Mary Nichols - Talk of the Ton

She did not even like him, he was pompous with her while he toadied to her uncle when he had promised to try and keep the Duke out of it. And what was that about a scandal and having to live abroad? Did that mean he had done something terrible? Had he wrecked some other lady’s reputation? Had he cheated at cards? Had he killed someone in a duel? She would not put any of those past him. Did he suppose she had a vast dowry? If Mr Andrew Melhurst thought he would be marrying a wealthy heiress, he was very mistaken; her uncle was generous, but not so as to make her wealthy. Besides, even if Mr Melhurst was the soul of virtue, she would never agree; he was the symbol of her mortification. She refused to listen to the tiny voice of reason that was telling her she was being unjust.

A servant arrived in answer to the Duchess’s summons. ‘Tell Didoner we are ready for supper now,’ she instructed him.

Beth would rather have had something in her room, and had opened her mouth to say so, but then she saw her aunt slowly shaking her head and realised she was going to have to endure a meal with the Duke, who would either ignore her as if she were not there or subject her to a roasting all the way through the meal. She was not sure which would be worse.

In the event, he did neither. Didoner, their French chef, was a perfectionist and the meals he produced were always first class, whether they were for the Duke and Duchess alone, or a vast company, and Beth did hers justice. There was turbot and shrimps, game and ham, not to mention dishes of vegetables, each cooked in a different way. There was fruit and puddings and tartlets and a light bubbly wine.

‘Now,’ said the Duke when they had all be served and the servants had withdrawn to wait outside the door until summoned. ‘I am led to believe that it is your love of growing things that has led to this contretemps.’

‘No, my lord, the contretemps was caused by Mr Kendall being summarily sent away.’

‘Beth!’ Sophie exclaimed, anxious that her niece’s forthright tongue would not shatter her husband’s good mood. No one, except perhaps the King, spoke to James in that fashion.

‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘But if only you had told me…’

‘I am not in the habit of consulting those over whom I hold sway when I have a decision to make. Your mama was concerned about your continuing friendship with Mr Kendall and asked my advice.’

‘Surely Toby told you there was nothing to be concerned about. We both knew he would leave one day, but not until he was ready. He had plants in the glass house he was tending, and others he was experimenting with out of doors to see if they would survive in our climate. And there were plans to make, proper plans with equipment to buy, an itinerary and goals to decide. I was going to be part of that.’

‘Not go with him?’

She smiled suddenly. ‘I knew that would never be allowed, but if the time ever comes when I am independent I should like to go on an expedition, properly escorted, of course. I should like to study exotic plants in their own habitat, collect specimens and seeds to bring back. That is how you obtained those wonderful shrubs you have in your own garden and conservatory, is it not? Someone had to bring them to this country.’

‘Yes, but not a woman.’ His severe look softened. ‘It appears that I have misjudged you, my dear, but are plants all you think of? Surely you sometimes dream of a husband and children? You are very good with Jamie and he adores you.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Though he is to blame for telling me you had arrived. He heard your voice and left his bed to greet you.’

‘It was Jamie?’

‘Yes. Did you hope I would not discover your presence in my house?’

‘No,’ Sophie put in quickly, before Beth could confirm that. ‘But we hoped to defer it until the morning. I was not expecting you back until late.’

‘The King decided he would visit Lady Conyngham and no longer needed me. I think he realises I disapprove of his affairs especially since he came to the throne. In any event, it enabled me to look forward to an evening at home with you, my dear. I was never so put out as when I saw a strange man in my drawing room, chatting gaily to my son as if he belonged here.’

‘He is the sort to make himself at home anywhere,’ Beth put in. ‘A more self-opinionated man, I have yet to meet.’

‘Not self-opinionated,’ her aunt said. ‘Self-assured would be more accurate and perhaps he has had to be, travelling the world as he has.’

‘You travelled all over the place and it did not make you arrogant,’ Beth said, referring to the fact that Sophie had been dragged all over the continent with her parents before they both died in exile and she came back to England to throw herself on the mercy of her mother’s cousin, who just happened to fall in love with her and marry her.

‘Let us leave the subject of Mr Melhurst’s character,’ James said, spearing a piece of succulent ham on his fork. ‘It is getting us nowhere. The important thing is what is to be done.’

Beth was about to tell him that if he thought he could marry her off willy-nilly, he was way off the mark, but thought better of it and remained silent.

‘We have sent for your mama,’ the Duchess told her. ‘If she is able to come at once, she should be here the day after tomorrow, or perhaps Friday. Until she arrives, you must stay indoors. It must look as though you all arrived together.’

‘Very well,’ Beth agreed, though the prospect of spending three days confined to the house was not one she relished. She had always been one for the outdoors, walking, riding and gardening, none of which would be easy in South Audley Street. ‘But the servants know I am here…’

‘They know better than to gossip, certainly not outside these four walls,’ her uncle told her.

But they bargained without the strange way the ton had of finding things out and passing them on, adding their own embellishments for good measure.

As Andrew’s carriage turned into the driveway of Beechgrove, he leaned forward for a view of the house. It was a solid mansion, square in shape, made of warm red brick. Its gleaming windows reflected the morning sun, which slanted across pristine gardens. The lawns were well manicured, the flower beds without a weed and the shrubs and trees were tastefully arranged to show off their shape and colours. Some, he noted, came from lands across the sea, but seemed to be thriving. He supposed it was Miss Harley’s influence and then, remembering her soiled fingernails, smiled to himself and decided she was not above doing some of the work herself.

He had found himself thinking of her throughout the long night, wondering what her uncle had said to her and what punishment he had inflicted. He supposed she deserved some punishment for putting herself in jeopardy and worrying her family, but she had been impetuous rather than wicked. Her uncle, in his opinion, had not handled the situation well. He wondered what her mother was like and how he would be received. If the Duke was anything to go by, she would be proud. Her daughter wasn’t proud though. Miss Harley was a scapegrace, self-willed, oblivious to the niceties of convention, but not top lofty. And that extraordinary disguise! He almost laughed aloud. Had she really imagined she looked like a boy?

And what had possessed him to offer for her? He had been in her company less than an hour and in that time they had fought and argued and finally conversed, but only about botany and travel, which was hardly enough of an acquaintanceship on which to base an offer of marriage. He must have been mad. Thank goodness the Duke had not taken him seriously. Or perhaps he had, but had decided he did not meet his exacting standards as a husband for his niece.

But that vision at the top of the stairs had unsettled him. She had looked so feminine, so lovely, she had taken his breath away. He could not get her out of his head. Whenever he tried to turn his mind to other subjects, she was there, plaguing him for the most part, giving him her opinion of whatever it was he contemplated doing, whether it was deciding to change horses at a particular inn or what to order to eat, or whether he should transplant his botanical specimens in good garden loam or mix it with clay and manure. How did he know what her opinion would be? he asked himself and the only answer he could find was that he just knew. It was uncanny.

He heard galloping hooves and, glancing across the park, he saw a young lady riding hell for leather for the six-barred gate that divided the park from the drive. She cleared it magnificently, but it was not her fearless riding that made him gasp in shock but the girl herself. In the moment when she had launched herself and her mount at the gate, he thought it was Beth who had somehow transported herself from London to Sudbury ahead of him. Reason told him it was not possible and when the young lady reined in to turn towards him he realised it was not Beth, but someone extraordinarily like her. Her sister, he decided, as she trotted towards the carriage, which his driver had sensibly brought to a halt.

‘Good morning,’ she called to him. ‘You are an early caller, I am not sure Mama will be ready to receive you.’

He put his head out of the door and smiled. Although very like her sister, she was younger by a couple of years, her hair was lighter, her eyes grey, and she still had the adolescent bloom of the schoolgirl about her, but she was confident and not at all shy. Now, why did that not surprise him? ‘Miss Olivia Harley, I presume?’

‘Yes, how did you know?’

‘You are very like your sister.’

‘You have seen her?’ she asked eagerly. ‘You know where she is?’

‘Yes, she is safe with your uncle at Belfont House.’

‘Oh, thank the good Lord. Our mother was sure she would come back yesterday because she left a note to say she would be and she sent Mr Kendall, our steward, to Sudbury to meet all the coaches, but when Beth did not come, she was almost out of her mind. She will be greatly relieved by your news.’ She did not wait for a reply, but added. ‘Follow me to the house, if you please, and you may tell Mama yourself.’

She set off up the drive at a decorous trot and dismounted at the side of the house, handing her horse over to a groom. Andrew’s carriage pulled up at the front door where he alighted and she conducted him into a wide hall that smelled pleasantly of spring flowers and beeswax.

‘Mama! Mama!’ she shouted, mounting the stairs two at a time, grabbing the skirt of her habit in both hands and revealing trim breeches tucked into riding boots. ‘Beth is safe!’

Andrew smiled. She and her sister made a pair when it came to hoydenish behaviour. Was that how they had been brought up? Was their mother the same?

He was disabused of that idea when Lady Harley appeared at the top of the stairs. She was in an undress robe of blue silk, her hair loosely tied by a ribbon, but there was no mistaking the aristocrat, even though she was anxious about her daughter.

‘Livvy, do you have to shout?’ she queried. ‘And if Beth is home, where is she? Hiding from me, I shouldn’t wonder, considering the torment she has put me through.’ She stopped suddenly when she saw Andrew looking up at her from the hall. ‘Oh. Who are you?’

She started to descend as he made his bow. ‘Andrew Melhurst, my lady. I have come from Belfont House. You daughter is safe with her uncle, the Duke.’

She had reached ground level and came towards him, smiling. ‘Thank goodness for that, though he is the last person I would expect her to apply to.’