if she has plenty of visitors to keep her occupied here
...
Her family is a close one. They will spend a deal of time at Clareview, I expect.”

“Even an invasion of brewers would be better than her taking Nick off to London.”

When the parcels arrived from Brighton, Lizzie was the first one into the entrance hall to welcome them.

“Ah, the wedding gifts! Let us unwrap the carpet. I am dying to see it. We shall roll it back up again before she returns,” Lizzie said happily.

The carpet, an Aubusson in muted shades of rose and blue and black, was acceptable.

“My ruse worked pretty well, eh?” Pel said aside to Jane.

“Better than I thought.”

All the gifts proved to be in the best of taste. When Nick and Aurelia returned, they were smiling and laughing together.

“Oh, they have come!” Aurelia exclaimed. “Come and see the surprise, Nick.”

Anyone can recognize a carpet, even before it is  unrolled. Nick’s eyes flew in alarm to his aunt Lizzie. When he saw her complacent mood, he relaxed and praised the wedding gifts along with the others.

Over lunch, Nick and Aurelia discussed their visits. The bride-to-be, hot from Brighton and the prince’s benediction, had proved a stunning success. Jane told herself she should be happy, but some corner of her heart was unconvinced. Nick was happy enough with Aurelia now, but would she prove suitable when the first bloom was off the rose of romance? She noticed that Nick’s eyes glazed over when Aurelia told for the third time how Mrs. Mandelson had reacted to the tale of the prince and the Incomparable.

“The prince always had an eye for an Incomparable,” Mrs. Mandelson had said. “I wager you reminded him of his first flirt, Mrs. Robinson, you know, who played the role of Perdita in a play. You want to watch him, Colonel Morgan, or the prince will try to steal your bride away.”

“Perdita and Florizel, they used to call Prinny and his actress friend,” Lizzie said. “My, how it takes me back. And Prinny is still legging it after the gels. Amazing stamina for one in his bloated condition. I hear he is fat as a flawn.”

After luncheon, Aurelia went abovestairs to have a look at the set of chambers chosen for the Huddlestons. She was not impressed with the heavy furnishings from the last century and a Rubens painting of a lady apparently being kidnapped by satyrs, but at least the window hangings were not faded, and the carpet still had some semblance of knap on it.

She had barely time to make a fresh toilette before the door knocker sounded, and a bustle below-stairs told her that Marie and Horace had arrived.

When Jane first cast an eye on Mrs. Huddleston, she had a strange feeling that time had raced forward a decade and a half, and she was looking at an older Aurelia, a sort of caricature of beauty gone wrong. It was the same sort of face, with the same blond hair, but the softness of youth had hardened to arrogance. Lines from nose to chin had formed, and the flesh around the chin had begun to sag. The figure, encased in a smartly vulgar suit of scarlet, had filled out to matronly proportions.

Mr. Huddleston, a quiet, well-behaved man, wore the slightly cowering air of resignation. He was tall and thin, with brown hair just turning silver at the temples. He answered when spoken to, and did just as his wife told him.

Introductions were made, coats and bonnets removed, and the guests were taken into the Gold Saloon.

“So this is Clareview,” Mrs. Huddleston said, peering around the lofty chamber. The molded ceilings, the stretching length of the grand room, with half a dozen graceful windows looking out on a park, made her feel she was in a palace. She had decided, however, and informed her spouse, that they would not be impressed by Clareview. To praise it too much would give “the in-laws,” as she called anyone connected to Nick, the notion that they had never set foot in a stately home before. “It will cost you a fortune to heat this place, ‘Relia,” she said.

“That is no problem, Mrs. Huddleston,” Lizzie
said. “The wood comes from our own forest.”

Horace had mentioned that all the land they had  been driving through for the last half hour belonged to Clareview. To a lady bred in the city, it seemed incredible that one family could own miles of land.

“Wood?” she asked. “Good gracious, you ought to switch to coal. No one in London is using wood nowadays. It has been put out to pasture.”

“Not in the country,” Lizzie said. “Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Huddleston? After that long, chilly drive—”

“Chilly? Our carriage is as warm as toast. We have the best carriage that money can buy. I could do with a cup of tea, however. Horace would like one, too, wouldn’t you, Horace?”

“That would be dandy,” Horace replied, and tea was called for.

Mrs. Huddleston’s sharp eyes did not overlook the dented teapot, nor did she hesitate to call attention to it, in what she considered a discreet way.

“I see what Horace and I will give you for a wedding gift, ‘Relia,” she said playfully.

“As I was telling your sister yesterday, Mrs. Huddleston,” Lizzie said, “it was the Duke of Marl-borough who caused the dent in this teapot.”

“You would think a duke would know better. I know just how it is. My neighbor, Mrs. Empey, brushed against a table and knocked a vase of flowers onto the floor. The vase—a very nice crystal one—was smashed to smithereens, and she never even offered to pay for it.” When her story was met with a stunned silence, she was well satisfied. It left her free to hold center stage, her favorite spot.

“Well, Nick, so this is what you call home. I don’t believe I have got all your relatives sorted out yet. Just who are you, exactly?” she asked, with a searching look at Jane.

“This is a neighbor and friend, Miss Ramsey,” Nick said. “She is spending the Christmas holiday with us.”

“Friend of whom? Sly dog! We have caught you dead to rights there, Nick. I would not let Horace have such a pretty neighbor move in, bag and baggage, on us. Just funning, Miss Ramsey. I can see you are no threat to “Relia.”

Jane smiled weakly. Glancing at Nick, she saw he wore an air of embarrassment.

“Jane— Miss Ramsey’s aunt is abovestairs. She has caught the cold that is going around,” Lizzie said.

“Dear me! And you already have old Goderich bedridden on your hands as well. You are turning the place into a regular nursing home, Lady Elizabeth. I hope Horace and I don’t come down with it before ‘Relia’s ball. You had best move your chair closer to that bit of a fire, Horace. There is a wicked draft in here.”

It was not long before Mrs. Huddleston had turned the conversation into the troubled water of the wedding and honeymoon.

“I have been in touch with St. George’s to arrange the wedding for you, ‘Relia,” she said. “They are amazingly busy for the middle of winter. You have a choice of January seventeenth at ten o’clock in the morning—which is too soon. Mrs. Stevenson cannot have your trousseau ready that early. The next free Saturday—you recall Papa particularly wants a Saturday date, so that he will be free—the next free Saturday is not until February.” She turned a playful eye on Nick. “Do you think you can behave yourself that long, Nick? I shall take ‘Relia back to London with me, of course. I expect you will be joining us pretty soon as well. You will want to get your mansion on Grosvenor Square opened up, and the servants hired, and so on before February the fourteenth.”

Aurelia cast a shy look at Nick. “Is February the fourteenth all right with you, Nick?”

“We can always be married from Clareview, if that date is too long for me to keep myself in check,” he said, with a sharp look at Mrs. Huddleston.

“Oh, no! We cannot ask all our guests to be trekking into the wilds in the wintertime, Nick,” Mrs. Huddleston said. “There is no counting on the weather. Besides, I have already booked the church for February the fourteenth, before someone beat us to it. Valentine’s Day, you see. So appropriate. We will have some sort of hearts and lace and flowers as the theme for the wedding breakfast.”

“Won’t that be sweet, Nick,” Aurelia said, smiling softly.

“I have not had time to look into the packets for Calais,” Mrs. Huddleston continued unchecked. “For the treacle moon, you know,” she added. “Won’t Wellington be surprised to see you land in on him. Horace can make those traveling arrangements for you, if you will tell us how many servants you plan to take with you.”

“Very kind, Marie,” Nick said, “but we will not be going to Paris until the spring.”

“The spring? Why, there is no saying ‘Relia will be in shape to travel by spring. Papa expects another grandson before the year is out, you must know. You want to take care of that as soon as possible in case anything should happen to you, Nick. You don’t want Clareview falling into the hands of some yahoo.”

“Actually, my cousin Clarence Morgan would inherit the title and estate if I should die without issue. He is not a yahoo.”

“He’s a vicar,” Pelham said, for he felt he ought to contribute something to the conversation.

Willie was amazingly quiet as he sat with a very satisfied smile, listening.

“Good God, a vicar!” Mrs. Huddleston exclaimed. “I see you fine lords have your poor relations, the same as the rest of us. Would you mind just topping off this tea, Lady Elizabeth? How is yours, Horace? Mine has grown ice-cold from the drafts. You really should think of switching to coal, Nick.”

“I ain’t poor!” Pelham said, but no one listened to him.

Lady Elizabeth poured more tea for them all, and the cakes were passed again. She wanted to give the woman a good setdown.
Her
relatives could not travel in winter, but Nick’s could make the trip to London. She was so overwhelmed, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

Nick felt exactly the same way. He couldn’t account for the change in Marie. In London she had seemed more agreeable. He had not spent much time in her company, but he had taken dinner with her and Horace a few times. She had been a bustling, busy sort of woman. He had thought perhaps it was nervousness at having a dinner party that caused it. Other than that, he had only seen her for a few moments when calling on Aurelia. Marie had suggested outings for them. As he thought back, he remembered that she had been pretty insistent that he take Aurelia to a certain play and had urged him more than once to remove from the hotel into the mansion on Grosvenor Square. But she had not tried to take over his whole life, as she was doing now.

“How is old Goderich anyway?” Mrs. Huddleston asked, turning to Lady Elizabeth. “Is it safe to go and have a look at him?”

“He enjoys company. I’m sure he would like to meet Aurelia’s sister,” Lady Elizabeth replied, just managing to hang on to her temper. “Have a look at him” indeed, as if he were a wild animal, or a freak.

“A pity he is hanging on so long. He must be a great trial to you, Lady Elizabeth. If he passed away soon, Nick could get married as Lord Goderich. That would look pretty fine in the journals, eh? I really don’t see why you don’t call yourself Lord Wyecliffe, Nick. There is no danger of Goderich’s recovering, is there?”

“We have every hope for his recovery,” Nick said. Mrs. Huddleston stared at him as if he had run mad. “There is a marked improvement in his condition. In fact, he tells me he plans to attend the little New Year’s party we are planning.”

“I suppose you could get away with it at a family party. As long as he doesn’t come to the ball!” Mrs. Huddleston said.

“We are not having a ball,” Lady Elizabeth said firmly. “We are having a little New Year’s party to celebrate Nick and Aurelia’s engagement.”

“I see.” Mrs. Huddleston turned a cool eye on her husband and said in a low voice, “What a take-in! Dragging us all the way from London for a little party.”

Aurelia saw that her sister was offended and wanted a few moments of privacy with her. She suggested that the Huddlestons might like to go to their room and rest after the trip. Mrs. Huddleston thanked her, and said that Horace was feeling a bit peaky. They would be down for dinner at eight.

“We keep country hours. Dinner is at six-thirty,” Lady Elizabeth said.

“Six-thirty! Why, that is the middle of the afternoon. If I had known that, I would not have eaten that second piece of plum cake. It was not at all bad, by the by, though I prefer currants to raisins myself. You must give me your cook’s receipt, Lady Elizabeth.”

On this condescending speech, she herded Aurelia and Horace upstairs.

Nick was uncomfortably aware that all eyes were on him. While his inclination was to light into Mrs. Huddleston with the rest of them, his duty was to defend his fiancée and her family. But what defense was possible?

“I shan’t let Marie run Aurelia after we are married,” he said, and felt it was a totally inadequate defense. “She has been
in loco parentis
to her sister since Aurelia’s remove to London, and takes a close interest in her welfare, her wedding, and so on. It is only natural.”

No one said a word. They just looked at him in mute sympathy. Regret was transformed to anger as the enormity of his folly washed over him. Like Jane, he had noticed Marie’s resemblance to Aurelia, and found himself imagining her in fifteen years. And himself, a Mr. Huddleston.

Before he should say, or do, something rash, he  rose. “I am going upstairs. I shall be down for dinner. I have a slight megrim.”

“No wonder,” Lizzie said, once he was beyond earshot. “Is there nothing we can do? Willie, you know these people. What do you think? What would it take to get rid of them?”

“I think Mrs. Huddleston wants a noble connection and would not let Aurelia break off the match if she wanted to.”

“I could have crowned her when she said she wanted to “have a look’ at Goderich, as if he were a raree-show. As to wishing he were dead so that the journals could trumpet Aurelia’s marriage to a lord! I hope Goderich lives a good long time, to spite her.”

“What might change Marie’s mind,” Willie said, with a cunning smile, “is if we could convince her that Goderich is not only recovering, but planning to marry.”

“Nick would still be his heir,” Lizzie said.

“Not if Goderich had a son.”