The Homecoming (18 page)

Lady Beverley saw old Lady Parton approaching and stiffened. Lady Parton was a baroness, a great gossip, and a great snob. She had even dared to act coldly and grandly to Lady Beverley.

But for once Lady Parton’s round face was wreathed in smiles. “Dear Lady Beverley,” she cried, “you must be in heaven this morning.”

“I am not in heaven or anywhere else but the Pump Room in Bath,” declared Lady Beverley. “Do adjust my shawl, Mary. It is slipping a trifle.”

“But your news, such wonderful news,” exclaimed Lady Parton. “Such a triumph for your youngest.”

“Lizzie? What of Lizzie?”

“Lady Beverley, have you not seen the announcement in the newspapers this morning?”

“I have not yet seen the newspapers.”

“Then I bring you good tidings. Your daughter, Lizzie, is engaged to Severnshire.”

Lady Beverley stared at Lady Parton for a long moment. “Ah, yes,” she said, rallying. “I knew about that. Come along, Mary.”

With Mary dutifully following, Lady Beverley walked on. Then she put out a hand to lean on a pillar as if to steady herself. “What is this?” she whispered savagely to Mary. “Lizzie to be married to Severnshire? Can it be true? Why was I not informed?”

“I have always thought your daughters a trifle unfeeling,” said Mary, who had done a lot of work during this visit to Bath to pour poison about the Beverley sisters into their mother’s usually discontented ears, for Mary hoped that Lady Beverley would change her will in her, Mary’s, favour.

“Curb your tongue, miss,” snapped Lady Beverley. “We must return. We must get a newspaper. Goodness me, I feel quite faint. Lizzie! Lizzie, of all people. I always said she had a rare beauty.”

Mary forbore from mentioning that day in and day out Lady Beverley had complained of Lizzie’s pert tongue and lack of looks.

They hurried up the steep hills of Bath from the Pump Room to the Royal Crescent, Lady Beverley showing quite amazing energy for such a perpetual invalid, while Mary struggled to keep up.

They hurried to the drawing-room of Lady Beverley’s rented house, where the morning papers were laid out on a console table, as yet unread.

Lady Beverley seized
The Morning Post
and rustled it open and turned to the social page. And there was the announcement. She stared at it.

She sat down suddenly. “I cannot understand it. When could this have happened, Mary? And why did my unfeeling daughter leave me to find out such momentous news in this way?”

Mary’s black eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I would humbly suggest, my lady, that we return with all speed.”

“Yes, yes, we must do that. Tell the servants to pack. Let me see. Tell the agent we will be quitting this house immediately and I expect a month’s rent to be returned to me. And the servants will need to be paid off. We have no time to wait for Barry. And hire a post-chaise.”

In that moment, Mary felt she had borne enough. She was tired of being treated like a servant. After all, she, too, had lived at Mannerling.

Mannerling!

The angry words died unsaid on Mary’s lips. “Lizzie will have Mannerling,” she said slowly. “You will be going home.”

Lady Beverley’s pale eyes began to burn with a fierce light. “Yes, Mannerling. Oh, my dear Mary, home at last!”

“Of course,” said Mary, “I had quite forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“That Mannerling is not the duke’s main residence. He will return to his palace in Severnshire and may sell Mannerling.”

Lady Beverley stiffened. “Over my dead body. Oh, we must leave immediately. Lizzie is not to be trusted. She must make him keep the place. Don’t stand there. See to the arrangements.”

Mary sat down. “I am feeling a trifle fatigued,” she said. “I would suggest, my lady, that you command the servants to see to the arrangements.”

“But they are silly people. Come, Mary, this is not like you.”

“I resent being treated like a servant.” Mary had suddenly decided that because of Lizzie’s great coup, there was no hope of getting any of Lady Beverley’s money.

Lady Beverley thought quickly. She had become used to Mary’s toadying. And now that her daughter was to marry a duke, she could afford to be generous. She found it hard to give up her usual miserly ways, but she wanted to depart as quickly as possible and Mary was capable of arranging everything for their departure efficiently.

“Do you remember that you always admired my gold-and-ruby necklace?” she said cajolingly.

Mary’s little black eyes lit up. Lady Beverley had begun to open the purse strings since she had come to Bath and had bought herself that necklace from Bath’s finest jeweller.

“I admire it very much,” breathed Mary.

“Then it is yours. Now, my dear friend, what about the travel arrangements?”

Mary smiled. “You are kindness itself, my lady. I will set about our preparations to go home.”

When they finally arrived at Brookfield House, they received the startling intelligence that Miss Trumble and Lizzie were both resident at Mannerling and had been since the day Lady Beverley and Mary had left.

“On to Mannerling,” Lady Beverley commanded the driver.

“How odd,” said Mary as the carriage lurched on the road to Mannerling. “They left for Mannerling the same day that we left for Bath. Therefore, before we left, they already knew they were going.”

“I cannot understand it,” said Lady Beverley. “That scheming governess is behind this.”

“I do not know how you tolerate that woman,” said Mary. “You must dismiss her.”

“I cannot dismiss the duke’s aunt until she chooses to go.”

“His aunt!”

“I am afraid I have let the secret out. Miss Trumble is actually Lady Letitia Revine.”

“But why should such a great lady stoop to be a mere governess?”

“I have thought of that. She is eccentric and was moved to take the job because of our high standing.”

“Or perhaps,” said Mary with a titter, “there is a black scandal in her past. Only think if that were the case! Think of the peril your daughters have been in.”

“Lady Letitia said she would remain until Lizzie was wed. But you must address her as Miss Trumble. It is supposed to be a secret.”

Mary turned this news over in her busy mind, wondering if there might be some way she could turn it to her advantage.

“Home!” exclaimed Lady Beverley as the lodge-keeper swung open the great iron gates of Mannerling.

“Home,” echoed Mary.

Unaware that the lady who now regarded herself as his future mother-in-law was about to descend on him, the duke was searching for Lizzie. She had been avoiding him, he was sure of that, and it had begun to annoy him. The evening before, she had sent down word that she would not be joining him for dinner but would eat something on a tray in her room as she was feeling “poorly.” Although most of his mind had not believed her, there was still a niggling little part of it that had feared she might be really ill. But when he had called at her rooms that morning, it was to find her absent and that his aunt was not available to consult, for his servants told him she had gone out riding with Barry. That had infuriated him as well, for he considered his aunt’s friendship with this low servant quite unsuitable.

He strode out of the house. And then he heard the sounds of laughter. They were coming from the side of the house, coming faintly to his ears on the summer air.

He strode off in the direction from which the laughter was coming. He found them in the west lawn, Lizzie, Peter and Tiffin, playing at skittles. Lizzie was laughing, her hair tumbled out of its pins, Peter was in his shirtsleeves, and Tiffin was applauding their performance.

And then they saw him. Tiffin looked scared, Peter ran to put on his jacket and then stood to attention, and Lizzie swept her red hair up and pinned it back in place. That all made him like some elderly, overbearing parent.

“I was just about to go about my duties, Your Grace,” said Peter, and hurried off. Tiffin curtsied, murmured something and then scampered off after him. Lizzie and the duke faced each other.

“I am glad to see you restored to health,” said the duke.

“Yes, it was only a headache. Now, if you will excuse me, Gervase…I must go and find Miss Trumble.”

“My aunt has gone out with that servant, Barry.”

“Oh.” She stood irresolute and he guessed she was trying to find another excuse to leave him.

“You are not playing your part very well, Lizzie.”

“As your betrothed? But there is no one here to act for.”

“We used to converse at least. Why do you avoid me now?”

“I find my situation awkward,” said Lizzie slowly. “I do not know quite how to go on.”

“We could go on as friends.”

Lizzie looked at him doubtfully.

“Why do you look at me so?”

“I have often wondered why you wear your hair in such an old-fashioned style, tied back with a ribbon.”

“Do you wish me to cut it?”

“No, no, Gervase. My wishes are nothing to you.”

“Do you think it makes me look too old?”

Lizzie blushed. His hair was very thick and as glossy as her own. She had just had a treacherous little dream where she was burying her hands in his thick hair.

“I see you think it does.”

“Oh, no,” said Lizzie miserably. “I think your hair is very fine.”

“I hear carriage wheels,” he said.

“That will probably be Mama.” Lizzie bit her lip. “I suppose we must go on with our masquerade. And yet, is it really necessary? I mean, it is not fashionable to be in love.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Then he began to lead her back towards the front of the house. “For your mother’s temporary peace of mind, I think we should try to show some affection towards each other.”

He tucked her hand in his arm. I cannot bear much more of this, thought Lizzie. I want him to really love me. I am frightened of betraying myself.

“Yes,” he said, as they reached the front of the house. “Your mother is arrived.”

They stood together as the post-chaise swept up to the front door.

For once in her life, Lady Beverley did not wait for the footman to let down the steps. She hurtled out of the carriage and spread her arms wide.

“Home at last!” she cried.

Lizzie stepped forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. How could her mother think that, even supposing they were to be married, the duke would live at Mannerling?

She glanced at the duke and saw the look of weary distaste on his face, quickly masked.

“You are welcome to stay as my guest, Lady Beverley,” said the duke heavily. “But no doubt you will be more comfortable in your own home.”

“But this
is
my home,” cried Lady Beverley. “And may I present Mrs. Judd? She will be staying as well.”

“Pray come in,” said the duke, “and I will inform the housekeeper of your arrival. Ah, Mr. Bond. Lady Beverley and Mrs. Judd will be residing with us. Arrange rooms for them, if you please.”

Peter bowed.

The duke turned to Lizzie. “Come with me, dearest,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

Lizzie followed him up the staircase, feeling smaller and more diminished with every step. Once more, she felt she was the plain Beverley sister. Already she was dreading the scenes and recriminations when her mother found out the truth.

The duke led her into the drawing-room and then turned to face her.

“I have been neglecting my estates, Lizzie, and it is time I returned to attend to matters at my home.”

“Will you not stay a few days until Mama is settled?”

“I have already endured a dreadful house party and the death of Squire Walters. I do not want to endure another stressful time.”

“Do you wish me to accompany you, Gervase?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, I will leave you here with your mother.”

Lizzie looked at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. “It is all so humiliating.”

“But you know our engagement to be only a temporary arrangement.”

“It is not that,” said Lizzie wretchedly. “It is your great pride. You have met Mama again and you already feel distaste for even being involved in a temporary arrangement.”

“True,” he said. “But we will cope.”

“How long will you be away?”

“I do not know. Several weeks.”

“And you would leave me here…in this house?”

“You lived here before.”

“And there has been nothing but death and misery here ever since.”

“Then you should all go to Brookfield House and await my return.”

“Mama will not be dislodged unless we tell her the truth.”

“As to that, it is for you to decide what you tell her and when you tell her. I do not know how you came by such an unnatural parent, Lizzie.”

“You should not criticize my mother so!”

“My apologies. I shall leave Mr. Bond behind. You may apply to him for anything you wish.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

She stood before him, silent.

“You will be able to enjoy yourself with your young friends when I am gone,” he said, “and my aunt will stand between you and your mother and that odd creature who accompanies her.”

Lizzie curtsied. “I wish you a safe journey, Your Grace.”

“Ah, Lizzie,” he said, stretching out a hand. “We could deal better than this.”

But there was a roaring in her ears and she did not hear him. She opened the door of the drawing-room and went out. She was dimly aware through her tears of a dark figure fleeing along the corridor in front of her but was too distressed to wonder who it was.

Mary Judd stopped a passing maid and demanded to be shown to her room. Her heart was beating hard. Instead of following Lady Beverley, she had hidden behind a curtain in a window embrasure until she had heard the duke and Lizzie going into the drawing-room. Then she had left her hiding place and pressed her ear against the panels of the door.

What she had heard had amazed her and then infuriated her. Mary always listened at doors because she was convinced that everyone must be discussing what an interesting and fascinating lady she was, and although that had never happened, she lived in hope.

She was stunned by what she had heard. For some reason, the engagement was a pretence and she had heard herself dismissed as an odd creature. Her revenge against the haughty Beverleys when she had married Judd and moved in as mistress of Mannerling had been of short duration only.