Lady Vernon and Her Daughter: A Novel of Jane Austen's Lady Susan

chapter forty-two

While their conduct and companions had been very different, Sir James Martin and Sir Frederick Vernon had shared many qualities in common, and chief among them was optimism. No problem was insoluble, no obstacle insurmountable, nor was any misery permanent.

Sir James, therefore, woke on the following morning certain that time would resolve all in his favor. It had been unfeeling of him to address his cousin in a place that must recall both her happiest and unhappiest days, and there were other considerations that made her hesitation perfectly natural. In making so early a second marriage, she would certainly incur the censure of the world (which he had once advised her to heed), and she could not think of marrying before a match for Frederica might be secured. His efforts would better be directed toward bringing Frederica and Reginald deCourcy together—once their attachment was a settled thing, Susan would have only her own future to think about.

He wrote a handsome note to Mrs. Vernon thanking her for her hospitality and expressing his desire to reciprocate it should she ever come to London, and another more affectionate one to his cousins, apologizing once more for his mischief and insisting that they must always regard him as one who had only their best interests at heart.

The gentlemen had an early breakfast, their baggage was secured, and the carriage set off at nine o’clock. The weather was favorable to Sir James—that is, there was just enough drizzle and fog to slow their journey, and Sir James had ample time to promote Miss Vernon’s beauty, refinement, and accomplishment.

“She is superior in every way, and I may speak as one who has known her since her birth, though not”—Sir James smiled—“as one who was ever a suitor. Lady Vernon and I were brought up almost as brother and sister, and our families were always on very intimate footing, which, I suppose, began the gossip that I had not married because I was waiting for my young cousin to come of age. I was very wrong to let it go on as long as it did, as it only added to speculation. A gentleman of fortune must be married—his friends and neighbors will have no peace until he is.”

“But if you never meant to make a proposal for Miss Vernon, why, when I addressed Lady Vernon on the subject, did she not contradict me?”

“I suspect that my cousin was so very shocked that you believed the gossip that she did not know what to say. And supposing that the rumor had come to you by way of Mrs. Vernon, she did not wish to impugn your good sister’s information. I am quite certain that when addressed on the subject, Lady Vernon thought only to defend Miss Vernon as deserving of the addresses of a gentleman in my situation and not to deliberately suggest that I was her object.”

Reginald could not clearly recall what had been said and, after a moment, decided that this had indeed been the case.

“But so it is with parents,” Sir James continued. “By them we are taught, from the moment we think of marrying at all, that we cannot marry without some attention to money. And yet if they might only consider the unequal matches that are the result of it—the years of unhappiness that follow a union fashioned out of a parent’s ambition—perhaps they might consider the very great advantage of a son-or daughter-in-law whose character and abilities may be superior to wealth.”

“You speak with a great feeling for the subject.”

“There was someone I liked,” Sir James replied gravely, “who suited me in every regard. But her fortune was not what my father—an excellent parent in every other respect, and a gentleman always worthy of the highest regard—wished for me, and I allowed his desires, if not to rule me, at least to cause me to hesitate just long enough for another to win her heart and her hand. I have not found anybody I liked quite as well ever since.”

Reginald was struck by the unexpected sincerity of Sir James’s manner.

“It is a lesson,” Sir James continued, “not to let ourselves be ruled by others in the matter of our happiness, nor to place fortune above true felicity.”

“But that is spoken like a rich man, who may do as he likes.” Reginald smiled.

“All the more reason that I ought to have done as I liked when the opportunity was before me.”

“You cannot reproach yourself for honoring your father’s wishes.”

“I can reproach myself for giving so little credit to his affection by supposing that he would feel a lasting resentment if I married against his ambition. I allowed myself to think that he would prefer me to be rich rather than happy. If I had spoken at once, if I had made my feelings plain, he might have attempted to argue me out of them—he might have attributed them to youth, as I was very young at the time—but I believe that he would have yielded in the end.”

“There was no objection to the lady’s character?”

“None at all. She was unexceptionable in every regard.”

After a few moments, Sir James continued with a smile, “The result is that I have made myself the fodder of the gossipmongers and the matchmakers. The rumors of an engagement to my young cousin came out of it, and will not end until she comes to London and engages the attention of some young man or other. Not all young men can be the fool that I was, nor can every father be so ambitious. A young lady of Frederica’s beauty and accomplishment, of such excellent disposition and character, will not be disregarded for a want of fortune.”

Reginald could say no more than “Indeed, no.”

As Reginald was only to stay in London until the following morning, Sir James invited him to pass the night at his house in town, and Reginald accepted with pleasure. The journey gave Reginald an opportunity to understand that Sir James was very different from what gossip had pronounced him to be; he had been said to be thoughtless and giddy, and yet every expression had shown him to be civil, intelligent, and amiable.

They decided to stop at Portland Place in order to turn over Lady Vernon’s portrait to her housekeeper. The door was answered by this woman, who greeted Sir James with genuine warmth and commissioned the footman to take charge of the parcel.

Then, to their very great surprise, the housekeeper declared, “Lady Martin has been awaiting you in the front parlor. She would have you join her.”

“Mother!” Sir James cried, throwing open the door to the parlor. Lady Martin was sitting beside the fire, needlework on her lap and two plump cats at her feet.

“Well, you have got here! You may kiss me—I cannot get up. Do not tease Kit! You are Mr. deCourcy,” she addressed Reginald. “There, the bother of deciding which of us must request an introduction is done with. I have some slight acquaintance with your father and mother, sir, and I hope that they were in health when you saw them last.”

Reginald was surprised, but not displeased, with the lady’s address, which despite her easy manner retained an air of elegance.

“My father has not been as strong as I would like, but Miss Vernon was kind enough to send a few receipts, which I hope will give him some improvement.”

“Excellent! She is an excellent girl—but a superior mother will invariably produce a superior daughter. If I had a daughter, she should have been a very superior girl, and nothing at all like this reprobate whose company you have been compelled to suffer all the way from Sussex. Sit down—why do you stand there? I will give you some tea. Do you stop at my son’s house?”

“Yes, ma’am, Sir James has been kind enough to ask me to stay for the night. Tomorrow I proceed to Parklands.”

“Well, one night in his company can do you no harm.”

“I am very surprised to see you here, Mother,” said Sir James. “I cannot account for it.”

“Why may I not come to town if I like?”

“But you do not like it—you haven’t come to town for ten years.”

“But I meant to come,” she maintained, and addressed Reginald once more. “But for her father’s accident, Frederica would have been presented. Sir Frederick would have been so delighted, the proudest father who ever lived. A very great loss to her. There are some who will say that a father is never of great consequence to a daughter, that so long as she has been left comfortably off, it is of no matter whether he is present or absent, as they have no interests in common, but that was not true of Sir Frederick and my niece. He would not have wished her away for a son.”

“But you do not say why you come to London, ma’am.”

“To stand up with Frederica if she likes to go out and keep the nuisances from imposing upon Susan when she likes to stay at home. I do not mean to suggest that you are among the nuisances, sir.” She addressed Reginald. “You may call as often as you like when you are in town.”

Reginald thanked her.

“Such an accomplished girl. She plays and sings so charmingly, and as for her drawing! Look at those watercolors upon the wall—that is a crocus border she put in at Vernon Castle, and there, too, is the laurel hedge round the lodge. Do you not think they are very nicely done?”

Reginald walked over to examine the sketches. “Yes, they are very well done.”

“It is a great pity she was obliged to leave Vernon Castle. Ah, here is our tea! You must be very tired after your journey.”

When they had drunk their tea and Lady Martin had asked their opinion of whether the portrait ought to be hung in the sitting room or the library, and then deciding the matter for herself, she invited Reginald to dine at Portland Place upon his return to London.

The gentlemen left shortly afterward, and although Sir James felt obliged to beg for some small allowance of his mother’s outspoken manner, Reginald assured him that he had found Lady Martin to be delightful.

chapter forty-three

Two days after Reginald’s departure, Mr. Lewis deCourcy called at Churchill Manor, bringing Miss Manwaring with him. “Manwaring left for town this morning, but Miss Manwaring and I are to remain a few days longer, and then I escort her to London. The Parkers have expressed a desire to meet Miss Vernon. May we not bring her to Billingshurst with us until Lady Vernon is ready to quit Churchill?”

“I think that Frederica will be delighted to know the Parkers,” declared Lady Vernon. “Indeed, it is a scheme that will suit everyone. Mrs. Vernon has long desired to go to Parklands, and now that her brother is gone, I will not suspend her pleasure by prolonging my visit. Frederica may go with you, and I will make my own preparations for town, which can be accomplished in two days’ time.”

“Oh, no!” protested Charles, who had no desire to have his wife get to Parklands before Reginald had left it. If Reginald did mean to ask his parents’ consent to a marriage with Lady Vernon, he might well withstand a confrontation with Lady deCourcy, but Catherine and her mother together could wear him down. “Lady Vernon was to be with us another week at least and I am certain that Catherine and the children cannot be ready to travel with only two days to prepare.”

“Indeed, I can,” cried Catherine with more feeling than civility.

“I will write to Mrs. Forrester at once, and I invite you, my dear sister, to stop the night at Portland Place before going on to Kent—it is a very modest return for all of the hospitality you have shown me.”

“If Frederica is to leave us, and travels with my uncle to London,” said Catherine to Lady Vernon, “I will take this opportunity of asking now what I meant to ask upon her departure. I hope that I may persuade you to allow Frederica to accompany me to Parklands. You may spare her for a few weeks, I think, and her presence will recompense the children for their father’s absence, as Charles will be obliged to spend many weeks in town.”

Lady Vernon did not remark that Charles spent so little time with the children and took so little interest in their concerns as to make it of no consequence to them whether he was in London or Kent, and she suspected that Catherine’s invitation was given solely to have someone at hand who was so useful in managing the children and so accommodating to her. The opportunity to let her daughter become known to the deCourcys, however, was one that Lady Vernon could not refuse—Frederica might easily be spared for a few weeks before she would be wanted at her mother’s side in London.

She gave her consent, therefore, and Mr. deCourcy suggested that the plan be adapted to include Miss Manwaring. “I will write to Sir Reginald myself, which will secure her welcome to Parklands, and it will give Miss Vernon a companion on those occasions when you, Catherine, will be occupied with your mother or the children.”

Catherine did not approve of her uncle’s proposal at once. It was certainly a very forward thing to expect Miss Manwaring, a person of no consequence, to be admitted to Parklands Manor. She would not have to exert herself, however, so far as to petition her father, nor to accommodate Miss Manwaring in any way—to be at Parklands would be honor enough for her.

All was speedily arranged, and when the young ladies and Mr. deCourcy departed for Billingshurst, Lady Vernon retired to her rooms to write to her aunt in London.

Lady Vernon to Lady Martin

Churchill Manor, Sussex

My dear Aunt,

I will be in London in three days’ time. I am obliged to have the Vernons stop at Portland Place; for that, I beg your pardon, but it will only be for the night. Mrs. Vernon will not stay longer, as she is eager to get to Parklands, no doubt hoping to join her mother in attempting to keep Reginald from returning to London.

How did you like him? Do you not think they are well suited? I have every expectation that he goes to Kent on purpose to disappoint his parents in regard to Miss Hamilton, and then it will only be a matter of time—a very short time, I hope—before he declares himself to Frederica. I think that event might be reasonably looked for in the course of a twelvemonth, but as Reginald’s nature is equally impulsive and resolute, it might as easily be accomplished in less than half the time.

Mrs. Vernon has asked that Freddie accompany her to Kent, and while the motive for the invitation must be for her own convenience, I am happy for Freddie to have the opportunity to secure the good opinion of those who hereinafter may become her in-laws.

I hope that the prospect of that, my dear Aunt, will offset your disappointment in another matter. James has made his proposals to me. How far you ever considered the possibility of this, I cannot tell, but I was taken entirely by surprise. The honor of this application cannot be measured, and in different circumstances the prospect of a proposal from James would have been gratifying beyond expression; under these circumstances, however, I am persuaded that the expectation of a first husband’s child must lessen my appeal were James aware of it.

I have said nothing to Frederica of this. All thoughts of marriage must be directed toward her future.

We will all be at Portland Place by dinnertime. The party will include not only the Vernons but also Miss Manwaring and Mr. Lewis deCourcy.

Yours, etc.,

Susan V.

chapter forty-four

Reginald deCourcy’s arrival at Parklands Manor was greeted with extravagant delight by his mother and with a more temperate and genuine pleasure by his father. He handed over Catherine’s letter immediately, and Lady deCourcy hurried away to her dressing room so that she might peruse it in private and immediately write her reply.

She passed quickly over the description of Sir James Martin and fixed her attention on Catherine’s anxiety for Reginald.

Unless, my dear Mother, you and my father can contrive to keep Reginald at Parklands until his infatuation with Lady Vernon has subsided, I must think of their eventual marriage as a possibility. Use every persuasion in your power, and if, after all exertion, he is still resolved upon settling in town for the coming months, I fear that it may be that there is already an arrangement between them.

As for Miss Vernon, I am of half a mind to prevail upon Lady Vernon to keep her with me. I am convinced that she must be happier with us than in town with her mother, where she will be compelled to be in the company of Lady Vernon’s friends—a very bad set, I doubt not. I do not say that Miss Vernon is so weak that her mother’s companions can injure her, but in London she must mix with them or be left in solitude, where at Parklands she might make herself useful. I begin to think more and more of engaging her as a governess until a more suitable match than Sir James Martin may be found for her. My Aunt Hamilton had spoke of the likelihood that the Reverend Mr. Heywood might soon be in want of a wife and I am certain that Miss Vernon would do for him. He is in possession of such a good living that he cannot be very particular as to fortune, and Charles once mentioned that she has no more than the two or three thousand pounds left to her by her grandparents. As for Sir James Martin, he would be much better suited to someone like my cousin Claudia, who is his equal in birth and fortune.

Charles will be obliged to remain in town for many weeks, so we shall have a very good, long visit in Kent. Pray heaven that I may quit Sussex as soon as possible and that you may keep Reginald at Parklands until that time so that we may all work upon him together.

Your affectionate daughter,

Catherine Vernon

While Lady deCourcy was preoccupied with penning her response, Reginald sat down to a quiet interview with his father, and to answer all of Sir Reginald’s inquiries as to how Catherine and the children did and how his time had been spent at Churchill Manor.

The subject of Lady Vernon was not directly introduced, but Reginald spoke of her by way of her relations, declaring that his opinion of Sir James Martin had been very much improved and that his introduction to Lady Martin had been very agreeable. “She expressed nothing but affection and regard for Lady Vernon, and my Uncle deCourcy likewise holds her in very high esteem—and they are, sir, the commendations of people who have known her since childhood.”

“And so do you now discredit all of the accounts of her unbecoming conduct, not only at Langford but also during her marriage?”

“I do now what I ought to have done at first, sir—what your principles ought to have compelled me to do sooner. I disallow all that cannot be supported by any particular examples of that lady’s profligacy or any unmitigated proof of impropriety. By all the neighbors and tenants, she is held up as a model of respectability and generosity, and I was myself a daily witness to the deference she paid to Catherine, however difficult it must have been to see her post assumed by another and be reduced to a visitor and a dependent in the home where she had once been mistress.”

“And yet her going to Langford—the look of it was so very bad. My sister was quite shocked by her conduct, which was very gay for a widow.”

“We forget that she was obliged to go somewhere, sir, as she could not stay on at Churchill, and that perhaps it was Langford, and not Lady Vernon, that was too gay.”

“Yet she was not so friendless that Langford was her only refuge. She might have chosen more prudently.”

“Yes, but it may have been done for her daughter’s sake. Miss Vernon’s spirits were quite depressed and Lady Vernon might have hoped to revive them by bringing her daughter among other young people.”

“And what sort of person is Miss Vernon?”

Reginald spoke with great feeling of Miss Vernon’s superior character and understanding, reminding his father of the generous impulse that had overtaken prudence so much as to cause Miss Vernon to lose her place at school and enumerating the many ways in which she had made herself useful at Churchill.

Although Reginald did not hesitate in his praise of Lady Vernon’s respectability, an incident had occurred, while he passed through London, which gave him some concern for her reputation.

Mr. deCourcy to Lady Vernon

Parklands Manor, Kent

Dear Madam,

Forgive any indelicacy of writing to you in this manner and allow me to assure you that the portrait that you entrusted to me has been safely delivered to Portland Place. There I had the very great pleasure of being introduced to Lady Martin.

I wish, madam, that I could express an equal pleasure with my experience at Edward Street. When I was admitted and ushered into the drawing room, a dispute between a lady and a gentleman was clearly audible from the other side of the door, and the name “Manwaring” was unmistakable.

Mrs. Johnson hurried into the room and I presented her your letter. She welcomed me in a civil fashion, though she was very much embarrassed by what was overheard. “You must forgive the state in which you find us,” she said to me. “My husband’s ward has called upon him very unexpectedly.”

She then bade me sit down and asked a great many questions about your coming to town. She had learned that Lady Martin had taken residence at Portland Place and seemed to take this as evidence that a marriage between Sir James and Miss Vernon was imminent. I did not think that it was my place to undeceive her, and before the subject might be continued, the library door was thrown open and a lady and gentleman entered the room. The gentleman was Mr. Johnson and the lady was introduced as Mrs. Manwaring, and as it was evident that she wished to speak privately with Mrs. Johnson, I was invited by Mr. Johnson into his library, so that the ladies might have their tête-à-tête.

I found Mr. Johnson, though abrupt in his manner, to be a very gentlemanlike man. He asked most particularly after Miss Vernon. I made some mention of her friendship with Miss Manwaring and my recent introduction to her and her brother, and Mr. Johnson replied, “It is no secret that I was not pleased with Eliza’s choice of a husband, but I am not so pitiless as to rejoice that I had been right. She seeks my aid in effecting a separation, and if you have any influence with Lady Vernon, I would advise you to caution her of the imprudence of admitting Manwaring to her household when she comes to London. Toward her, I will not think as ill as I once did—she cannot have produced as excellent a daughter as Miss Vernon if she had been truly bad. But an ill-chosen acquaintance may give one the appearance of impropriety, which, for the sake of Miss Vernon, I hope her mother will avoid.”

I assured Mr. Johnson that I would heed his advice, and as Mrs. Manwaring and I left together, I offered to escort her to her lodgings in town.

We had no sooner settled in my carriage than Mrs. Manwaring began to importune me on the subject of your time in Sussex and whether Mr. Manwaring had frequently been a visitor to Churchill Manor. I was struck with the impropriety of such forwardness to a stranger and replied that though I had been many weeks at Churchill Manor, I had seen her husband only once, when he had dined with the party from Billingshurst. However Mrs. Manwaring’s jealousy must mislead her in regard to you, madam, it was very clear from her expressions that she and Manwaring are to part and that her visit to Edward Street was an attempt—one of many, I infer—to secure the interest of her former guardian.

I write this so that when you come to London, you will know how things stand. I hope that Mr. Manwaring will not use his sister’s intimacy with Miss Vernon to gain admittance to Portland Place.

I remain,

Reginald deCourcy

chapter forty-five

As Charles Vernon and his groom drove along Portland Place in Reginald’s curricle (which Charles had agreed to convey to town), he looked at the elegant residences as if for the first time and noted the number of crests upon the passing vehicles and wondered how his sister could keep such a fine address on her modest income. In his mind, he rehearsed a few remarks about how much must be attended to in a house that Lady Vernon had not occupied for nearly two years and how far the presence of a male relation and his family might hold off the gossip that would be stirred up when a lady was living alone.

His hopes lasted only until the front door was opened. Two liveried footmen hurried down to the carriages, and in the doorway stood Lady Martin. Charles was very surprised, for he had heard that Lady Martin liked town even less than Lady deCourcy. She would not have come so far unless there was a very particular reason, and that reason must be the desire of the mothers to see the daughter of one married to the son of the other.

The evening was just long enough for everyone to dine and talk about nothing; for the children to run up and down the staircases and exclaim over the variety of curious vehicles that passed by the front-facing windows; and for Catherine to wonder whether she was obliged to buy her mother a present, and how (as Miss Manwaring and Miss Vernon had come to town with her uncle and would continue to Parklands with her) their party might be crammed into a single carriage, or whether the two nursery maids, who each had sat from Sussex to London with a child on her lap, might be sent by stage.

On the following morning, however, she found that Lady Martin had arranged for the young ladies to travel by postchaise, assigning a footman to accompany them, and paying the fare herself. Catherine was happy to have this settled at no trouble or expense to herself, and Charles resolved that, though his expectations of residing at Portland Place must be over, the goodwill of a woman who could send two young ladies to Kent by postchaise was worth retaining.

The passengers were off, and the girls settled comfortably together with no one to interrupt an unreserved conversation. Maria Manwaring was reserved, however, and made only the briefest of replies to her friend’s remarks until at last Frederica asked Maria if she was unwell.

“No, quite the reverse. I am well—very well—but very far from being myself. I hardly know where to begin.”

“In science, we always begin at the very root of the matter, which ensures that nothing will be overlooked.”

“That will not do. I do not know where it did begin, so I must begin at the end instead. But you must not say anything until my brother is applied to for his consent—which he will not fail to give. I am to be married to Mr. Lewis deCourcy.”

Frederica could not conceal her surprise, nor prevent herself from exclaiming, “Mr. Lewis deCourcy! I cannot believe it!”

“Then I have no hope that anyone else shall, until we are married,” Maria replied with a blush. “My fortune is so little and the disparity in our ages so great that everyone will dismiss it as gossip. And when they are persuaded it is true, everyone will think that his suit is foolish and my consent is grossly mercenary.”

“I do not think so; I know you too well. When I look back, I do recall signs of his preference—he was certainly very attentive to you when we were all together after my father’s passing. But it was not an occasion where any of us were disposed to be curious. You must tell me all: How did it come about?”

“It came upon me very gradually. I have always known Mr. deCourcy through my brother and have always thought very highly of his abilities and character. In the past year, many situations have thrown us together a great deal and he declares that he came to Billingshurst on purpose to determine whether I could ever regard him as a suitor. He tells me that only a conviction that my brother and Eliza wished me to marry much higher prevented him from declaring himself sooner. But what do you think? Am I very foolish for abiding by my heart?”

“No, how could I think so? My own parents’ marriage was one where there was a disparity in age and fortune, but in taste and disposition they were so well suited as to make everyone forget it.”

“I hope that the deCourcys can forget it. Mr. deCourcy told me privately that he seized upon the idea of having me accompany you to Parklands Manor in order to have me known to his family.”

“When does he intend to tell them of your engagement?”

“He will speak to my brother first—very soon, I hope—and then he will come to Parklands. Will it not be amusing to have me the aunt of the Hamilton girls?”

The girls indulged in some mirth at the notion of Lavinia and Claudia Hamilton compelled to address Maria as “my Aunt deCourcy,” though it was agreed between them that Lucy would think it was great fun.

chapter forty-six

The first view of Parklands Manor came from the west, where an expanse of cherry and walnut trees gave way to a wooded area that formed the beginning of a park. At the road’s highest point, a clearing presented the traveler with a commanding view of the deCourcy estate. In its beauty and aspect, it reminded Frederica of Vernon Castle, although Parklands Manor was far more imposing than what her family had owned in either Staffordshire or Sussex.

Their carriage made a winding descent into a valley with a broad stream at its lowest point, and passing over a wooden bridge, it ascended once more to the lodge, where the travelers were obliged to depart from the public road. As they approached the main house, the span of valleys behind, dotted with copses and fields, came into view, and Frederica exclaimed over the great variety of flora, naming each tree and shrub with awe. How, she wondered, could Reginald deCourcy ever wish to be anywhere else!

The party was ushered into a vast entryway, calculated to impress upon the visitor the owners’ wealth. The young ladies were suitably impressed, although the children, released from the tedium of the journey from town, immediately began to slide upon the polished marble and dash in and out of the many rooms until the nursery maids collected their charges and shepherded them away.

Mrs. Vernon then directed their attention to the many doors that opened from the hallway to the saloons and drawing rooms, the parlors for music and billiards and breakfast, and the grand dining room and the “main library, as there is a second, devoted entirely to my father’s particular volumes.”

They were left to collect around the fire in the larger of the drawing rooms while Mrs. Vernon inquired of her mother and father.

“Lady deCourcy is indisposed and has confined herself to her dressing room, but Sir Reginald is somewhere upon the grounds with Mr. deCourcy.”

“Reginald has not gone back to London?” said Mrs. Vernon with great pleasure.

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs. Vernon announced her intention to go immediately to her mother and instructed the housekeeper to have Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring shown to their apartments.

When Mrs. Vernon entered her mother’s dressing room, she found the lady in great distress. “Oh, I am so glad you have come!” cried Lady deCourcy. “Reginald is resolved upon leaving tomorrow—he will not be persuaded otherwise. You must talk him out of it. He has made us so very wretched—he vows that he cannot marry Lavinia. Oh, my poor sister Hamilton—to have Lucy marry so imprudently and now to have Lavinia’s hopes dashed! Your father has been scarcely able to rise from his bed.”

Mrs. Vernon did not think to observe that her father’s scarcely rising from his bed was a considerable improvement over his never rising from it.

“Sit down, my dear girl. What can we do? How are the dear children? I made every argument I could think of—the obligation to his family, the expectations of Lavinia, and the slight to Lord and Lady Hamilton. Nothing will sway him. ‘We would not suit’ was all he would say to defend himself. ‘You would not wish me to marry without any thought to my happiness.’ How can he put his happiness above his duty to all of us? I am certain that if I had not been guided by my parents and had only my own happiness to consult, I should never have married your father. And where am I to go now when your father dies? Lavinia would not object to keeping me here—indeed, there are several apartments in the west wing that would do very well for me. But Lady Vernon would send me away—and yet even that might be borne if she were not ever to be addressed as ‘Lady deCourcy.’ How am I to endure it? Indeed, there is no mother fonder of her children than I have been, but I would almost rather survive my son than see him marry ill!”

“But what has he told you of Lady Vernon? Has he asked your consent to their marriage?”

“He has said nothing of her at all, but I am convinced that he is bewitched by her, for I gave him a very broad hint—I asked him if he had succumbed to another attachment while he was with you, and he would neither confirm nor deny it. And he spoke so favorably of his time with you, even praising Lady Vernon’s daughter and making her out to be quite a paragon of beauty and accomplishment! Ah, you know what they say—to court the mother, you must flatter the child! So, you have brought the girl with you? And her friend as well—Manwaring’s sister! After all that was said of Lady Vernon’s conduct at Langford, to think of a friendship between them! It is a very inconstant world—very inconstant—and I do not know how we are to abide it if people will not keep to their own sphere. But perhaps if Mr. Manwaring does not have to look after his sister in London, he will pursue Lady Vernon as he did at Langford—and if she had so little restraint in the country, she will have none at all in town—then, perhaps, Reginald’s eyes will be opened to what she is.”

While they were engaged in hopes for Reginald’s being disillusioned and made miserable, Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring were ushered up the gleaming oak staircase and through a maze of lesser flights and landings until they were brought to a wing that had a series of doors on one side and a series of windows on the other.

The apartments that the friends were to share were well proportioned, the furniture was handsome, the walls prettily papered, and the aspect pleasing, but with the sort of simplicity and want of ornamentation that suggested that the room was reserved for inferior guests.

The two girls decided to take a turn in the open air, and after donning sturdier shoes, they struck out across one of the lawns toward a high hedge that formed a border between the small park and the greenhouses. Two gentlemen stepped into their path, one leaning upon the arm of another. Miss Vernon recognized Reginald deCourcy by his form, and as the gentlemen approached, she saw in the other a similarity of countenance and figure (though the countenance was pale and the figure bowed and wasted), which pronounced him to be Sir Reginald deCourcy.

The ladies dropped a curtsy, and the elder gentleman, seeing the look of recognition upon his son’s face, immediately applied to him to make the introductions.

“Miss Frederica Vernon,” he pronounced, and if Sir Reginald was surprised to see that the beautiful young lady in half-mourning was the daughter of a woman against whom he had been so prejudiced, he gave no indication of it. He bowed politely and said, “Cook has brewed me tea according to your receipts every day.”

“I hope they have served you well, sir.”

“Indeed they have. I have been able to get out again and enjoy my grounds. The house is a grand one—I know it is, for everybody says so, and I cannot think that so universal an opinion on any one subject can err—but I much prefer the out-of-doors. And your friend, I think, is Miss Manwaring?”

Miss Vernon said that she was.

“My brother has spoken very highly of you, Miss Manwaring, and his commendation is never bestowed idly,” the gentleman said.

“It has the advantage of consensus with the world in general,” added Reginald with great civility, “and therefore cannot err.”

Miss Manwaring blushed, and as the path that took them toward the house narrowed, they were obliged to walk in pairs. Sir Reginald offered Miss Vernon his arm, and she concluded from his son’s look of surprise (as he offered his own arm to Miss Manwaring) that it had been some time since his father had been the provider, rather than the recipient, of such support.

“January and February are too early in the year to see the true beauty of the place,” said Sir Reginald. “When all is in bloom, it is a remarkable sight, but you will get some notion of the excellence of the forcing gardens and the size of the orchards, and tomorrow, in the light, I will take you to the summer house, where we drink tea in fine weather. But I will not confine you to Parklands. We keep a handsome phaeton that gets too little use. You ladies must take advantage of it on any day that is fine, for even in the winter Kent is full of beauties. It is quite the garden of England, do you not think so?”

“I do. And I thought the same of Staffordshire and Sussex, sir—indeed, when I was first taken to the apothecary gardens in town, I was quite ready to call London the garden of England as well.”

Sir Reginald laughed and proceeded to inquire, with genuine interest, about her knowledge of plants and flowers. Had she studied Latin? Had she read Withering? Had the fuchsia been introduced to Churchill Manor?

Miss Vernon felt all of the compliment of his inquiries, which went beyond casual civility. She was equally pleased to understand, from the little of their conversation she overheard, that Reginald addressed Miss Manwaring with equal courtesy, and that her replies conveyed her taste, her understanding, and her superior manners. However he might regard Robert Manwaring, Reginald deCourcy must conclude that his sister was a very intelligent young woman.

They were six to dinner, and yet there were thirty covers and an array of silver plate and a great many attendants. If the two country girls were inclined to overlook some particular symptom of privilege, Lady deCourcy did not hesitate to call it to their attention, and her conversation consisted principally of remarks such as “I daresay you have not seen such superior cos lettuce,” or “I would be very surprised if Mrs. Manwaring can ever get her hands upon such crayfish as these.”

Reginald often blushed for her, but her daughter and husband felt no embarrassment; she had no consciousness of her mother’s incivility and he had ceased to listen to her for many years.

If the elder gentleman’s remarks were less frequent, they were more civil. He had always been fond of society, but a spell of ill health, which his wife had encouraged along to infirmity, had kept him from the sort of company that he had enjoyed in earlier years. He found Miss Vernon to be a beautiful girl, her manners refined, her conversation thoughtful and fresh, and her knowledge of growing and groundskeeping profound.

The desserts were laid and Sir Reginald deferred to Miss Vernon, whose receipts had aided his digestion so well as to enable him to eat a handsome dinner for the first time in a year. Miss Vernon smiled at the compliment and, expressing admiration for the yield of his pinery, suggested, “There is nothing so good for the digestion as pineapple, except perhaps for the extract of carica papaya before it ripens.”

Sir Reginald took a slice of the pineapple and began to recount a few tales of the West Indies. The young ladies listened with intense interest, though Lady deCourcy seemed impatient to withdraw and once or twice seemed about to rise when a question from one of the girls or from Reginald (who was astonished at his father’s excellent appetite and spirits) delayed her. At last she stood, and the other ladies followed her to the drawing room.

The party was made lively and noisy by the entrance of the children, and Lady deCourcy turned her attention entirely to them and her daughter.

“How very tall our Charlie has got in the months since you left for Sussex. Lady Penrice called on her way to Ramsgate and told the wildest tales of how tall her grandson Frank had got—six months younger than Charlie and she vows he was half a head taller! She has got a house at Ramsgate and means to have them all with her until summer, as she says London is full of influenza. How long does Charles stay in town? Nobody can remain in health very long in London. The air is so bad! He must, on no account, bring the influenza here among the children. How is the air in Sussex? Is it a very dirty place?”

Miss Vernon, who was showing little Kitty how to cut some gold paper, felt a warm blush overspread her cheeks.

“It is not as fine as Parklands,” her daughter replied.

“And the people? They are a very yeomanlike set, I gather?”

“There is no society. The Parkers are ten miles off, which is too far to go to mix with people who are only moderately genteel. Mr. Parker was in trade.”

“Trade is a terrible thing,” declared Lady deCourcy. “It encourages those who engage in it to be ambitious above their class.”

The gentlemen entered as she uttered this remark, and she called immediately for their opinion. “Catherine tells me that there is nobody in her neighborhood but for the Parkers, who made a great deal of money in trade. Do you not agree that she is very poorly situated? Would it not be best to have her and the children home again with us?”

Reginald glanced at Miss Vernon, who was bent over her work. “You forget, madam, that the hospitality of the Parkers was acceptable to my cousins and my uncle.”

It was not in Lady deCourcy’s nature to feel embarrassment. “Perhaps, and yet Billingshurst cannot be as pleasant as Parklands.”

“I agree with you, madam,” said Reginald with a smile. “I cannot wish to be anywhere else at present, and indeed I very much regret that I must leave you all tomorrow.”

“If you regret it, then you ought to stay,” his mother replied. “There is nobody in town.”

“My sister’s husband is in town. If, Catherine, you have a letter for Charles, I will bring it, and I will be happy to do the same for Miss Vernon, if she desires to send any message to her mother.”

Lady deCourcy declared that neither Catherine nor Miss Vernon could have anything to write, and that it would be enough for Reginald to tell Charles that they had all got safely to Parklands, which Charles could report to Lady Vernon whenever he happened to call.

“Catherine need not write,” Reginald replied, “but we must let Miss Vernon decide for herself.”

Miss Vernon favored him with a grateful smile and, consigning the amusement of the children to Maria, went to a little desk in the corner to compose her letter.

Miss Vernon to Lady Vernon

Parklands Manor, Kent

My dear Madam,

We have arrived safely in Kent to find Mr. deCourcy still at home, though he will stay only until tomorrow.

You will want to know something of Parklands. It is very beautifully situated, and as far as the grounds are concerned, nothing has been transformed that ought to have been left alone, and nothing has been neglected that ought to have been improved. The interior is the work of Lady deCourcy, however, and it is Langford all over again, with three items crammed where one would do and everything for show. The apartment that I share with Maria appears to be a chamber reserved for her inferior company and therefore has only such furnishings as are necessary for comfort without needless embellishment and display.

We were introduced to Sir Reginald, and he is not the fearsome object that I expected to find. In his person, he gives every appearance of having been a very commanding figure when in health, but illness has made him frail—this decline, however, appears to be reversing, as he has been able to take some exercise and to dine with the family, which I understand has not been his custom.

His manners are formal and old-fashioned but without any condescension. His welcome to Maria and me did not make me feel such an intruder as Lady deCourcy has—she does not want anybody but her daughter and the children, but if the weather is fine enough for walking, we will not be in her way.

Be assured, my dear Mother, that even if all were as it should be, were my aunt affectionate and her mother’s welcome effusive, I could never be happy if I had not left you in the very capable and obliging hands of my Aunt Martin and Miss Wilson.

Please give my love to both, and write to me as often as you can.

Your affectionate daughter,

Frederica Vernon

chapter forty-seven

Reginald called at Portland Place immediately upon his arrival in town and was admitted to the drawing room, where Lady Vernon reclined upon a sofa, wrapped in shawls and with an open book on her lap. She extended her hand to him, and he bowed and gave her Miss Vernon’s letter, urging her not to delay the pleasure of reading it on his account.

Reginald studied Lady Vernon while she read her letter. She was pale and her movements languid. He recalled some remarks of his mother’s about influenza and inquired after her health as she folded the letter.

“I am quite well. I hope that you left Sir Reginald and Lady deCourcy and Catherine in good health.”

“I did, though I cannot say that I left them entirely tranquil,” he replied. “I can no longer allow them to hope that I will ever address my cousin—they might have been spared a great deal of anxiety if I had been frank from the first.”

“I am very glad that you were frank with them at last.” Lady Vernon smiled.

“And my frankness with you? You may have cause to resent my advice regarding Mr. Manwaring.”

“Indeed, I have no cause. Manwaring’s marriage is the sort that ought to be a caution to everybody against marrying for the wrong motives. Our mutual acquaintance and Miss Manwaring’s friendship with Frederica must give him some claim upon my hospitality, but I assure you, I will not have my character at the mercy of a man whose conduct has been so inconstant.”

Lady Martin, having heard that Reginald deCourcy was in the house, immediately came away from her writing desk to greet him. “How did you travel? Did these terrible rains make the roads very dirty? And what of my dear niece—how does she fare at Parklands? Is she in good looks? The country air will always bring out the best in looks.”

“Miss Vernon’s beauty is of that superior type that makes improvement unnecessary and injury impossible.”

“Ah, and if she had only been presented, she would have been universally admired. Did I tell you,” she added, addressing her niece, “that Lord Whitby called yesterday? I am certain that I did. And he asked most particularly after my niece and seemed quite downcast when he learned that she had gone to Kent. Such a handsome, good-humored man,” she added, turning to Reginald once more.

Lady Vernon repressed a smile and a shake of her head, as her aunt continued, “I told him that he must not hope to meet with Frederica again for a fortnight at least.”

“A fortnight?” cried Reginald. “I am certain that Catherine said Miss Vernon was to be with her for three or four weeks.”

“Ah, then I must be mistaken. A person of my age never makes much distinction between two weeks or three. It is only of importance to young people and to those in love.”

Reginald had no opportunity to reply, as the door was thrown open and Mrs. Johnson entered the room. The spell of heavy rains had kept Lady Vernon and her aunt from being troubled by many callers, but Mrs. Johnson would not be put off by dirty weather. The distinction of being received by Lady Martin and collecting a few scraps of gossip to scatter through London was one that not even the ruin of six inches of hem could suppress.

She was delighted to meet Reginald again, particularly at Portland Place—it supported her conviction that the young man meant to make Lady Vernon an offer of marriage, and this was confirmed by Lady Vernon’s pale and languid appearance, which must be the result of waiting for him to speak.

“Are you settled in town for the season, sir?” inquired Mrs. Johnson.

“I cannot say. There is an interest that brings me to London and another that may call me back to Kent.”

“Well, you have got to that time of life when everybody will want a share of your company, and it will be difficult to know how to please them and do your duty to your parents as well.”

“Indeed,” observed Lady Martin, “I tell my son that he must not concern himself with duty—he may keep away from me as long as he likes without ever offending me or thinking me neglected. There will be time enough to settle when you marry. Then your friends and relations may come to you, and I can only hope that the occasion will see such an improvement in Sir Reginald that you will be obliged to find a property of your own when you settle.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” chimed in Mrs. Johnson. “For entails can be very awkward arrangements.”

“I think the purpose of an entail is an excellent one,” replied Reginald.

“Yes,” Lady Vernon observed, “but the purpose is not always borne out in practice. Not every heir can administer the property entrusted to him, and when an inheritance is neglected or driven into debt, I think that family feeling must suffer.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed her aunt. “And only think of all the daughters and wives who are cast adrift when property goes from one hand to another. What is to be done with them ought to be laid out in the entail as well. And where do you go now?” she inquired as Reginald rose to take his leave. “To your club, I expect—which is it, White’s? Clubs are very treacherous places when the weather is so wet. It keeps the members too long at wagering and cards. Many a fortune has been lost at a comfortable club on a rainy day, and that is even harder on the wives and daughters, as it brings disgrace upon them as well as poverty.”

“That is one advantage of an entail.” Reginald smiled. “I cannot lose Parklands Manor at cards.”

“A gentleman of property will see that as an advantage,” replied Lady Vernon gravely as she extended her hand, “because he will always be left with something to fall back upon, but a woman whose livelihood is in the custody of a gamester must always tremble when a reckless husband or brother goes to his club.”

“Oh, yes!” declared Mrs. Johnson. “If Mr. Johnson were affable enough to sit down to cards, he might have lost Eliza Manwaring’s fortune, as it was all left in his charge. You are left better off than Eliza,” she said to her friend, “for one brother will not breach the trust of another, but friendship often does not survive a lifetime, much less beyond it.”

Lady Vernon was grateful for Mrs. Johnson’s useful vulgarity, as it often caused her to put forth ideas that a more genteel person would be loath to express. At her allusion to Charles Vernon, Reginald became very sober and, soon after, took his leave.

“How very handsome of him to visit you so immediately upon his coming from Kent!” declared Mrs. Johnson when he was gone. “Such extraordinary attention cannot be without motive!”

She then made her adieux and hurried to call upon Lady Millbanke, Mrs. Crosby, and Eliza Manwaring and relate all that had passed between Lady Vernon and Reginald deCourcy while their looks and words were still fresh in her head. They would make a match of it, she declared, as soon as Lady Vernon was able to exert, for she had looked very fatigued and sat upon the sofa covered up with shawls for the entire visit.

As for Reginald, he went directly to his club, where he asked of the more seasoned habitués whether his brother Vernon had been often seen in the card room and if Lord Whitby had been exhibiting any symptoms of being in love.

chapter forty-eight

Lady Vernon to Miss Vernon

Portland Place, London

My dear Frederica,

I am very happy that you are so pleased with Parklands. To be warmly received by Lady deCourcy was perhaps too much to hope for, but the civility of Sir Reginald and the companionship of Maria will be ample compensation, particularly in so delightful a setting.

We have been confined to Portland Place by the weather—or rather, confined by our country habits, which have us content with needlework and books and conversation when it rains. Those who prefer the town to the country are not put off by the wet. Lucy Smith called, wearing blue peacock feathers upon her head and her pink husband on her arm—she expressed great surprise over your being in Kent, great disappointment at your not being here, and great delight to be introduced to Lady Martin. Indeed, every expression and emotion and exclamation was very great—she makes no allowance for shade or degree. The Smiths are inoffensive and silly, but it is the silliness that might easily make them prey to contrivance and double dealing.

Mr. Manwaring has called every day, but I do not think it is wise to admit him unless my aunt is at leisure to sit with us. He has grown very incautious in a manner that has raised the estrangement with his wife to the level of scandal, yet he is still received everywhere—his manners remain so affable and high-spirited that he cannot be shunned. It is no difficult thing to find good people to put at ones dinner table or saloon, but the clever and entertaining ones are harder to come by, and relief from dullness is purchased at the cost of a little impropriety.

Eliza Manwaring is so far reconciled to her guardian as to have continual admission at Edward Street. Alicia Johnson declares that he is inclined to consign the whole of Eliza’s fortune to her and be done with it, and so poor Alicia does not know which Manwaring to befriend—the privilege of visiting Langford must be weighed against keeping up an acquaintance who may have thirty thousand. I honor your sense, my dear Freddie, in choosing the best of the three, as Maria is superior to both her brother and his wife, and am very pleased to learn that she will soon be removed to a situation that will ensure her happiness.

This information—which must have been confided to you by Maria, as it is of the sort that young ladies will never keep from a bosom friend—has been disclosed to me by Mr. Lewis deCourcy. I think the news, when it is generally known, will surprise many at first, but I am so persuaded of Mr. deCourcy’s sound character and good judgment that I think he would never choose rashly or ill. I hope that Sir Reginald is pleased with her—pleased enough that the news of their engagement will meet with no coldness or opposition from him. How well Lady deCourcy will like to have a girl younger than her own son as her sister, I cannot say, but I do not think that Mr. Lewis deCourcy will be held back in anything because Lady deCourcy does not like it. His brother’s good opinion may have more influence, and therefore, if you may effect anything on your friend’s behalf, I hope that you will do it, as it would be for the best if Maria were not to ever return to either Eliza or Manwaring. I have never been an advocate for long engagements, nor an opponent of marriages where there is some disparity in age or fortune. My own marriage to your honored father came about within months of our introduction and produced so many years of happiness that I cannot think anybody now remembers that it was regarded as a very unequal match.

My aunt takes Dr. Driggs’s visits in very good humor, and all of her pronouncements upon the charlatanry of London attendants are made out of his hearing, but I fear that the residents of Portland Place have put a very dire construction upon his regular attendance (as my situation is so well concealed that only my aunt, Wilson, and Mrs. Forrester know of it). If, therefore, you should receive word of my imminent demise, do not be alarmed.

I am very interested in your portrait of Sir Reginald. Write to me faithfully to tell me how you get on with him.

My aunt bids me send you her love, and Sir James, who is a very faithful visitor, likewise instructs me to close no letter to you without assuring you of his affection.

Your mother,

S. Vernon

Sir James Martin was very much entertained by the gossip making its way through fashionable circles, that Lady Vernon was the object of Reginald deCourcy He imagined what great fun it would be when his engagement to Lady Vernon was made public. Of that prospect, he had not the least doubt—had he any rival, his cousin would have refused him outright and not asked only that he postpone his addresses.

He called very regularly at Portland Place, always making a grand bow in the direction of the upper window of the Misses Millbanke across the way before he stepped into the house.

“He must be impatient to advance his marriage with Miss Vernon,” declared Mrs. Johnson to these young ladies. “If he were a poor man, I would advise him to delay, for if Lady Vernon marries Reginald deCourcy, she will be very rich, and in a position to settle a great deal more upon her daughter than she can at present.”

It was not until a morning near the middle of February, however, that Sir James spied the bowed form of Dr. Driggs as the latter was departing from Portland Place and alighted from his carriage in great haste, afraid that his mother or cousin had been taken ill. To his relief, he saw Lady Martin with her workbasket at her feet and her sewing on her lap, and Lady Vernon reclining by the fire, covered with shawls. She smiled with her customary pleasure when he entered and held out her hand, though she did not stir from her position.

“You are not ill?” he asked at once, looking earnestly into her face.

“Illness is too dangerous an indulgence for any woman past the age of nineteen or twenty,” said Lady Vernon with a smile. “It wears down the looks of the sufferer and the patience of those who attend her.”

“It is the rain, nothing more,” declared Lady Martin. “It is of great use in the country, as it keeps everyone at home. I daresay I never got so much carpet work done as one spring when it rained for a fortnight without a day’s relief. But here in town a lady who lives very near her neighbor may run over and gossip and a gentleman who lives a street or two from his club will fall into hard play.”

“Particularly if he does not possess a conscience or a wife—which are very much the same. It is an easy thing for a man who is on his own in London to succumb to vice.”

“I am sure that there are many married men whose wives have driven them to vice.” Lady Vernon smiled.

“Married or single, a man will always look to someone else to blame for his frailties,” declared Lady Martin.

“I did not mean to suggest that vice is the inevitable consequence of living in London,” replied Sir James. “Only that those who are inclined toward it will find greater opportunity. At any rate, the rain does not keep the postboy away, and I have got several nice letters from Freddie. She gets on superbly with Sir Reginald—the son will not want for the father’s consent when he makes up his mind to speak. I am so convinced of it that I have made up my mind. I mean to give a ball in Freddie’s honor when she returns to London, and a ball will always be the best means of hurrying a romance on to a proposal.”

“A ball!” exclaimed Lady Martin. “What do you say to it, Susan? It will be quite as handsome as if she had been presented, James, for I know you do nothing by halves. But much of London still believes that she is your object. To have young deCourcy engage her interest under your very roof would make you a laughingstock!”

“But that ridicule would not extend to you, Mother, nor to you, Susan—and I think that neither of you would mind very much if I were made to look foolish.”

“How could we mind anything to which we are so well accustomed?” Lady Vernon replied with a grave smile.

“And when the proposals are made and the wedding date is fixed, I mean to settle Vernon Castle on Freddie as a wedding present, what do you think? Nobody else will take it off my hands and I cannot see them installed in Parklands Cottage.”

“Such a gesture may injure Mr. deCourcy’s pride.”

“Yes, but when he is made to understand Freddie’s affection for the place, his pride will be overcome by his love for her and that will be the end of it. I will write to Freddie at once and allow her to name the date for the ball, so that she and Miss Manwaring may begin to engage in that frenzy of decision over what each will wear, and whether they ought to dress their hair alike or in contrasting styles, and if artificial flowers are now more à la mode than fresh ones.”

He made several more remarks in this lighthearted tone, but when he took his leave, he made some excuse to get his mother to accompany him to the hallway and said in a low voice, “Do not trifle with me, ma’am, I beg you. Is my cousin well?”

“She is only a little pale, which comes from having no opportunity to get a good airing.”

“There is talk of influenza.”

“There is always talk of influenza—a spell of dirty weather will always bring about talk of influenza. Indeed, Miss Sophia Millbanke had almost decided upon taking it when Miss Elliot invited her to pass a fortnight at Kellynch. Miss Elliot’s father has a dread of anything like contagion, and Miss Elliot began to think that Miss Claudia Hamilton would suit her better, and that brought Miss Sophia around to health once more.”

chapter forty-nine

Lady deCourcy and her daughter had got very fond of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring. The young ladies were never idle; they were always teaching and playing with the children, or making up a table for whist in the evening, or writing the letters and lists according to Lady deCourcy’s dictation, or reading aloud, or playing on the pianoforte. Before the first week of their visit had concluded, Lady deCourcy declared her guests to be very good, pretty girls. “If Miss Vernon should marry Sir James,” she said to her daughter, “I think Miss Manwaring would do as well for my sister Hamilton’s clergyman. And if she will not have him, you might do well to engage her as governess. She is a clever, patient sort of person, her manners are good, and she reads aloud very nicely. But there is no need to hurry anything along, as I am not imposed upon in the least by having them here.”

Lady deCourcy was particularly pleased with Miss Vernon for taking Sir Reginald off her hands. She had never had very much to say to him and that had all been said in the early years of their marriage—afterward, her remarks were confined to “How tall our Reginald has got!” or “Catherine must have some new gowns for the winter,” to which Sir Reginald would reply, “I daresay you are right.”

His infirmity relieved her of even these inconvenient attentions, as they often had him confined to his own apartments, and Lady deCourcy had got into the habit of doing as she liked without consulting her husband’s opinion or making any accommodation for his wishes, while at the same time enjoying the expediency of Sir Reginald’s ill health when she did not like to do anything at all. She had settled into the comfortable conviction that she would not be troubled by him at all until his demise compelled her to order her mourning—and, indeed, she had already laid aside one or two things to have ready so as not to be caught up short.

Much to his wife’s dismay, Sir Reginald had improved so far as to spend much of his day with his family and young guests, and to join in their interests and conversation. Miss Vernon prevented Lady deCourcy from being imposed upon by taking Sir Reginald out of their way. They often breakfasted before the family had come down and then went out to examine the grounds and succession houses, calculating how many more pineapples might be got with just a little change in the soil and enumerating what remedies for poor digestion and sleeplessness and ill health might be cultivated in the kitchen garden. They sat down to dinner full of conversation, and if Lady deCourcy did not think that the table was a suitable place for terms such as mulching and bile, at least she was not troubled for her opinion of either.

Sir Reginald found Miss Vernon very different from the wretch edly educated young woman described in his daughter’s letters to his wife. It was only Miss Vernon’s natural diffidence and a disinclination toward show that prevented her accomplishments from being more generally known. Her nature was not so inscrutable, however, as to conceal a certain look of pensive admiration whenever Reginald’s name was spoken, and Sir Reginald began to think that it would be no hardship at all to regard her as a daughter.

He began to want to know more of her history, and as a means of encouraging her to speak, he would direct her attention to some feature of the grounds and inquire whether there was any similarity to Churchill Manor.

“It is more like Vernon Castle than Churchill Manor,” Miss Vernon would reply, and by inviting her to describe the similarities of the two estates, he obtained a description of the Staffordshire property and her own understanding (related with gentle candor that was careful to lay no blame upon her father) of how it had been lost.

“I am very sorry, for your own sake,” said he, “as the property might have been settled on you and the loss of your home in Sussex would have been less.”

“There are some losses that can never be lessened—and there is no advantage to myself that can compensate me for the loss of a most beloved parent.”

He was touched by the sincerity of expression; he did not believe that his own passing would produce such a response from Catherine. “I do not speak of the grief that the death of an excellent husband and father, friend and landlord, must produce, but of the material alteration in your circumstances.”

“Very few of my sex are so independent that they will never experience a material alteration in their fortunes. We are often impoverished when we lose a parent and sometimes enriched when we acquire a husband. One plight is certain to bring misery and the other is no assurance of happiness.”

“An advantageous match does not ensure happiness, it is true,” observed Sir Reginald, “and yet happiness must have something to live upon.”

“Yes, sir, but I am of the opinion that only women who are left with nothing to live upon can be so desperate as to put that something before all other considerations.”

“Then it is fortunate that you are not left desperate,” said he with a smile. “Sir Frederick was always spoken of as the most affectionate and generous of fathers, and Catherine has often written to us of Charles’s generosity toward your mother and yourself. I confess that I have not always had confidence in my son-in-law’s better nature, but perhaps it is that he has never had occasion to put it into practice.”

“I have always found nature to be remarkably consistent,” replied Frederica gravely.

The old gentleman detected Miss Vernon’s uneasiness, and after one or two attempts to encourage her to say something of her uncle’s conduct toward herself and Lady Vernon, he abandoned the subject and asked instead how far a spray of lemon water and clove oil would ward off beetles and ants.

When they parted in the hallway, however, Sir Reginald went immediately to his chamber and sat down to write a letter to his son.

Sir Reginald deCourcy to MR. deCourcy

Parklands Manor, Kent

My dear Reginald,

You know that prevarication is not in my nature, and I cannot begin a subject with all of the prelude and nicety that often serves only to give anxiety to the object. I must therefore lay my concerns before you without vacillation.

At the time of your sister’s marriage, there appeared no objection to Mr. Vernon other than some anxiety for the difference in age, as Catherine was three and twenty and Mr. Vernon a dozen or more years older. The disparity in itself was not greater than is often met with, and indeed in temperament they did appear to suit—yet for a gentleman who is a second son to come to the age of five and thirty with no profession and no residence beyond his set of rooms in town displayed a character wanting in proper ambition, one that looked entirely to a fortunate marriage or to the acquisition of the Vernon entail to provide for his comfort.

That your sister’s fortune was a significant inducement for him to marry her, I did not doubt; that efforts were made to shield me from the many rumors of his extravagance, I also cannot gainsay, but it was not until after their marriage that I heard anything of wretched companions and wasteful habits, and I continued to hope that the influence of a wife and family would prevail over temptation, and that my good brother’s giving Charles a profession would instill in him a sense of responsibility.

I knew very little of the relationship between Charles and his elder brother, and most of that came from Charles himself, as Catherine had no wish to know them—this may have been influenced by the jealousy a woman will feel when she is not a first choice (for I had heard that Charles had sought the hand of his sister-in-law). I had also heard (though I did not know how to credit it at the time) that Charles had enticed his brother into the speculation that had compelled Sir Frederick to sell Vernon Castle in order to reconcile his debts.

In forwarding an acquaintance with Miss Vernon, I have observed that any discussion of Vernon Castle or, more particularly, her uncle is steadily avoided and with an aversion for the latter subject that is very unusual from one who is, in all other respects, genteel, prudent, and self-possessed.

It would grieve me exceedingly to think that Charles may have used Lady Vernon and her daughter ill in any way, and yet it would grieve me more to know that such was the case and I had done nothing to repair it. Your Uncle deCourcy may be of some service to you in this—he was acquainted not only with Sir Frederick Vernon but with Lady Vernon’s father.

I will say in closing that I like Miss Vernon very much, but I am compelled to close my letter—there is no room to express the extent of my regard for her. She and Miss Manwaring talk of their visit ending inside a fortnight, and my brother writes to say that he means to travel to Parklands in order to bring them to town himself.

I am, etc.,

Reginald deCourcy

chapter fifty

REGINALD HAD ALWAYS BEEN A FAITHFUL CORRESPONDENT to both of his parents; letters from Parklands, however, came more frequently from his mother than from his father. Upon receiving word from her son, Lady deCourcy would immediately take up her pen, and having hurried her letter to the post, she would recall one or two more words of advice or caution and dispatch a second or even third reply; her husband, on the other hand, wrote only when a particular item of news, or a matter of grave urgency, warranted.

Reginald, therefore, opened his father’s letter with some apprehension and read it so eagerly that he scarcely took all of it in on the first perusal. Indeed, it was the closing paragraph that impressed him—there is no room to express the extent of my regard for her. He read it over many times before he returned his attention to the rest of the letter.

He was struck by his father’s words; at the time of Catherine’s marriage, Reginald had supposed that his father’s consent to the union had implied his approval. The apprehension expressed in his father’s letter recalled conversations and incidents from Reginald’s visit to Churchill that had not perturbed him individually but that now collected into a troublesome whole.

He immediately took up his pen to write to his father.

Mr. deCourcy to Sir Reginald deCourcy

Wimpole Street, London

My dear Sir,

I have this moment received your letter. I must confess that it compels me to look back upon incidents that (as they were intermingled with so many pleasant interludes) I can only view as ominous in light of your inquiry. These I will lay before you.

I had not been long in Sussex when I learned that my friendship with Lady Vernon had given rise to a rumor that I meant to make her an offer of marriage and also that her daughter was on the verge of an engagement to her cousin, Sir James Martin. Such rumors are not uncommon—the world has little patience for people who do not marry when they are free to do so—and yet they often spoke of poverty as Lady Vernon’s motive for wishing an advantageous union for herself and her daughter. That the survivors of Sir Frederick Vernon should be distressed for money did not seem likely, and yet more than once did Catherine suggest that Lady Vernon had come to Sussex on purpose to beg Charles for his financial assistance and that Miss Vernon was being urged upon Sir James because Sir Frederick had left her with nothing. Of Sir Frederick’s will, I know nothing, yet however improbable were Lady Vernon’s designs, sir, I gradually became convinced that her distress was very real, and though she is in possession of a very handsome house in town, that was settled on her by Lady Martin. I cannot find that anything of significance was left to her by her husband.

Several days after Miss Vernon’s arrival, Sir James Martin came to Churchill Manor. One evening at dinner he inquired after a portrait of Sir Frederick, which had hung in the gallery for many years beside those of Churchill’s previous masters, and it was revealed that Charles had ordered this portrait removed to one of the attics! Such an affront to his brother and his line! Lady Vernon must have felt the insult, and yet in all the time I was at Churchill, I never heard her utter a word of protest or reproach.

There are other incidents that, while not rising to the level of reprehensible conduct, do not speak well for the master of an estate. There seemed a callousness in the dismissal of many old family retainers; the property is poorly maintained; and the neighbors and tenants, to whom my brother, as master, owes some attention and hospitality, are neglected as well.

I wish, for my sister’s sake, that I could express a firm conviction that such lapses and omissions rise from my brother’s new and unfamiliar responsibilities as master of Churchill Manor; and yet, as my own circle of acquaintance has increased (for I was but seventeen at the time of Catherine’s marriage) and more of my time is spent among our mutual associates, I see how far his imprudence—his indiscretions—are known. I know that these have often embraced money matters, but can you believe—as you suggest in your letter—that my brother may have taken license with a trust that was meant to benefit Lady Vernon and her daughter? I wish, for the sake of Catherine and the children, that I could protest it at once. All I can say is that I do not know how such a thing can be easily proved and that any attempt at redress may only reveal that any fortune has been lost to my brother’s extravagance.

For Lady Vernon’s sake, I wish that something material might be done, but for Miss Vernon I think that a want of fortune will be no obstacle to her happiness. She is such a superior young lady that no gentleman of discernment would seek anything but her person in applying for her hand.

I am very happy to hear that she has secured your affection and your regard. Lady Vernon depends upon her returning to town in the early part of March, and I hope by that time you, sir, will part from her on such terms as will make you look favorably on the possibility of a more lasting connection.

I am, etc.,

R deC

chapter fifty-one

London proved to be less disagreeable than Lady Martin had feared, save for the necessity of leaving her cards at the houses of some connections whom she had not dropped, as their coming to London every season and her staying in Derbyshire had kept acquaintance at bay. She would read the newspapers or The Lady’s Magazine at the breakfast table and declare that there was no taste in politics nor sense in fashion. She was never without some kind of handiwork, and her fingers were so adept that they did not slow when her eyes wandered to the window and she exclaimed, “Only look at that muff that Miss Millbanke carries! I declare it goes to her knees!”—“Why, there is Mrs. Ferrars driving by, and both she and her pug in bottle-green velvet! I declare it suits the pup’s complexion better than her own!”—“There goes Mrs. Mapleton, as big as life, when I had every reason to suppose that she was dead!”

The honor of being received by Lady Martin and the opportunity of getting a look at Lady Vernon had many of these curiosities calling at Portland Place and coming away with gossip that was as excessively delightful as it was inaccurate; Sir James Martin was such a regular visitor that his engagement to Miss Vernon must be very close to being made public, and Mr. Reginald deCourcy was likewise so frequently at Portland Place that his intention to marry Lady Vernon was a certainty. Even the visits of Mr. Lewis deCourcy were attributed by some to matrimonial design—was it not possible that his long friendship with Lady Martin had ripened into love? To be sure, his visits might have no other purpose than to advise Lady Vernon on how she might invest the very great legacy left to her by Sir Frederick, and yet it was more delightful to think that aunt, niece, and grand-niece might all be bound for the altar.

By Dr. Driggs’s calculation, it would be another ten weeks before Lady Vernon’s confinement, and he did not object to her taking the air so long as she was neither compelled to sit in one attitude for more than an hour nor to climb in and out of the carriage too frequently, and provided the wind was not too brisk, nor the coach too warm, nor the air too wet, nor her shoes too thin. Lady Martin regarded all such decrees with patient disdain—some were too apt to forget that babies had come into the world long before anybody had thought to make a profession of writing receipts for dyspepsia and occasionally taking a pulse—but she was determined that nothing should be overlooked in providing for her niece.

The spell of rain ended, and one particularly mild morning Lady Martin announced that she had given orders for her carriage. “We both want an airing, and there is no better way of avoiding callers than being elsewhere when they arrive. I have it in mind to go to Rundell’s to purchase a pair of nice bracelets for Frederica to wear to the ball. Ah, me! My first season, when I was sixteen, I went to fifty balls and an equal number of musical parties and concerts and picnics. So many lively young men, and yet”—she sighed—“I settled upon your uncle. But he was a very good man, for all his gravity.”

Lady Martin had been so long from London that every change intrigued her. “How many more shops there are than when I was here last! Stop. I must see the ostrich plumes upon that bonnet!”—“Ah, just see those caricatures! Why, I daresay I know who that is without getting down to have a closer look!”

They made their way to Ludgate Hill at last, and Lady Vernon elected to sit in the carriage while her aunt went in to give her order for the bracelets. The part of town was very near to where she had lived as a girl, and she was absorbed in looking round the street and indulging in some pleasing memories when a rap at the carriage door brought her back to the present.

Lady Vernon was startled to see Manwaring standing beside the carriage, and pulling her lap robe higher upon her, she rolled down the glass to bid him good morning.

“What an excellent piece of luck to meet with you here! I would have called upon you today for I have the most astonishing piece of news. I think you will like to have the advantage of Alicia Johnson—for once, you will be able to surprise her.”

“It must be something very particular.”

“It is, indeed. I have been applied to for Maria’s hand—can you believe my good fortune? To have her out for five seasons at least, and thinking that I should have her on my hands forever! And you will never guess who the gentleman is!”

“I think it is Mr. Lewis deCourcy.”

The look of dejection upon his face brought her very near to laughing.

“Yes,” he said. “I confess that when the gentleman addressed me, I thought it was all a great joke! He was so very solemn! But he laid out his reasons for wishing to marry her very soundly, and what is more, he asks not a penny for her and will settle on her very handsomely. Of course, I gave my consent at once, though it is a very unequal match, but felicity in even the most equal matches is a matter of luck. And it will be a great comfort to me to have her so rich, for he is rolling in money and has never done more than purchase a very pretty house in Bath and some nice horses and carriages. And Maria asks for so little that they will not spend a quarter of what he brings in.”

“I am very happy to think that your sister will be so well settled.”

“And may I say that I am equally happy for Miss Vernon? It will be a great relief to you when her engagement to Sir James is announced—once she and Maria are married, we will both be at liberty to do as we like.”

Lady Vernon evaded this approach to familiarity by inquiring whether it was the business of Maria’s engagement that brought him into the city.

“Yes, indeed. There is a very fine diamond brooch that our mother had entrusted to me for Maria and it needs to be properly cleaned. I saw no occasion to present it to her before this, and I daresay there were times when I gave some thought to changing it for paste!” He laughed. “And in this part of the city, and Rundell being as discreet as he is, I have no doubt that I might have got away with it!”

“Save for those not infrequent pangs of conscience when your sister wore a brooch that your mother had entrusted to you and that you exchanged for paste.”

“Yes,” he replied, “and yet, if I could be assured that they were very infrequent, and the intervals between excessively delightful, I think that I could bear the inconvenience.”

“Your notion of conscience is a strange one! An inconvenience! And I suppose you would call it a blessing, then, to have no conscience at all?”

“To be entirely without one? Oh, yes! For when conscience has not kept a fellow from doing wrong, it may yet awaken afterward and subject him forever to the fear of discovery. It is better to do without.”

It was at this moment that Lady Martin bustled from the shop, amid bows and smiles from the shop owner, which signified that she had made a very costly purchase. She greeted Manwaring and they exchanged the usual civilities, which resolved that the weather was fine, the roads were well dried up, and that it was a very great coincidence to find each other in the same part of the city.

She then congratulated him upon Maria’s engagement. “I am certain that everyone will rejoice in their good fortune and that they are most certainly equals in everything that contributes to happiness.”

“I daresay there will be one party who will not be happy to have his uncle married,” said he with a knowing smile, and with a bow he bade the ladies good morning.

“What can he mean?” inquired Lady Martin of her niece. “‘Not be happy to have his uncle married’? Surely Mr. Reginald deCourcy will not begrudge his uncle any happiness.”

“I do not think that Mr. Manwaring was speaking of Reginald deCourcy, Aunt. I think that he must mean Charles.”

“Oh, I had not thought of that. I suppose Charles Vernon is also a nephew in a manner of speaking—and yet why would he care whether or not his wife’s uncle marries?”

“After Reginald deCourcy, his uncle is next to the entail, before it passes to the female line—and it is not unlike Charles to think first in terms of advantage to himself.”

“Yes, but to anticipate something so improbable as getting his hands on the deCourcy property! It is a very grasping and selfish manner of looking at things. How I should like to see Churchill Manor restored to a son of yours! James tells me that it has got run down, and it is not seven months since dear Frederick has gone! I would be very happy to give up the prospect of a namesake to have you get back all that you are due.”

“I do not think there is any prospect of getting it all back, Aunt,” Lady Vernon remarked with a sigh.

“Why, what do you mean?” demanded Lady Martin with a very penetrating look. “You must not be inscrutable and you know that I do not like to be kept in the dark about anything save for how James spends his time and money when he is out of my sight—the less I know about that, the better.”

Lady Vernon, with some hesitation, unburdened herself to her aunt regarding her situation, explaining the particulars of her husband’s will and repeating her conversation with Charles in which he had made it clear that her house in London and her modest income were all that she had a right to claim. “I beg you, Aunt, do not judge poor Frederick too harshly.”

“Aye, poor man. He was so content with the present. Too many men think that tomorrow will always be soon enough to provide for their wives and daughters.”

“I must take some share of the blame. I never addressed Frederick when I might have.”

“You did not wish to press your husband when his health was in a precarious state. But Frederick’s wishes for you and Frederica must have been very clear—no man of honor could dispute it. I have never liked Charles Vernon, but I did not think him lost to all obligation to his family. Oh, if I were but a man, I would call him out in an instant!”

“I beg you, Aunt, you must say nothing to James.”

Lady Martin nodded sagely. “Yes, yes. James is very slow to mind an insult to himself, but he will avenge an insult to family with no thought to the consequence. Yet what can be done? It is too much to hope that Vernon is a miserly sort and has spent nothing! To think of him running through your money at the card tables! Why, I recall how Admiral Harvey lost a hundred thousand pounds in an evening! It will be another two months before you are confined—even if you should have a son, there may not be a shilling left.” Then perceiving how the subject gave her niece pain, she attempted something like consolation. “There must be some comfort in the expectation that Reginald deCourcy will ask for nothing when he applies to you for Frederica, and so I think our best effort now must be directed toward that. There is nothing like a ball to bring about a proposal of marriage—I daresay I received three proposals the morning after Lord Murray’s ball. Let us run over to the warehouses. A nice white embroidered silk gauze over satin—we must do nothing by halves.”

chapter fifty-two

Mr. Vernon to Mrs. Vernon

Bond Street, London

My dear wife,

If I have not been a very regular correspondent, it is because I must suppose that anything of note has already been communicated by Reginald, whose range of acquaintance affords him society and engagements more extensive and varied than my own—even those invitations that come to a gentleman in my profession must often be declined as my modest rooms put it out of my power to reciprocate in the same style. I often think it a great pity that your parents had never thought it prudent to take a house in town, if not for their own pleasure, then for the pleasure and convenience of Reginald and ourselves. Even if I were to leave the banking house (as it is no longer necessary for me to have an occupation), my new situation must require that part of the year be spent in town. To do otherwise would be to deprive our children of the society from which the very best matches will proceed. How such an establishment is to be managed must wait upon a better understanding of how far the income of Churchill Manor will allow it—and yet it would be a great pity not to have an establishment sooner.

I am very glad to hear that my father-in-law is in improved health, and it occurs to me that if he is fit enough to travel, he may well wish to consult with one of the superior physicians in town. There are several very fine houses to let, and I am certain that I could find one that would suit Sir Reginald in every way. I know that my uncle goes to Parklands very soon to fetch your two young visitors back to London, and I think very little persuasion on your part will be wanted to have your father return with them. Lady deCourcy, I know, does not like London and will wish to continue with you and the children at Parklands—you may both be assured that if Sir Reginald does come to town, I will be very happy to attend him in any way he likes.

I think that our Uncle deCourcy would also like to have his brother in town for a reason that will come as a very great surprise to you—here is a bit of news! It is being said that he has come to an understanding with Lady Martin! I have this from Mrs. Johnson—I dined with the Carrs two nights ago and she was of the party—and it was declared to be a settled thing that our uncle is to marry. As this is news that cannot be withheld indefinitely from his family, I believe that Mr. deCourcy means to surprise you all with the news when he comes to Kent—you may have the advantage of him now, as I now know that we are both of the opinion that such surprises are very disagreeable things. Indeed, this news would be a most unpleasant surprise if it were to have an injurious effect upon our own fortunes—the deCourcy family can only benefit, however, as it is said that Lady Martin has something in her own right, which, if it does not come to a husband, would likely be settled upon Lady Vernon or her daughter. Indeed, the house in town that Lady Vernon now occupies was settled upon her by Lady Martin, thus putting it out of Sir Frederick’s power to direct that all of his property pass to his heir (which, I am certain, would have been his wish). Indeed, I think it is Lady Vernon who could do well with a comfortable set of rooms more easily than I, as she does not give any parties or dinners and leaves it entirely to her aunt to repay all of their calls.

I have, on occasion, stopped at Portland Place, but spoken only to Lady Martin, who said that Lady Vernon was unwell and could not receive visitors. I have heard that she is visited very regularly by a prominent physician, and, my dear wife, though I would not indulge your hopes prematurely, who is to say what may come of that? The influenza is not nearly so widespread as it is rumored—nobody of consequence has died of it—but if she were to be the first, we can hope for no better outcome of her inevitable marriage to Reginald, as it might leave him in possession of the Portland Place residence yet without the encumbrance of such a wife. The loss would, of course, take its toll upon such a sensitive nature as Reginald’s and likely keep him from ever marrying imprudently again. I must write no more, for to do so would unreasonably excite our hopes by fixing them upon an event that may not come to pass.

Of Reginald, I can write very little. In town our obligations and associates take us into very different circles. I see him occasionally at White’s.

I have taken your rings to Rundell’s, and the stones have all been reset as you have directed.

Your devoted husband,

Charles Vernon

Catherine Vernon read this letter more certain than ever of her husband’s solicitous and accommodating nature. To think of Sir Reginald’s health, to offer to attend to him in town, and even to offer her the hope that the wretchedness of Reginald’s union with Lady Vernon might be short-lived, exceeded all of her former notions of her husband’s benevolence.

She was very surprised, however, to hear that her Uncle deCourcy might think of marrying at so comfortable and settled a stage of his life, a feeling that was shared by Lady deCourcy, to whom she read her letter.

“I am quite shocked,” she declared. “There were one or two very eligible young ladies whom he might have married, though I do not think that Elinor Metcalfe was ever among them. Well, I cannot blame your uncle. If an opportunity to increase his wealth should come his way, it is his duty to take it, for the sake of you and Reginald, who inherit his money and property when he goes. Her motives are more incomprehensible to me, for being so comfortable a widow, what reason can she have to marry again? Could she be so fond of your uncle that she would sacrifice every worldly advantage to feeling? Your father will be quite shocked—I daresay it will set him back a great deal. He does not bear anything like a surprise as well as you and I do.”

Lady deCourcy was very soon called upon to suffer a surprise, however, when, from her dressing-room window, she saw her son alight from Lewis deCourcy’s carriage. She ran straightaway to Catherine’s apartments, crying out, “Reginald is come! What can have compelled him to come away from town with his uncle? Can it be that he and Lady Vernon have parted? It is too much to hope for! I must go down directly—you must hurry and dress. Miss Vernon is somewhere about the grounds with your father! Call Miss Manwaring to help with the children.”

She then ran downstairs and out the door to meet the two gentlemen. “My dear boy! You have come back again! Oh, how will your father bear the pleasure of seeing you home again so soon! I fear it will send him back to his bed! But how long do you stay—you must not hurry back to town.”

“I am afraid that we stay only a very short time, Mother. We are charged to bring Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring back to town.” He then inquired after Sir Reginald and was told that he was somewhere on the grounds with Miss Vernon, whereupon Reginald walked out to find them while Lady deCourcy hurried back upstairs to Catherine.

“How does Reginald appear?” inquired Catherine. “How are his spirits? Is he very low? Can Lady Vernon’s spell over him be broken?”

“It is almost too much to hope for—and yet there was no need for him to accompany your uncle unless he wished to get away from London. Your uncle’s prudent decision to marry Lady Martin must have awakened Reginald to the necessity of choosing dispassionately and with regard to his family—perhaps I may write to my dear sister Hamilton that all is not lost.”

Reginald, meanwhile, had been directed by the groundskeepers toward the summerhouse. There he spied his father and Miss Vernon examining some of the water plants upon one of the ornamental ponds. He was delighted to see his father in such improved health, for his color was robust and when he spoke his voice was clear and strong.

The elder gentleman was attending to Miss Vernon as she pronounced one of the plants to be a water hawthorn, “as there are very few pond plants that will show any bloom this early—the scent of vanilla, too, pronounces it most certainly to be water hawthorn.”

Sir Reginald began to inquire whether the plant was known to have any curative properties when he spied his son. He greeted him warmly and said, “I trust that your journey was easy and that I will find my brother well.”

“In health and in spirit, I have never seen him better,” replied Reginald. “And,” he added, addressing Miss Vernon with a knowing smile, “I hope the same may be said for your friend, Miss Manwaring?”

“I think that the very same may be said for her, sir.”

Mr. deCourcy then told Miss Vernon that he had seen her mother and aunt only the day before and was gratified to hear his father inquire, “I hope that you left them both in very good health—and I hope that you, Miss Vernon, will convey my thanks to them for giving up your company these four weeks so that you might study the curiosities of Kent.”

They found the rest of the party in the sitting room, and for half an hour Lady deCourcy kept them from anything like conversation by declaring again and again that the month had gone by very fast and that if the young ladies were of a mind to stay another fortnight, they would not at all be in the way. “Lady Vernon can certainly spare her daughter, and Miss Manwaring has only her brother and Mrs. Manwaring in town—and sisters and brothers are more often apart unless some unfortunate circumstance of economy should compel them to live together.”

“I cannot say whether you are right in the general sense,” replied Reginald with a smile, “but I think that in this particular case, we must yield to Mr. Manwaring’s affection for his sister and Lady Vernon’s for her daughter. In any case, when there is to be such a private ball in London as Sir James Martin means to give, I cannot think that even Miss Vernon’s delight in the curiosities of Kent would have her prefer the country over town.”

Miss Vernon’s blush was understood only by Reginald; Lady deCourcy supposed that it was a mark of chagrin at the mention of Sir James Martin, and she declared that Miss Vernon was of an age when the loss of one ball was of no consequence. “If she should stay another month, she may accompany Catherine to town, as there are some small errands and purchases that I wish her to make, and if at the end of that, Miss Vernon does not like to be left in town, she may come with me to my sister Hamilton’s at Gisbourne—I am certain that she would find it very picturesque. Indeed, the parsonage is one of the prettiest cottages in all of England, do you not think so, Reginald?”

“I think that everybody will always think cottages to be pretty and charming, save for those who are compelled to live in them.”

“Nonsense,” declared Catherine. “I am very sorry that I have been compelled to leave Parklands Cottage—though it is so spacious and well appointed that it is an affront to call it a cottage at all—and Kent is much more to my liking than Sussex.”

Sir Reginald saw a pained look pass over Miss Vernon’s countenance. “I must think that it is your fondness for your mother and me that influences your attachment, Catherine, and Miss Vernon can feel no less for Churchill Manor. Affection will always make a castle even of a cottage. But even if Gisbourne’s parsonage were a palace, I do not think that Miss Vernon can put off her return to London, as I understand that the ball Sir James Martin gives is in her honor.”

“And it is an honor that is not undeserved,” added Lewis deCourcy.

Lady deCourcy and her daughter said no more, and soon afterward the party broke up to allow the gentlemen to rest and refresh themselves after their journey and the young ladies to attend to packing their belongings for the return to London.

chapter fifty-three

Sir Reginald repaired to his son’s apartments and asked his brother to join them. “I think, brother, that I may be frank with you. I have laid my misgivings before Reginald and your long-standing acquaintance with Lady Vernon must make you a party to them. Many things that Miss Vernon has said—but more particularly what she has not said—have made me uncomfortable with Charles’s manner of dealing with her and Lady Vernon after Sir Frederick’s death.”

Lewis deCourcy looked very grave and gave a brief account of his interview with Lady Vernon on the subject when she had stopped at Bath. “Charles may not have done wrong in doing less than was stipulated by Sir Frederick’s will—I am only surprised that he has not done more. I know that the terms of the will were such as made sense at the time it was drawn, and indeed there is some merit in keeping fortune and property together.”

“Yes,” agreed Sir Reginald. “I would be remiss if I did not leave a good portion of money with Parklands, as I wish always for Reginald to keep it in proper style. But if the residue should be insufficient for Lady deCourcy’s comfort, I know that you, Reginald, would need no written document to compel you to do right.”

“I would not wish to remove any advantage from my niece and her children,” said Lewis deCourcy, “but I have often thought that it was a great pity that Sir Frederick and Lady Vernon did not have a son. If only Miss Vernon had been a boy—”

“I am sure that my son cannot agree with you there,” said Sir Reginald, smiling. “Charles has written to Catherine and suggested that I come to town for the benefit of a London practitioner, which I am inclined to do.”

“That cannot be necessary, brother. I have not seen you in such excellent health for some time.”

“For that, I credit Miss Vernon. Indeed, I do not think that I have ever been less in need of doctoring than in this past month. Charles’s invitation is given only with the object of securing a more comfortable situation at my expense—but he does not anticipate the price I mean to exact for his convenience.”

chapter fifty-four

The party did not reassemble again until dinner, and Sir Reginald immediately announced his intention of accompanying his son and brother to town.

Lady deCourcy endeavored to express something like concern and protest—“You are not in health to stand the journey, I think” and “There is talk of the influenza in London”—but after one or two more attempts, she decided that having Sir Reginald go to town would entail no difficulty or sacrifice on her own part, and that her time with Catherine might be even more pleasant when free of those inescapable attentions one is obliged to direct toward one’s husband.

The remainder of the dinner passed in pleasant conversation. Sir Reginald and Miss Vernon engaged in a spirited discussion of one or two projects that they had begun in the hothouses, and Lewis deCourcy joined his brother in recollections of some youthful incidents that the young people found highly diverting.

When Lady deCourcy made a move to rise, her husband’s brother rose and bade her wait. “I have some information that I think—I hope—will bring as much joy to my family as it has to me.” And taking the hand of Miss Manwaring, who was seated beside him, he continued, “Miss Manwaring has done me the very great honor to accept my hand in marriage, and as her brother has given his consent, I hope that I may persuade you all to wish us well.”

Lady deCourcy was far too surprised to express anything like joy and yet not so surprised as to be shocked into silence. “Engaged?” she cried. “Engaged to Miss Manwaring? Why, what do you mean, brother? If you mean to have a joke at our expense, it is a very poor one! Surely you mean to tell us that you have got engaged to Lady Martin!”

Reginald was compelled to smile at Miss Vernon’s attempt to conceal her diversion at the notion of a union between his uncle and her aunt.

“I assure you, sister,” said Lewis deCourcy with greater civility and forbearance than the lady deserved, “that my inexperience with the decorums which are part of the practice is not so great that it would lead me to mistake the object.”

Reginald now put himself forward to announce his prior intelligence and express his pleasure in the connection. “Though if I cannot bring myself to call you ‘Aunt’ you will forgive me,” he said to the young lady with a smile. “I hope that when the happy event takes place, you will consent to have me address you by your Christian name.”

Lady deCourcy was not quite ready to relinquish her protests. “You do not know what you are about. How can you think so little of your brother’s health? He cannot bear anything so shocking. A marriage to Lady Martin could be withstood well enough, but such a proposal as this will send him straight to his bed.”

“My dear, how could my brother’s happiness have anything but a most favorable effect upon me?” declared Sir Reginald. “I can think of only one other announcement that would make me happier than the prospect of my brother’s union.”

Then, rising from his chair, he went over to Miss Manwaring, took her hand and kissed it with great formality, then expressed his delight at the prospect of calling her “sister.”

Catherine, who had sat speechless throughout, suggested to her mother that it was time for the ladies to withdraw, and Lady deCourcy, with a reproachful look at them all, strode into the drawing room and took the chair closest to the fire.

Reginald accompanied the ladies in order to keep his mother from importuning Miss Manwaring. Fortunately for the young ladies, it was the custom for the children to be called down after dinner, and in entertaining them with some books and puzzles, Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring were able to avoid Lady deCourcy’s disapproving glances.

“I think I have been very ill used for Miss Manwaring to have presented herself as an unattached young lady!” maintained Lady deCourcy to her son and daughter. “Catherine and I had quite settled upon her as the children’s governess—they must have a governess and Miss Vernon will not do, for once she is in town, she will not be allowed to quit her mother’s house again until she marries Sir James Martin. I cannot blame Miss Manwaring—it is a very great step up for her to be a deCourcy, but I pity your uncle—to have got so foolish in his stage of life. I think your uncle is very much to be pitied, do you not agree, Reginald?”

“I think I shall reserve my pity for the Reverend Mr. Heywood, who has seen two excellent prospects come to nothing. A gentleman’s joy of surviving his wife must be considerably lessened if his second choice marries before circumstances allow him to make her an offer.”

“Reginald, do not run on in the manner that you do in town—I cannot bear such levity when I have been thwarted in everything.”

“How can you think yourself thwarted in anything, madam? You have a daughter married and four handsome grandchildren, a husband whose health is remarkably improved, and a brother-in-law engaged to a charming young lady. That is a very strange notion of ill treatment.”

“You delight in provoking me.”

“Indeed, I do not—but it is a provocation that you will not have to endure for very long. Tomorrow I return to town and you may be at peace once more.”

“I cannot be at peace while you are in town—I will imagine you in all sorts of mischief!”

“Then at least you will never want for something to think about.”

“I would rather you stayed with us in Kent—then I would not have to think about anything at all!”

“I would not for anything deprive you of the pleasures of imagination. As for mischief, I can only promise to get in as little as any gentleman can when in town, and to assure you that there will be those who put their mothers’ imaginations to the task, and with far greater cause than I.”

This was no consolation for Lady deCourcy, however, and she passed the rest of the evening in grievances and whist.

chapter fifty-five

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Vernon

Edward Street, London

My dear creature,

How unlucky that you should have been from home when I last called at Portland Place—it is so provoking, for I have had such a tale to tell! The rumors of Miss Manwaring and Mr. Lewis deCourcy marrying are quite true, but it was not until just now that I have learned that they are to be married to each other! This I have on the indisputable authority of Eliza Manwaring, who has this moment left us.

I had gone to Bedford Square, to call upon Lady Hamilton and her daughters. Miss Hamilton and Miss Claudia were with their mantua maker, having their gowns for Sir James’s ball finished, but Lady Hamilton was sitting with her youngest daughter and her husband. Mr. Smith has learned that forgiveness for his conduct is very easily come by—he has only to flatter Lady Hamilton and agree with her every opinion and pronouncement to be declared “a very agreeable sort of young man.”

I returned to find Eliza sitting with Mr. Johnson, and I had no sooner stepped into the room when Eliza demanded my congratulations upon Maria’s engagement and added, “They have both been so cautious—I do not call it a real courtship at all! Mr. Johnson has already heard the news, as he and Mr. deCourcy are such good friends, but you must confess yourself surprised, Alicia.”

“Mr. deCourcy!” I cried. I quite naturally supposed that she spoke of Mr. Reginald deCourcy—for he and Mr. Johnson are the greatest friends in the world since their introduction—and yet I could not believe that he would desert you for Maria Manwaring.

I cannot describe my shock when I was undeceived, and I shall never forgive Mr. Johnson, for he must have known this for a fortnight at least! Maria Manwaring and Lewis deCourcy! He must be thirty or more years her senior! He is very rich, of course, and Manwaring will be very happy to have her off his hands—indeed, you will have to be very prudent, as this is likely to make Manwaring more indiscreet than ever in his attentions toward you. I fear he is capable of some great imprudence and may act in such a way as to excite deCourcy’s jealousy and to make you miserable. I advise you, therefore, not to put off your marriage until Miss Vernon’s is a settled thing. You must think more of yourself and less of your daughter.

Mr. Johnson has reconciled himself to Eliza so far as to invite her and Maria to stay with us at Edward Street for the present. Such a reversal in feeling, such goodwill where there was once censure! Men are such inconstant creatures!

I am not disinclined to have Maria here. She will want a great deal of looking after now that she is to be married, and Eliza has been so little in town that she will not know where the best shops and warehouses are. And while she and Manwaring will not see each other, I am on such terms with Manwaring that I must necessarily be the proxy—I am certain that I can get him to spend more than he will be inclined to for Maria’s wedding clothes.

It is my understanding that Mr. deCourcy and his nephew have gone to Parklands to bring Maria and Miss Vernon back to town, and perhaps when they are settled, we may all make a little party of going around to the warehouses together?

Yours, &c.,

Alicia Johnson

Lady Vernon had received a note from her daughter announcing the day and time when she might be expected back at Portland Place. She was very surprised, however, when Lady Martin ran into her dressing room at the appointed hour, crying out, “My dear, the whole party from Kent has just this minute drawn up to the house in a barouche, and Frederica rides in the box with Reginald deCourcy! And what do you think? His father is among them!”

“He will not come in.”

“I daresay not, but it is a great compliment to Miss Manwaring and Frederica that he should accompany them.”

The eager footstep of Frederica was heard upon the stair and a moment later, she was in her mother’s embrace and then gave an equally affectionate greeting to her aunt and Wilson. “But you must come down to the drawing room, for Sir Reginald deCourcy most particularly wishes to be introduced to you.”

Lady Vernon was all astonishment—that the gentleman who only months earlier had written of her in such critical terms should call upon her immediately upon his arrival in town was a great compliment—and sending her aunt and daughter down to their guests, she asked Wilson to arrange her gown and shawls in order to conceal her condition as well as possible, before she joined the party.

The formidable introduction was made, and Reginald, who had watched with some apprehension as his father was presented to Lady Vernon, was relieved to see that the gentleman’s conduct was courteous and civil and that the lady’s every word revealed her superiority of taste and manner. Her warmth toward his brother and Miss Manwaring, her unreserved happiness in their engagement, advanced Sir Reginald’s good opinion of her.

For her part, Lady Vernon was pleased that Frederica was the subject of so much of Sir Reginald’s discourse (and with very little prodding from Lady Martin upon her niece’s looks and accomplishments); in recalling the many pleasant hours they had spent at Parklands, the old gentleman gave every indication of his regard for Frederica, and Lady Vernon was convinced that when Reginald did ask for her hand (as his looks and words toward Frederica gave every indication that he would) his father would not object to the match.

Their visitors stayed with them above half an hour, and when they walked out to their carriage, the shades upon many upper windows fluttered, and it was whispered in several drawing rooms that the appearance of Sir Reginald deCourcy at Portland Place must mean that he had relented and given his consent to his son’s marrying Lady Vernon at last.

chapter fifty-six

Charles Vernon had not been pleased when he learned of Lewis deCourcy’s engagement to Maria Manwaring. Although it was not likely that the union would produce any future claimants upon Parklands, it was hard to think that the considerable fortune of his uncle would go to a penniless girl, for Lewis deCourcy was the sort of gentleman who would not think of marrying anybody without first settling how she was to be provided for upon his demise. His sympathies might still be played upon—he might be persuaded to settle something upon the children—but Charles must give over all hope of having any of Lewis deCourcy’s fortune come to him.

His disappointment was offset, to some degree, by the satisfying news that Sir Reginald had come to town. Charles rehearsed a proposal to relinquish his rooms in order to reside with his father-in-law, an offer that began with an earnest desire to be of use to Sir Reginald and concluded with a list of residences that were suitably quiet, convenient, and grand. He determined that the arrangement would entail no more than occasionally writing letters of business or performing some commission in the city, a small sacrifice for securing a handsome address in town.

Charles received word of his father-in-law’s arrival and immediately waited upon him at Reginald’s address in very sanguine spirits, which supported him until he was ushered into the gentleman’s presence. Then his confidence weakened, for Sir Reginald’s appearance and demeanor were no longer fragile and retiring; instead of losing ground since they had last parted, Sir Reginald now appeared to be in very good health—his complexion was ruddy, his eye sharp, and his voice clear and resolute.

Charles stammered out a greeting and could not help adding, “I am surprised to see you looking so well, sir.”

“I am well, which I must attribute to the advantage of good company—of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring I cannot speak too highly, and I am always happy to see Catherine and the children. But you appear more surprised to see me in health than pleased about it.”

Charles’s protests were cut short by Sir Reginald, who added, “You can, however, be no more displeased than I, as I hear accounts of your conduct that disappoint me exceedingly.”

“I cannot imagine. What can you allude to?”

“Churchill. Churchill—that word should be sufficient.”

Charles first went white and then colored deeply. “Churchill?” he stammered. “How can the single word ‘Churchill’ be interpreted to my discredit?”

Sir Reginald needed nothing more than the look of guilty apprehension upon his son-in-law’s countenance to confirm that his suspicions, which he hoped had imputed too much to Charles, had instead assigned too little. “Do you require particulars?”

“Sir, to simply utter the name of my family home—and the home of your daughter and grandchildren—conveys nothing that supersedes the necessity for more.”

“Then, however much it pains me to speak so to the husband of my daughter and the father of my grandchildren, I must be frank. If even I, living in seclusion, with so little company and correspondence, have come to hear accounts of your misconduct during the life and since the death of your brother, can you think that the world in general is ignorant of it?”

“‘Misconduct’?”

“To have abused the trust of your brother and robbed Lady Vernon and her daughter of all peace and security.”

“I have acted in no way that contradicted the directions laid down in my brother’s will. You may apply to his attorney in Sussex, Mr. Barrett, if you have any doubt.”

“I have no doubt as to Sir Frederick’s instructions, nor do I doubt that they were faithfully carried out by Mr. Barrett, but that does not excuse your want of regard. To be so often at Sir Frederick’s side during his infirmity left him susceptible to your persuasion, which might have been employed in encouraging your brother to better provide for his wife and daughter.”

“If I did not exert as much as I ought, it was only to spare my brother the anxiety and activity that might have sent him into a decline—and if the worst did come to pass, would you have me argue in favor of Lady Vernon and her daughter, who will always have the protection of the Martins, at the expense of Catherine and your grandchildren? My brother’s fortune must substantially benefit them.”

“Nobody can benefit from a legacy if it is squandered in high living,” replied Sir Reginald coldly.

“Sir, I have lived in town more modestly than most gentlemen of my station—indeed, much lower than I ought, as Lady Vernon’s settlement entitled her to the house on Portland Place.”

Sir Reginald endeavored to conceal his disgust at the self-interest that could not even comprehend a sense of wrongdoing—yet he could not accuse his son-in-law without feeling the full measure of his own neglect. He ought not to have allowed the marriage. Catherine’s sentiments had been guided only by the belief that at three and twenty she ought to have a husband, and Lady deCourcy had promoted the match as one that would allow her daughter the distinction of being married while placing her in a situation that would (as Charles Vernon had no property, nor the immediate means of securing any) support their settling where the relationship of mother and daughter might continue uninterrupted. Governed by expedience and ease, and his brother’s efforts to secure Charles Vernon some respectable means of employment, Sir Reginald had given his consent to the match. The ability to have his daughter and son take up residence on the property gave Sir Reginald some measure of satisfaction as he might—if he wished to exert it—oversee his son-in-law’s conduct. That he did not exert to correct in Charles the want of principle that might have spared Miss Vernon and her mother such misery made him now sensible of something like responsibility—refusing his consent to a marriage with Catherine would likely not have reversed the course Charles had taken, but had Sir Reginald been more conscientious, it might have instilled in Charles something like conscience.

“You have no immediate need of a house in town,” replied Sir Reginald. “Colonel Beresford’s house on Berkeley Square is put up to let and I have taken it for two months—you may give up your quarters and take up residence there. You cannot want to be away from Churchill Manor beyond two months, as I understand it is in need of the sort of supervision that cannot be done from town. As for your decision to give up your position at the banking house, I support it. You must devote yourself to putting your own house in order. Churchill Manor cannot be properly managed if your interests are divided by an occupation that draws you so often to town.”

The arrangement that Charles had hoped for was beginning to lose some of its luster. He was persuaded that he was over the worst of it, but there was a parting shot, which was very hard upon him. “You will give up your clubs. They will no longer be necessary to keep up business associations and are a poor place to be idle, for they will draw one into debts of honor, which may erase many years’ independence. I will excuse you now, as you will have some arrangements to make in quitting your rooms.”

Charles took leave of his father-in-law with as much poise as he could summon. He was relieved that the subject of how much of his brother’s legacy was left at his disposal had been avoided, and decided that a respite from his clubs and associates (until the next quarter came due and Catherine was persuaded to cajole something from her father) would not be a great inconvenience.

chapter fifty-seven

Sir Reginald did not wait until he was installed at Berkeley Square to call upon Miss Manwaring’s brother. Manwaring received him with informality and giddy spirits, which caused Sir Reginald to wonder that anyone could think that Lady Vernon had invited the attentions of such a frivolous creature. Manwaring’s congratulations were directed toward himself as often as toward the engaged couple. He expressed his relief that Lewis deCourcy would take Maria for nothing—“for our father provided her with little, and I am sure that it was costly enough for me to keep a roof over her head and buy her three or four new gowns every winter.” In working his way around the subject of money (in order that his sister’s future relations clearly understood how little he could do for her), Manwaring lapsed into several anecdotes of those speculations that accounted for his having nothing at all to give Maria. Sir Frederick Vernon was a minor player in one of his tales, and Sir Reginald asked just enough, and deduced just enough, to think that rather than being too harsh with his son-in-law, he had been too liberal.

He followed this visit with a call upon Miss Manwaring. The lady had gone out in the company of Mrs. Johnson, and Sir Reginald meant only to leave his card, but when Mr. Johnson understood who the caller was, he came out from his library and greeted the gentleman. The reticence of one and the formality of the other were rapidly overcome—Mr. Johnson’s high opinion of Miss Vernon and Reginald deCourcy ensured the old gentleman’s regard and drew them into a conversation that centered around their mutual acquaintance and ended with an engagement to dine the following week.

Not even the satisfaction of accompanying Miss Manwaring and Eliza on a round of shopping and calls could console Alicia Johnson for not being at home to receive Sir Reginald deCourcy. She coaxed from her husband as much as she could, which involved too much conversation for him yet too little to satisfy her.

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Vernon

Edward Street, London

My dear friend,

I fully meant to call yesterday, but it was absolutely necessary to take Maria to the mantua maker, where she was fit for her gown, and today we were obliged to go around with Eliza, and then we were all to drink tea with Mrs. Carr. And you cannot think—it is too provoking! Sir Reginald deCourcy called while we were out! He did not merely leave his card but was a half hour talking to Mr. Johnson—Mr. Johnson was not at all displeased by having been taken away from his books. Indeed, he was so very far from being displeased that he invited Sir Reginald to dine with us next week! We will have his brother and son as well, and I hope that when the date is fixed, you will consent to make up the party. Indeed, I thought to call upon you today, but we had not been home a half hour when Manwaring called. Mr. Johnson will not receive him, of course, but concedes that he must be admitted now and again until Maria marries, and that will be so soon that she will be married from Edward Street.

I assure you, I did not expect anything more from Manwaring than congratulating himself upon Maria’s engagement and talk of you—but upon the latter subject, he was very strange! He told us that Sir Reginald deCourcy had waited upon him, and that something was dropped in the conversation of your having nothing at all—not so much as a penny! Manwaring said that Sir Reginald led him to believe that your husband left all of his money to Charles Vernon!

Are you not diverted? The old gentleman is very sly, for this little falsehood must be calculated to drive off his son’s rival. You will certainly not be troubled anymore with Manwaring’s attentions if he thinks you have nothing! I congratulate you, my dear friend, for it seems that Sir Reginald has capitulated entirely! Manwaring says that he is to take the Beresfords’ house for two months, and so I must conclude that you will be a married woman before the season is out.

As you cannot mean to marry before Miss Vernon, I expect that she has overcome her aversion to Sir James—their wedding must be the grandest of the three, but I will be as happy to attend your nuptials quite as well as Maria’s.

Your devoted friend,

Alicia Johnson

chapter fifty-eight

The day of Sir James’s ball arrived, and it was decided that Miss Manwaring would come to Portland Place to dine and spend the night. They barely tasted the meal and excused themselves from the table as soon as they could to hurry to Miss Vernon’s apartments. Their gowns were donned, their hair was arranged, their gloves and fans and shawls gathered up, and then they went to show themselves to Lady Martin, who was to accompany them, and to Lady Vernon, who was to remain at home.

Lady Martin entertained the young ladies with tales of the many balls she had attended as a girl: “The table for dinner was three hundred feet long with a centerpiece of white orchids and green fern all entwined with a riband of crimson satin from one end of the table to the other—and the entire thing was not fabric and flowers at all, but fashioned out of spun sugar!”—“Five or six full chandeliers, and each one was said to cost eight thousand pounds!”—“White velvet from head to toe—even to her slippers! And she came out of the evening with scarcely a spot upon it, for she danced only one dance and would eat and drink nothing at all.”

The effect upon the young ladies was to amaze Maria Manwaring, who began to think that all the time she had been out had been squandered attending very inferior balls, and to frighten Frederica, who had never been to a ball in all her life.

When their carriage turned along Cavendish Square, a sensation of awe overwhelmed any remaining feelings of delightful anticipation. The carriage was forced to settle into a queue of three dozen vehicles.

“Good heavens!” cried Lady Martin. “He has invited all of London! Look how Lady Millbanke hurries her girls down from the carriage, as she is eager that one of them will get Sir James for the first dance. I will not have us scramble down the street in such a common fashion!”

The progression of the carriage to the door took a full half hour, and when their destination was at last in view, they were very happy to see Mr. Lewis deCourcy step ahead of the footmen to hand the ladies down, claiming Miss Manwaring with that particular confidence of a successful lover.

Frederica began to feel the effect of her appearance in the whispers and glances that attended her party as they ascended the stairs. In town, private balls varied from one another only in the setting, but the company was very much the same—anybody new was an object of great curiosity, and Frederica had the advantage of her adventure at Miss Summers’s, her connection with the Martins, and her elegance of dress to provoke audible murmurs of “She is every bit the beauty that her mother is!” and “Her gown cannot have cost her less than a hundred guineas!”

The room they entered was splendidly appointed and ablaze with light; the effect upon Frederica was quite overpowering and she would have turned away into one of the quieter passages when her cousin approached and took her hand. “And where is your mother? I know that she cannot be dancing, but it would have been quite allowable for her to come as your chaperone.”

“My mother was certain that my aunt would do as well and that her presence would not be missed.”

“I can agree with the first sentiment, but I protest the second. But, come, you must attend to your office—as the guest of honor, you must receive with me.”

“Oh, no—you must take my Aunt Martin!” cried Frederica in horror.

“Nonsense!” declared Lady Martin, who had come up behind them. “I see a fine chair in the corner, if Lady Millbanke does not claim it, where I can watch the dancing. You have said nothing of the girls’ dress, James, and they both took most particular care. I must have some compliments to bring back with me to Portland Place.”

“I cannot hope to be more eloquent than their own mirrors, Mother. Miss Manwaring has a very particular bloom that must be attributed to more than the becoming shade of her gown. I cannot hope to interest you in any of the first dances, Miss Manwaring, as there is one who has the greater claim, but I would be very honored if you would oblige me later in the evening.”

The lady gave him a very pretty smile.

He then attended his cousin to her post, where she was obliged to curtsy and shake hands with a great many people and think of some answer to their pleasantries that at least gave the impression of ease and interest. There was only a moment of coolness when Lady Hamilton appeared with her eldest daughters. The Hamiltons could not bring themselves to decline an invitation to so superior a gathering, and yet they were deeply humiliated to see Frederica at her cousin’s side and to think of her making such a fine match, when her mother had stolen Reginald from Lavinia.

When the company was well assembled, Frederica had hoped to be released from her cousin’s side and go to her aunt, where she might sit and observe in silence. Her knowledge of how everything was to proceed had come only from conversation and books, and she was discomfited, therefore, to learn that she was to open the ball with her cousin. The artlessness that had preserved her from any fear of not having a partner was unequal to this discovery. “Oh, but, cousin—surely it cannot be my place! There are so many young ladies who are higher—who have a right to expect the distinction!”

“Yes, there are too many of them who expect it, but none who deserves it more,” he said as he conducted her to the top of the room. “Have no fear, cousin, I will claim only the two first—it was quite settled between young deCourcy and myself that I should have you open the dance and then he may have as much of your company as he likes.”

Frederica replied with a blush and a toss of her head, and began the dance with more elegance and composure than she was feeling. It was her nature to learn everything thoroughly, and when impressed with the fact that young ladies must dance, she had applied herself to the process with as much dedication as to science, and with as much success. The attention of everyone was engaged by their host and his partner as they went down the dance; they saw nothing that suggested an aversion to her cousin on Miss Vernon’s part and yet nothing that indicated anything like infatuation on his. The rumors of their engagement had everyone on his side—he was handsome, amiable, and rich, and Miss Vernon was a very great fool if she did not like him; yet that had been resolved before she was seen very much at all. Indeed, she was everything that was lovely and elegant, and many of the young men who had precipitately engaged other partners for every dance began to regret their haste, while those who had saved a dance or two readied themselves to petition her in the course of the evening.

Sir James would have escorted her to his mother, but Lucy Smith caught Frederica’s hand as soon as she had finished dancing and whisked her to the side of the room. “How exquisite your gown is! I have such a good bit of gossip! You will die of laughter when I tell you! They are all so angry that Lavinia could not sit still to have her hair dressed! Only look how it has frizzed all over! My uncle has written to my mother and told her that Reginald does not mean to marry Livvy! Only think of all the gentlemen she took no notice of because she was secure of him! My uncle’s letter was so solemn—‘We erred, my dear sister, in substituting our own wishes for theirs, and supposing that filial obligation must include a surrender of all inclination. Reginald’s heart, I believe, has been fixed elsewhere’!” Here, Lucy broke into a fit of giggles. “Ah, you look so conscious! And to have Sir Reginald call upon your mother so immediately upon coming to town—so, is it all settled between them?”

The color rushed into Frederica’s cheeks. The journey from Kent to London had increased her and Reginald’s admiration of each other—Reginald was captivated by her thoughtful conversation and her beauty, and she was very pleased with his opinions and manners. The engagement of Maria and Lewis deCourcy, moreover, had put them both in a frame of mind to think and talk of marriage, and the length of the journey was just enough for them to understand that their views on the subject were very much the same.

Still, Lucy spoke as though Reginald or his father had already addressed Lady Vernon and Frederica was undecided whether to be pleased at Lucy’s conviction that Reginald had declared himself or to be offended that he had not declared himself to her before speaking to her mother.

“Ah, here comes my dear Smith again,” declared Lucy, “plaguing me to dance—to have him importune me so when he sought my hand was well and good, but a husband does not need to court his wife.”

Mr. Smith claimed her, and Frederica began to make her way around the room toward Lady Martin, when a group of people standing together to comment upon the dancing and the company barred her path, and she happened to catch some of their conversation. “Lady Vernon has quite captivated young deCourcy, I understand, and Sir Reginald has come to London on purpose to give them his blessing. They must wait until Miss Vernon weds Sir James, of course—it would not be suitable for the mother to marry before the daughter.”

Can that have been Lucy’s meaning? Frederica wondered. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry—she had come to be inured to the belief that she was to marry Sir James and was content that such a rumor must die out in time—but to think that Reginald was to wed her mother!

She went and sat down beside her aunt.

“Why, what is the matter, child? You are quite pale. One dance cannot have done you in, for here comes young deCourcy to claim you.”

“Oh, Aunt, I cannot—do make some excuse! What significance will everyone put upon our dancing together?”

“What do you mean?”

Reginald came up to the ladies and bowed, and after exchanging a few words with Lady Martin, he petitioned Frederica for the next set.

Frederica could not refuse. She danced the first dance with more diligence than feeling, and as the second was to begin, Reginald looked at her closely and said in a low voice, “I think that you would rather sit down—may we not go up to the conservatory? It will be cooler there.”

Frederica took his arm and they went up to the conservatory, which was arranged with an elegance and discrimination that would have surprised those who believed Sir James to be thoughtless and shallow.

“These occasions so often take on the importance of a debut—a newly engaged couple or a lady’s being out will always make someone or other the object of attention. Miss Manwaring bears the discomfort of being stared at very well, and as my uncle sees no one save for her, he is equally free of distress. You feel for them more than they feel for themselves, I think.”

“I feel nothing but joy for them, I assure you,” replied Frederica. “But my weeks at Parklands had put everything unpleasant very far from my thoughts, and I had forgotten how many had convinced themselves that I was to marry my cousin.”

“It cannot be disconcerting to be admired by Sir James—he cannot distress you. Is it, then, the notion of marrying anybody that you find to be unpleasant?”

“Oh, no!” she replied with a blush. “I have known more happy marriages than unhappy ones. It is not the prospect of marriage but the rumors that distress me—not of a union between Sir James and myself, but between my mother and—and you.”

She observed his reaction to her words carefully. If his response to the rumor of a marriage to her mother was either laughter or indignation, she was convinced that she could not like him.

He did not laugh, however, nor did he recoil. He smiled gravely and said, “Such rumors began when I arrived at Churchill Manor, and your mother was good enough not to ridicule the notion. She, very sensibly, accounted for the gossip by saying that when a single gentleman and lady are under one roof, everybody will want to have them married. I do not deny that I admire Lady Vernon. Her superior company helped my leisure hours at Churchill Manor pass very pleasantly, and after your arrival we developed a greater rapport, as we had an interest in common.”

Her attentive expression and sweet smile gave him all of the encouragement he needed to continue. “Miss Vernon, I am confident in my own sentiments—my gratitude for the very material improvement in my father, which I must attribute entirely to you, would itself be a sensible foundation for affection—and I know you to be a young lady who ranks sense very highly. But I have other grounds for regard—I assure you I have a dozen speeches ready in praise of your kindness, your accomplishments, and your excellent understanding, if you will hear them.”

Frederica had not the advantage of romantic novels, which would have taught her how to simper and waver and hold him in suspense. “Indeed, I need not hear them,” she replied. “For if you are too excessive in your commendation, it may stir up my vanity, and if you are too moderate, it will injure my pride.”

“Even the most extravagant praise of you must fall short of the truth,” he replied. “And any expression of my own admiration and love, however eloquent, will be less than you deserve.” He then proceeded to declare himself in as warm and rational a manner as a young lady of scientific disposition could wish, and asked for her hand in marriage.

Frederica hesitated, not from any reluctance to accept the offer but from an understanding of the enormity of the honor—but sense overcame her reticence and, in language that gave him no doubt of her affection, she accepted him.

“We will now have the happy task of undeceiving everyone who had us marry elsewhere.” He smiled. “But I think there will be at least as many who are happy for us as those who are disappointed.”

Frederica, imagining that he might immediately go down and proclaim his successful love to all the company, reminded him of their obligation to seek their parents’ consent before a more general announcement was made. “I would not have anyone happy before Mother and Sir Reginald,” she declared.

They joined the company once more, and although Reginald was obliged to yield Frederica to a succession of partners and to offer himself to several young ladies who would otherwise have had to sit out a dance, when they were together, they appeared so cheerful and animated as to persuade everyone that young deCourcy had reconciled Frederica to his union with her mother and that she had at last resigned herself to marrying Sir James.

While Sir James was seeing his mother to the carriage, Reginald drew Frederica aside, and they decided that their parents’ consent must be asked as soon as possible. “I think—I hope—that Sir Reginald will be happy,” said Frederica. “But I am afraid that the joy of Lady deCourcy and the Hamiltons will not be so easily won.”

“Whether or not they will approve, they must be resigned to what is inevitable,” declared Reginald. “I have left everyone else to cultivate my happiness too long, and they have been very poor gardeners—I must attend to it myself.”

chapter fifty-nine

Frederica was too happy to wait for daylight to make her important communication to her mother. Lady Vernon laughed, wept, and said, “Your father would have been so very pleased with your choice,” then wiped away her tears and smiled once more. Upon Frederica’s urging, she rang for Wilson, who hurried from her bed, fearing some change in her mistress’s condition; her congratulations were asked for and enthusiastically given, and their expressions of joy were so great that they drew Lady Martin from her own quarters.

“What? Are you still up, Susan? Are you ill?”

Her anxiety for Lady Vernon was immediately set right and her delight at Frederica’s news could barely be contained. “Oh, Lord bless me! Did I not tell you? Did I not say how well they were suited to each other? Oh, what a handsome couple you will make—and Miss Manwaring being married to his uncle! Oh, but it is not right that we should all celebrate and Miss Manwaring be left out!” she insisted, whereupon Miss Manwaring was called from her quarters to share in their joy.

Nearly an hour was spent in talking, until at last Lady Martin determined, “We must all get ourselves to bed. There will be enough time for talking tomorrow when we are refreshed—then we can go over the entire ball. I daresay I never saw anything as curious as Miss Hamilton’s hair! Why, I recall that I was proposed to at a ball myself—it was not your uncle, for a ball is a very romantic place to propose and your uncle did not have a romantic bone in his body—though he was a very good man, for all that. Come, we must get to bed.”

The morning hours of Portland Place were not late as a rule, but on the morrow, the girls and Lady Vernon were still in bed when Lady Martin came down to breakfast. She had just poured out her coffee and put a saucer of cream down for her cats when the door was thrown open and Sir James was ushered into the room.

“Good morning, Mother! Is no one else down? I had hoped that I might find all of you together so that I might be properly congratulated. Have no fear, nothing has got around yet, for half of respectable London and all of the scoundrels and gossips are still in bed, but I needed no confirmation other than deCourcy’s looks and Freddie’s smiles last night as the dancing progressed. Did I not tell you that the ball would do the trick? I take all the credit for the engagement that can be spared from Freddie—I will allow generously for her beauty and cleverness and the gracefulness of her dancing, but I must have my share of praise for bringing young deCourcy to the point.”

“And what did you do?” scoffed Lady Martin. “Frederica’s beauty comes from her mother’s side, for her mother was an Osbourne, and her cleverness was helped on by her parents and Miss Wilson, and the gracefulness of her dancing must be attributed to her own application to the process!”

“Well, then—I have sharpened her wits.”

“A girl needs very little wit to say ‘I will’ when a gentleman asks her.”

“You are determined not to flatter me at all—it is a pity that Susan is not up. She would not be so miserly with her praise. I must wait until tonight, for we are all to dine with the Johnsons. I am in such good spirits that I do not even mind that Charles Vernon is to be of the party.”

Sir Reginald and Mr. Lewis deCourcy called some time later, the former to address Lady Vernon and the latter to escort Miss Manwaring back to Edward Street.

Lady Vernon, whose natural fatigue had been increased by very little sleep, received Sir Reginald in her dressing room. He thought her very pale and languid, though she held out her hand in welcome, and her eyes glowed with pleasure when he told her how very pleased he was with his son’s choice and assured her that he gave his hearty consent to the union of their children. “Miss Vernon is everything I could wish in a daughter, and her disposition will complement Reginald’s in every regard. As to the date and the particulars, it must be arranged with respect to your situation; I would not impose upon your mourning and I hope that seeing your daughter to the altar will bring you a little happiness to lighten your sorrow.”

Lady Vernon thanked him, for his present kindness and for the many kindnesses he had shown Frederica while she was at Parklands. “Your son’s offer does credit to his heart, but with you I may be frank—it must be an offer that is entirely disinterested. My daughter has no fortune—certainly nothing like what would have been settled upon Miss Hamilton can be settled upon Frederica.”

“I am very sorry for Miss Vernon that such is the case—sorrier, indeed, because I must think that it would be otherwise but for the interference of my son-in-law. If I could compel him to make amends, I would do so. As it is, I can only give you my assurances that no claim to any entitlement save for Miss Vernon herself is sought.”

He then rose to take leave, as she did not seem to be equal to a prolonged conversation. He asked permission to call upon her again and assured her that she might very soon expect to receive a letter from Lady deCourcy giving her blessing and approval to the engagement.

Maria proposed that Frederica accompany her to Edward Street to spend the day, and Lady Vernon decided that she would just as soon be spared the paroxysms of astonishment and agitation when her dear friend Alicia Johnson learned of Frederica’s engagement.

Mrs. Johnson’s emotions were indeed thrown into turmoil by the announcement—Miss Vernon engaged to Reginald deCourcy! How could he have proposed to the daughter when everybody had him all but married to the mother? And yet how much more exciting to have Miss Vernon, rather than her mother, as Reginald deCourcy’s object. Lady Vernon was not quite eight months a widow—if she were to marry now, everything must be delayed and done in a very modest fashion, but Miss Vernon’s engagement must entail a great deal of shopping and visiting. And what a round of parties and balls and receptions there would be!

Mrs. Johnson was well into a reverie that had her looking through pattern books and overseeing the selection of laces and veils when she was struck with another thought. What of Sir James Martin now that Miss Vernon was not to marry Sir James! The notion that he was unattached roused her to action—she must immediately call upon Lady Hamilton and Lady Millbanke and Mrs. Carr and tell them that Sir James Martin was eligible once more, and leaving the two girls to the company of Mr. Johnson—which was to leave him alone in his library and the girls to a happy tête-à-tête in the sitting room—she hurried out the door.

chapter sixty

As Miss Manwaring and Miss Vernon were arranging their dress for dinner, a note was handed up to the latter.

LADY M ARTIN TO M ISS V ERNON

Portland Place

My dear girl,

I send this with another note to Mrs. Johnson asking her to excuse your mother and me from dining tonight. I have said only that your mother is not well—it is many, many hours before anything more in the way of explanation will be required. I would not have you stay to dine at Edward Street if you would rather be at home, but you can do nothing here, while there you may keep up such appearances as will prevent James from hurrying to Portland Place and making a nuisance of himself. It is a part that will require some presence of mind, but I have every confidence in your abilities and assure you that Wilson’s and mine are equal to the present state of affairs.

Yours, etc.,

E. Martin

Mrs. Johnson was excessively displeased by her letter. “Why, it was to have been very evenly laid out—six ladies and six gentlemen!” she expostulated to Eliza Manwaring. “If I had been given more notice, I might have invited somebody else. I do not think that Miss Hamilton and Miss Claudia would have come, as they must be very angry at their cousin, but I owe something in the way of a dinner to Mrs. Younge, who might have brought her niece.”

“At least it will not be an odd party,” consoled Eliza. She was all contentment, for she was to dine in the company of Sir Reginald deCourcy and his son, which was a mark of distinction she had never enjoyed when at Langford.

Sir James was more displeased than Mrs. Johnson at the absence of his mother and cousin. He was inclined to excuse himself at once and go directly to Portland Place, but Frederica’s presence reassured him that she would not stay to dine if her mother were ill.

The remainder of the party arrived and Frederica was quite surprised to see the change in her Uncle Vernon. His countenance was wan and tense, and when he congratulated the young ladies upon their good fortune, he did not know where to look. Toward Frederica he was particularly ill at ease, and he retreated to the company of gentlemen, though he seemed to have little to say to any of them. At dinner, he was seated between Mrs. Johnson and Eliza, where he was principally occupied in repeating to one the remarks the other had not heard.

During a change in the courses, there was just such a lull in the conversation that allowed Sir James to address the entire party. “My young cousin’s engagement compels me to think of my obligation as her nearest male relation—from her mother’s branch of the family,” he added with a nod in Vernon’s direction. “I have decided upon my wedding present, which I know will please Freddie and I hope will please you, deCourcy.”

“If it pleases Frederica, then it will please me,” said Reginald with a smile.

“But you must tell us what it is,” urged Mrs. Johnson.

“It is a garden—indeed, several gardens—laid out in some of the finest property in Staffordshire.”

“Staffordshire!”

“Yes, what a wonderful opportunity your engagement presents, for I may get Vernon Castle off my hands at last.”

“Sir, I must protest,” declared Reginald.

“Yes, indeed you must.” Sir James laughed. “You must protest that you have asked nothing to take Freddie off our hands—I would think less of you if you did not. But it was always to have been Freddie’s property, and I have never intended it for any other purpose than to be settled on her. You must be on my side, Sir Reginald. Surely you see no impropriety in my offer.”

“None at all. Certainly Miss Vernon is deserving of no less.”

“Indeed, she deserves much more. Do you not agree, Vernon?”

Charles Vernon started. Sir James’s announcement had left him speechless; to have Vernon Castle given away in such an offhand fashion—the property he had once coveted and got so close to possessing!

Sir James repeated his question, and Vernon, not knowing what to say, muttered something like assent.

“I am delighted to hear it, for we must be together in this. I will settle the property and I will leave the dowry to you—whatever Sir Frederick confided to you that he meant to give her—there will be no occasion for anything more.” He then turned the subject aside to Vernon Castle, and in describing the countryside, for the gentlemen’s benefit, and the appointment of the rooms, for the ladies’, he entertained them until the ladies withdrew.

Frederica was not insensible of the philanthropy of Sir James’s gift, though she also recognized the practicality of it—she and Reginald must live somewhere when they married, and she neither wished for Parklands to come to them in the near future nor to be in an everyday proximity to Lady deCourcy.

Alicia Johnson and Eliza Manwaring thought the gesture a very handsome one—extraordinarily handsome—and Eliza, in particular, addressed Frederica with a greater desire to make herself agreeable than she ever had before. Her resentment of Lady Vernon, the misery occasioned by her husband’s conduct at Langford, must be set aside if the privilege of being invited to Vernon Castle was to be cultivated, for though she had visited innumerable manors and parks and halls and lodges, she had yet to enjoy the distinction of being asked to a castle.

Maria’s selfishness was very moderate by comparison—she was only sorry that she and Frederica would be settled so far from each other. “It is more than a hundred miles,” she lamented.

Eliza protested, “A hundred miles is only a great distance when the conditions of travel are inferior, but that is not the case here. Your husbands possess such handsome carriages, and they will always have the best horses that you may travel with such ease and comfort—I daresay you would not think yourselves far at twice the distance!”

The gentlemen stayed somewhat longer than usual in the dining room, and when they appeared, Frederica noticed Vernon’s ashen face and silent manner. He took some coffee from Mrs. Johnson solely, it seemed, to have something to do with his hands, and he sat because it seemed that his legs would not support him.

Sir James took a chair beside his cousin and smiled. “I know that your uncle has made you unhappy—how far, and from what cause, you have not chosen to confide—but I think that I have gotten satisfaction.”

“I am sorry that you have found me reserved, cousin, but I will not be sparing in my thanks.”

“You must spare some of your thanks for Sir Reginald. Gentlemen will be very direct when the ladies have left the table. ‘I quite agree that it is for Miss Vernon’s male relations to act in the place of her father,’ said he. ‘Sir James has settled very handsomely upon her in the matter of property, and so I think it is for you, Charles, to name the dowry.’ Vernon gave a sort of sickly smile and protested, ‘I think that Reginald’s pride will not allow it,’ and young deCourcy replied, ‘My pride will always give way before any gesture of respect for Miss Vernon.’ There was nothing to be done. Eight thousand pounds—what do you think? I would have liked ten better than eight, but Vernon does have a second son and two daughters to provide for in time, so under the circumstances, I think it is very handsome.”

Frederica was astonished. She had given up all hope that her uncle would concede to any of Sir Frederick’s promises regarding her and her mother—to have agreed to particulars was unbelievable!

She expressed her misgivings to her cousin. “He is like many falsehearted men who will say one thing in the evening and retract it on the following day.”

“He will not be given the opportunity,” replied her cousin, “for once he named the amount, Sir Reginald declared that there was nothing to prevent the terms from being drawn up immediately, and Johnson even offered to act as witness. Ah, here comes your young man, and I must give way. He is an excellent fellow and as sensible as a man who is violently in love can be—you must not hope for anything more.”

The evening passed away; if Charles Vernon was morose and silent, that was offset by Mr. Johnson’s uncommon affability. His friendship with Lewis deCourcy was long-standing, but now he took pains to know Sir Reginald better, and in their mutual esteem of Frederica, there was something to promote conversation. He was even cordial toward Eliza and went so far as to throw any praise of the house or the dinner in Mrs. Johnson’s direction.

Sir Reginald’s habits were regular and he kept early hours, and soon after they had taken their coffee and tea, he called for his carriage. Reginald and Vernon departed with him, and Sir James and Mr. Lewis deCourcy left not long after. Frederica waited only for her cousin to be gone before she asked Mr. Johnson if she might trouble him to be conveyed back to Portland Place.

“Indeed, yes, for you will have a great deal to tell Lady Vernon. It will be a great relief—when she is better, I hope that I may be permitted to call upon her—if there was any misunderstanding—any feeling that I did not wish for the acquaintance—you will smooth things over, to be sure.”

Frederica assured him that both her mother and Lady Martin would be happy to know him, and after a round of thanks and promises and engagements that must prolong any parting for an additional fifteen minutes, Frederica departed.

She found her mother so well attended by her aunt, Miss Wilson, and Mrs. Forrester that her presence would have given rise to confusion rather than comfort. As the night progressed into morning, however, all four women had a part to play; and though it was frequently to obey some order of Dr. Driggs’s or to assure each other that Lady Vernon was in no great distress or in any danger, they were diligent, capable, and tireless.

The morning brought the fulfillment of all of Lady Vernon’s hopes and the end of Charles Vernon’s expectations, and though making his arrival well before it had been anticipated, the child gave no indication of being the worse for it. Lady Martin, too overcome with exhaustion and relief, said, “When no ill effects come of it, it is just as well to have a child come early as not,” though she could not help adding that it was the good doctor’s calculations that might have been amiss.

She then declared that he had the Vernon forehead and the Martin chin, while Lady Vernon was content to reassure herself that he had the proper number of limbs and pronounced his name to be James Frederick Vernon.

chapter sixty-one

CHARLES V ERNON WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, LOOKING toward his tenure as master of Churchill Manor with renewed interest. The quarter was due in a matter of weeks, and while it might not be what he would like (as he had done nothing to increase the property’s yield or rents), it would put his creditors off a little longer and help to settle the sort of debts of honor that must be reconciled without delay.

The news of Reginald’s engagement to Frederica was a wretched turn of events, but to see her mistress of Vernon Castle and to have his vague concurrence that he ought to do something for her turned into a fixed sum—eight thousand pounds!—was not to be borne. Still, the sum was not yet surrendered—he must act to repair the damage before it was irrevocable.

Mr. Vernon to Mrs. Vernon

Berkeley Square, London

My dear wife,

I have some very surprising news that I do not doubt will reach your mother by way of Sir Reginald. Your brother has proposed to our niece! After appearances had convinced all of London that she was reconciled to a marriage with her cousin—indeed, she received with him at Cavendish Square and opened the ball in such a manner (so I have heard, as I was not present) as persuaded everyone that the announcement of their engagement was imminent. I begin to wonder if all of the rumors of our niece’s engagement to her cousin were circulated by herself, and if her show of distress while she was with us at Churchill was a charade to pique Reginald’s interest, for you know that a gentleman will always find a woman who is promised to another more appealing than one who is thrown at his head.

This news can please my mother-in-law in only one regard—Reginald does not marry Lady Vernon—and yet, for your sake, I would almost prefer that marriage to this one. Even if Lady Vernon were in health to make the marriage a long one (which I doubt, as reports have her becoming increasingly frail), a wife toward whom his father was so decidedly opposed would always ensure that you remain first with Sir Reginald—now I fear that the distinction of “daughter” is one that you must share with our niece, who, it appears, has now set herself toward securing your father’s affections with the same slyness that allowed her to play upon Reginald’s heart.

I now reside at Berkeley Square with Sir Reginald and have done my part to ensure his comfort, yet one thing is wanting and that is to have you here. You know that your father’s spirits are always at their best and most generous when our children are present, and I fear that if his liberality does not have a proper object, he will be inclined to squander it—and we will be comprehended in his imprudence. Already he has coerced from me a promise that I will provide our niece’s dowry! As this was brought up in company, and before Reginald, I could not protest the injury such a loss would do to our children and was even compelled to agree to a sum—nearly a third of my brother’s legacy! This, when added to some other expenses that my situation must incur (and with no income from the banking house, as that position has been given up), is not insignificant—I can only hope that when the quarter comes due from Churchill Manor, it may be, in some part, offset.

The irony is that our niece has no need for a dowry; not only can marriage to Reginald make it unnecessary, but Sir James Martin has resolved to settle Vernon Castle upon her! To wring an additional eight thousand pounds from me is very unreasonable. Had you been here, I am certain that you might have talked your father out of it—this may yet be possible; your presence and those mild and disinterested arguments that have always prevailed with your father (when added to the company of our dear children) may persuade him to retract this extravagant gesture. If you cannot come at once, an express to your father may do as well, but I think you had better come.

Your devoted husband,

Charles Vernon

Sir Reginald’s letter to his wife was more to the point; they had so little to say to each other that even the most significant communication did not extend beyond a concise disclosure of the facts.

Sir deCourcy to Lady deCourcy

Berkeley Square, London

My dear wife,

You have long looked toward the prospect of Reginald’s marriage and you will be pleased to know that all of the prudent encouragement has not been given in vain. Reginald has made an offer to Miss Vernon and she has accepted him. I have given my consent, and Lady Vernon has likewise given her blessing. I will leave it to Reginald to solicit yours, and will trouble you for a few lines to Miss Vernon and her mother.

Your devoted husband, etc.,

Reginald deCourcy

Charles Vernon had spent so freely that the portion he agreed to settle on his niece represented more than half of what remained of the money bequeathed by his brother. His desire to preserve it long enough for Catherine to come to London and coax her father back into prudence and sense had him fabricating some urgent business at Churchill Manor. He could not meet with Sir Reginald’s agents and attorneys while he was in Sussex, and so immediately after dispatching his letter to Catherine, he made some remarks about a matter of business at the family estate that could not be resolved by correspondence and required his immediate attention. He promised to return in three or four days’ time, which, he calculated, was all that would be allowed for Catherine to receive his letter, apprehend the urgency of their situation, and come to town.

Reginald arrived at Berkeley Square to find Charles gone and his father engaged with his uncle, so he decided to call at Portland Place. His carriage drew up beside Sir James’s and the two gentlemen greeted each other and were admitted together.

Sir James was at once aware of some disruption in the household, for the footman’s livery was half-buttoned and his wig askew, and Miss Wilson appeared from below with a shawl thrown over her nightdress and a tea tray in her hands.

“Miss Wilson!” Sir James cried. “What is the matter?”

She immediately handed her tray to the footman with orders that he take it up and ask Lady Martin to come down, then showed the gentlemen into the drawing room. She bade them sit, in a manner that did credit to her self-command.

“What is the matter?” Sir James demanded once more, with more feeling than civility. “Why is there no fire? Why are the drapes still drawn? Has someone been taken ill?”

Lady Martin bustled into the room, her dress disordered and her hair hastily tucked under a cap. Her face revealed her exhaustion, but her eyes were bright and her expression joyful. “What do you mean by coming upon us so early—it is only eleven o’clock! Why do you not stay in bed until noon anymore? You mean to become steady and sensible just to plague me. If it is your influence, Mr. deCourcy, I cannot protest. Come, sir, and we will have a comfortable chat—for my Frederica has only just got to sleep and I do not think you would have me wake her. As for you, James, you may go to Susan—she is very comfortable now, and when she heard that you had come, she decided that she would as soon see you now as later—but you must not keep her long, for she is very weak and will not stand much conversation.”

Sir James, filled with notions of influenza and putrid fever, hurried to his cousin’s apartments, not even stopping to knock on the door before he entered. He found Frederica fast asleep upon the sofa and Susan sitting up in her bed, her beautiful face very pale, and holding a bundle in her arms.

Sir James’s shock cannot be described, but his self-command, always concealed by his facade of merriment and nonsense, rose to support him, and drawing a chair beside her, he looked at her searchingly, assuring himself that she was not in danger, and then turned his gaze upon the child.

“Well!” he declared, attempting to affect his old buoyancy of tone. “Who is this? I beg you to introduce me, cousin.”

“May I present you to your cousin, James Frederick Vernon.”

“Excellent! You must let me hold him—have no fear, I will not break him—there! You are surprised, no doubt, that I know how to hold an infant—it is a delightful thing to have everyone think one so trifling and silly, their expression of surprise when one says or does anything in a sensible fashion is excessively diverting. What an excellent little fellow! I declare, he has the Martin forehead and the Vernon chin! Why, what will this mean for Frederick’s line? The little fellow must precede Vernon—and do you know what that means?”

“I do.” Lady Vernon smiled.

“‘I do’—an excellent phrase. And as you, young man, are now the head of the family, I would be very happy to hear it from you. I ask your consent to marry your mother. I have asked once, but your mother—for some unaccountable reason—put me off. She seemed to think that some mysterious and unacceptable circumstance might come to pass that would make me regret my offer! But if you approve me, she cannot refuse. See how he grasps my finger! He has given his blessing—it is how an infant will express his consent, I am quite sure of it. What a perceptive little fellow he is! I declare, he can all but talk, but if he could I am certain that when I asked him if he would consent to our marriage, he would say ‘I do.’”

chapter sixty-two

Charles Vernon had gone to Churchill Manor with every intention of wringing from it all the income he could, and a sincere desire to apply himself, at this late date, toward the administration of the family property. The desire was stronger than the sincerity, and had he behaved as he ought, and come into his inheritance honorably, he would nonetheless have been ill equipped for the responsibility.

He returned to London full of plans for exploiting his last resource to find Sir Reginald gone to call upon Lady Vernon, and a letter from Catherine.

Mrs. Charles Vernon to Mr. Vernon

Parklands Manor, Kent

My dear husband,

Your letter surprised me beyond measure. Can it be true that Reginald and Frederica are engaged? Perhaps Lady Vernon’s ill health has been the result of her parting with Reginald—yet while it is far better than if Reginald had married Lady Vernon, I am equally confounded by his credulity and her pretense, for I must think that her eagerness to come to Parklands was only to understand precisely how rich the wife of Reginald deCourcy must be—and having succeeded in ingratiating herself with Reginald’s parents, she set out to steal him away from her mother. It seems that she is Lady Vernon’s daughter after all.

My mother is very angry that you have provided our niece with a dowry—she is quite of your opinion that it is unnecessary, and a very great imposition, as she is enriched at the expense of little Frederick, Kitty, and Regina. In fact, she is so angry as to insist that we think of changing Frederick’s name to something else, as she does not wish to hear anything like “Frederica.”

In her present state, she cannot think of coming to town—even in her happiest disposition, London is odious to her, and with all of the talk of influenza, I do not think it would be a fit place for the children. In any case, we should likely no sooner be settled than my father’s spell of good health would give way, and we would all be compelled to return to Kent—but as you are no longer with the banking house, why may you not come to us?

Your devoted wife,

C. Vernon

This blow was a very mild one when compared to the next, for Sir Reginald’s valet, having emboldened himself to wish Mr. Vernon joy, was required to explain himself, which he did by providing the newspapers that proclaimed Lady Vernon, widow of Sir Frederick Vernon, had been safely delivered of a son and heir, and added a few lines about the alteration in the succession that this very interesting sequence of events must bring about.

Vernon’s response was utter disbelief. To have nothing, nothing at all—the heirs to Parklands both to marry—the surrender of his position at the banking house—the loss of Churchill Manor! To evade this responsibility became uppermost in his mind, and he immediately quit the house and made his way back to Parklands Manor, to throw himself upon the mercy of his wife and her mother.

The recent fluctuation in their family left them both vulnerable and eager to cling to anything like stability. Vernon had little difficulty in convincing them that they had been used very ill by Lady Vernon and her daughter, and to agree that the loss of eight thousand pounds would place a very great burden upon Kitty, Regina, and Frederick, when Lady deCourcy, who was very quick to understand anything in the way of profit or loss to her family, asked, “But will even that be theirs? Will you not be compelled to give back the whole sum to Sir Frederick’s heir? Unless some childhood illness or other carries him off, you will be obliged to restore all to him, will you not?”

chapter sixty-three

It is best, for all parties who suffer from a tragedy, to not look too deeply into how far that misfortune came to be the source of a new happiness; thus, Lady Vernon did not dwell upon the circumstance that left her free to marry a second time. Sir Frederick was not forgotten—he could not be forgotten by those who had esteemed him so highly, nor could his memory fade in the presence of little James Frederick, whom Lady Martin declared the possessor of the Vernon forehead while Sir James maintained that he had the Vernon chin.

The devotion of Sir James and the steadiness and counsel of his mother persuaded Lady Vernon to amend the answer she had given to her cousin at Churchill. She did not oblige him to wait out the year, and three weeks after the birth of James Frederick, she and Sir James were quietly married. A month later, Miss Manwaring was wed to Lewis deCourcy in a modest ceremony, and before the season was out, the marriage of Frederica Susannah Vernon to Reginald Hamilton deCourcy was celebrated in a fashion that Alicia Johnson declared was “quite the jewel of the season.”

Mr. and Mrs. Reginald deCourcy settled happily in Staffordshire, where Frederica had the particular pleasure of renewing her acquaintance with the Clarkes and residing a very easy distance from the Martins at Ealing Park. Her intimacy with Maria did not suffer for the hundred miles between Vernon Castle and Bath—superior conveyances, excellent roads, and an affection between uncle and nephew, which had them always ready to promote the closeness of their wives, brought them together as often as they could wish.

In time, Frederica ceased to dwell with pain upon her father’s death, and though she must tolerate the occasional encounter with Charles Vernon in town or at Parklands, she beseeched her husband to support her in never having him at Vernon Castle.

In the coming year, Charles Vernon was to suffer a final humiliation: having lost Churchill Manor for himself, his line was further divided from Parklands when the Mrs. deCourcies were delivered of a young Reginald and a young Lewis, respectively. The two boys, born only a month apart, grew up to be the best of friends.

It is, perhaps, too indulgent to describe the course of Vernon’s mortification any further, but to spare his daughter from the effects of it as far as he could, Sir Reginald pledged himself to all that had been promised to Frederica and bequeathed to Churchill’s heir. Vernon’s reputation was restored as far as it could be, but all of his claims to money and property were gone, and he was obliged to return to Parklands Cottage with no hope of ever leaving it for those pleasant country visits or lively occasions in town that he had taken for granted while Sir Frederick had lived. Catherine and her mother were as little distressed by this turn of events as anybody could be—they mixed no more with the world than they had done in the early years of Catherine’s marriage, and so were spared the distress of hearing anything to Vernon’s discredit. They kept little company, went nowhere, and returned to a routine that was without variety or diversion and that seldom had them going beyond the lane that separated Parklands Manor from Parklands Cottage.

Sir Reginald could not think well of his son-in-law, and although he must maintain him at Parklands, he reserved his liberality for the children, and for Reginald and Frederica.

The necessity for someone to hold Churchill Manor back from a slide into serious neglect before the heir could come into possession of it was a matter of some discussion, and Lady Martin finally decided that she might yield the management of Ealing Park to her daughter-in-law and withdraw to Churchill Manor, where she resumed her usefulness, coaxing the farmers into productiveness and the neighbors into harmony and hurrying to the bedside of anyone who fell ill before they could summon the apothecary or the surgeon.

Miss Hamilton and her mother were deeply mortified by Reginald’s marriage, but as the word got round of Vernon Castle’s stateliness and beauty, they made a gesture of rapprochement in order to gain admission to the estate and kept up their friendship with Mrs. Lewis deCourcy so as to widen their acquaintance among the eligible gentlemen at Bath. Yet, despite all of Lady Hamilton’s determination to get them husbands, and her daughters’ thirty thousand apiece, many years were to pass before any offers of consequence came their way.

Lucy Smith and her husband were frequent visitors at Vernon Castle and Bath; they were always cheerful and affectionate, possessing the sort of good-natured exuberance that might settle into contentment or sink into imprudence and misfortune; the latter was to be their fate, but not for many years.

As for Manwaring, he drew a harder lot than mere folly merited, for having pursued every woman but his wife, he now came to think that only Eliza had suited him after all; she had been a capable mistress of Langford and the possessor of a fortune that brought him fifteen hundred pounds per annum without having to do anything much for it. She had no sooner won over Mr. Johnson and installed herself at Edward Street when Manwaring set about courting her, as energetically as he had done before their marriage.