Someone to Wed
Page 29
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Dash it all.
The decision of what to do next was taken out of his hands. Sidney was not at home—he worked in the diplomatic service and often put in long hours. But there was a note from his mother awaiting him. Cousin Louise, the Dowager Duchess of Netherby, had called a Westcott family conference at Archer House on Hanover Square, town house of the duke, her stepson, and her own home too. Such meetings had been rare until last year. There had been a number of them after what the family collectively referred to as the great catastrophe, and then a lull. Now the summons had been sent out again, and the meeting was for this afternoon. Alexander glanced at a clock. Less than one hour from now, in fact. And, like it or not, he was head of the family.
Cousin Louise had a tendency to be overly dramatic. Alexander wondered as he left Sid’s rooms again what sort of dire emergency had arisen now to necessitate the whole family’s gathering together. He hoped it was nothing to do with Harry. Harry Westcott, who had been the earl for a brief time until the truth about his birth came out, was fighting out in the Peninsula and was a constant source of worry to them all. Not that they were unique in that. Innumerable families, both rich and poor, all over Britain must live with a similar anxiety. One never knew when a letter might arrive with the worst news anyone could ever receive. He hoped no such letter had come. God, he hoped not.
There must be something wrong, though, unless Cousin Louise simply wished to announce the betrothal of Jessica, her daughter, who was making her come-out this year at the age of eighteen. She had been much sought after at all the myriad entertainments of the Season so far. Alexander had seen it for himself. She was a duke’s daughter, after all, with a handsome dowry. She was also pretty and vivacious. He had neither seen nor heard about any particular suitor, but one never knew.
He was the last to arrive. Cousin Louise had a mother still living—the Dowager Countess of Riverdale—and two sisters. The elder, Cousin Matilda, who had never married, lived with her mother. The younger, Cousin Mildred, was married to Thomas, Lord Molenor, and had three sons still at school. They were all there, except the boys. The Duke of Netherby was there with his duchess. Anna was the daughter born of the first, secret marriage of Cousin Humphrey, the late earl, to a lady called Alice Snow and was his only legitimate child, as it had turned out. Jessica was there. So were Alexander’s mother and his sister, Elizabeth. Absent were Cousin Viola, the former Countess of Riverdale, now going by her maiden name of Kingsley, and her two daughters, Camille, now married to Joel Cunningham and living in Bath, and Abigail. And Harry, of course.
Alexander greeted everyone and took up his stand before the fireplace, a habit of his, though he had once realized that it might be construed as an attempt on his part to assert his seniority in the family. He declined Cousin Louise’s offer of a cup of tea, and conversation resumed around him. Netherby, he could see, was lounging in a chair in the far corner of the room beside a window, as he tended to do in any room, just as Alexander gravitated toward fireplaces. Perhaps he liked to observe what went on before him without having to turn his head a great deal or feel the obligation to participate. Perhaps it was an acknowledgment of the fact that he had no tie of blood to the Westcott family. He was the son of the Duke of Netherby, who had taken Cousin Louise as his second wife and fathered Jessica.
Netherby was looking as exquisitely gorgeous as ever, Alexander noticed with slight irritation, his blond hair immaculately cut into its longish style, his tailoring bordering upon the dandyish but not quite spilling over to the other side, his perfectly manicured fingers bedecked with rings. The chains and fobs and jeweled watchcase and quizzing glass that always adorned his waist were invisible today, however. He was holding a fat-cheeked, bald-headed babe nestled beneath his chin. She was sucking on her fist and—if Alexander was not much mistaken—one fold of her father’s neckcloth. And if that was not an incongruous sight, Alexander did not know what was. Was Netherby not terrified of getting a spot of … drool upon his spotless linen? But it was an unkind thought, for Alexander had learned during the past year that despite appearances, there was nothing either weak or effeminate—or petulant—about Avery Archer, Duke of Netherby. Quite the contrary.
Alexander turned his attention to Elizabeth, who was seated close by. “She did come, then?” he asked unnecessarily.
“She did indeed,” his sister told him. “It took some effort from both Mama and me to persuade her to stay with us. But she is all settled in. I believe she was quite happy at the prospect of a quiet hour to herself after we left to come here.”
Why had they made that effort? he wondered. Why had he suggested it last evening? Why had he thought of little else today? Until this moment he had not thought even once today about Miss Littlewood. Or about any of the other young ladies whose mamas were aggressively pursuing him either. If he never saw any of them ever again he would really not notice. But Miss Heyden …
“I went to St. Paul’s Cathedral with her after luncheon,” Elizabeth said. “She sat on a pew close to the back, Alex, and did not move for half an hour. She did not wander about to gape at everything, as other first-time visitors invariably do. She gazed about from where she sat, and she looked rapt, though I could not see her face clearly, it is true. She wore a veil.”
“Yes,” he said, “she would.”
“Tomorrow morning we are going to look at some of the glassware from her workshops,” she said. “I vastly look forward to that.”
But Cousin Louise was signaling with a clearing of the throat that the time had come for the business of the afternoon to begin. Everyone fell silent and looked expectantly at her.
“We need to decide what to do about Viola and Abigail,” she said.
“Are they not still at Hinsford Manor?” Cousin Mildred asked. “When I heard from Viola a month or two ago she sounded quite cheerful about being back there. Their return home was well received by their neighbors, I understand.”
The late earl and his family had made their country home at Hinsford in Hampshire rather than at Brambledean, but last year Anna had inherited it and Cousin Viola had fled with Camille and Abigail to Bath, where her daughters had stayed with their maternal grandmother while she went to live with her brother at the vicarage in Dorsetshire. Anna had persuaded them months later to move back home. She had offered to give them the property, just as she had offered to give Westcott House to Alexander, and when she had been refused she had apparently informed them that she was willing Hinsford to Harry and his descendants and Westcott House to Alexander and his. Camille had remained in Bath, of course, to marry Cunningham.
“Yes, they are definitely there, Mildred,” the dowager countess said. “I had a letter just last week. Viola did not sound discontented.”
“It is not Viola who is my main concern,” Cousin Louise said. “It is Abigail. She is nineteen years old. One wonders how many eligible gentlemen she will meet in the country.”
“Well, there is the problem of her birth, Louise,” Cousin Matilda pointed out. “It is unfortunate, but her illegitimacy is one of those realities that cannot be ignored. It is unlikely she will meet any eligible gentleman no matter where she is. Perhaps she will be as content to remain with her mama as I have been to remain with mine.”
“I have tried to persuade her to come here,” Anna said, sounding unhappy. “She is my half sister, after all, and I would do all in my power to see that she was well received by all the people who really matter. Kind people, I mean. And sensible people. Abigail has done nothing to deserve ostracism. Avery would do all in his power too, and that is considerable. I am sure we all would, just as we did in Bath last summer when we went to celebrate Grandmama’s birthday. Perhaps we should all try to persuade her to come.”
The decision of what to do next was taken out of his hands. Sidney was not at home—he worked in the diplomatic service and often put in long hours. But there was a note from his mother awaiting him. Cousin Louise, the Dowager Duchess of Netherby, had called a Westcott family conference at Archer House on Hanover Square, town house of the duke, her stepson, and her own home too. Such meetings had been rare until last year. There had been a number of them after what the family collectively referred to as the great catastrophe, and then a lull. Now the summons had been sent out again, and the meeting was for this afternoon. Alexander glanced at a clock. Less than one hour from now, in fact. And, like it or not, he was head of the family.
Cousin Louise had a tendency to be overly dramatic. Alexander wondered as he left Sid’s rooms again what sort of dire emergency had arisen now to necessitate the whole family’s gathering together. He hoped it was nothing to do with Harry. Harry Westcott, who had been the earl for a brief time until the truth about his birth came out, was fighting out in the Peninsula and was a constant source of worry to them all. Not that they were unique in that. Innumerable families, both rich and poor, all over Britain must live with a similar anxiety. One never knew when a letter might arrive with the worst news anyone could ever receive. He hoped no such letter had come. God, he hoped not.
There must be something wrong, though, unless Cousin Louise simply wished to announce the betrothal of Jessica, her daughter, who was making her come-out this year at the age of eighteen. She had been much sought after at all the myriad entertainments of the Season so far. Alexander had seen it for himself. She was a duke’s daughter, after all, with a handsome dowry. She was also pretty and vivacious. He had neither seen nor heard about any particular suitor, but one never knew.
He was the last to arrive. Cousin Louise had a mother still living—the Dowager Countess of Riverdale—and two sisters. The elder, Cousin Matilda, who had never married, lived with her mother. The younger, Cousin Mildred, was married to Thomas, Lord Molenor, and had three sons still at school. They were all there, except the boys. The Duke of Netherby was there with his duchess. Anna was the daughter born of the first, secret marriage of Cousin Humphrey, the late earl, to a lady called Alice Snow and was his only legitimate child, as it had turned out. Jessica was there. So were Alexander’s mother and his sister, Elizabeth. Absent were Cousin Viola, the former Countess of Riverdale, now going by her maiden name of Kingsley, and her two daughters, Camille, now married to Joel Cunningham and living in Bath, and Abigail. And Harry, of course.
Alexander greeted everyone and took up his stand before the fireplace, a habit of his, though he had once realized that it might be construed as an attempt on his part to assert his seniority in the family. He declined Cousin Louise’s offer of a cup of tea, and conversation resumed around him. Netherby, he could see, was lounging in a chair in the far corner of the room beside a window, as he tended to do in any room, just as Alexander gravitated toward fireplaces. Perhaps he liked to observe what went on before him without having to turn his head a great deal or feel the obligation to participate. Perhaps it was an acknowledgment of the fact that he had no tie of blood to the Westcott family. He was the son of the Duke of Netherby, who had taken Cousin Louise as his second wife and fathered Jessica.
Netherby was looking as exquisitely gorgeous as ever, Alexander noticed with slight irritation, his blond hair immaculately cut into its longish style, his tailoring bordering upon the dandyish but not quite spilling over to the other side, his perfectly manicured fingers bedecked with rings. The chains and fobs and jeweled watchcase and quizzing glass that always adorned his waist were invisible today, however. He was holding a fat-cheeked, bald-headed babe nestled beneath his chin. She was sucking on her fist and—if Alexander was not much mistaken—one fold of her father’s neckcloth. And if that was not an incongruous sight, Alexander did not know what was. Was Netherby not terrified of getting a spot of … drool upon his spotless linen? But it was an unkind thought, for Alexander had learned during the past year that despite appearances, there was nothing either weak or effeminate—or petulant—about Avery Archer, Duke of Netherby. Quite the contrary.
Alexander turned his attention to Elizabeth, who was seated close by. “She did come, then?” he asked unnecessarily.
“She did indeed,” his sister told him. “It took some effort from both Mama and me to persuade her to stay with us. But she is all settled in. I believe she was quite happy at the prospect of a quiet hour to herself after we left to come here.”
Why had they made that effort? he wondered. Why had he suggested it last evening? Why had he thought of little else today? Until this moment he had not thought even once today about Miss Littlewood. Or about any of the other young ladies whose mamas were aggressively pursuing him either. If he never saw any of them ever again he would really not notice. But Miss Heyden …
“I went to St. Paul’s Cathedral with her after luncheon,” Elizabeth said. “She sat on a pew close to the back, Alex, and did not move for half an hour. She did not wander about to gape at everything, as other first-time visitors invariably do. She gazed about from where she sat, and she looked rapt, though I could not see her face clearly, it is true. She wore a veil.”
“Yes,” he said, “she would.”
“Tomorrow morning we are going to look at some of the glassware from her workshops,” she said. “I vastly look forward to that.”
But Cousin Louise was signaling with a clearing of the throat that the time had come for the business of the afternoon to begin. Everyone fell silent and looked expectantly at her.
“We need to decide what to do about Viola and Abigail,” she said.
“Are they not still at Hinsford Manor?” Cousin Mildred asked. “When I heard from Viola a month or two ago she sounded quite cheerful about being back there. Their return home was well received by their neighbors, I understand.”
The late earl and his family had made their country home at Hinsford in Hampshire rather than at Brambledean, but last year Anna had inherited it and Cousin Viola had fled with Camille and Abigail to Bath, where her daughters had stayed with their maternal grandmother while she went to live with her brother at the vicarage in Dorsetshire. Anna had persuaded them months later to move back home. She had offered to give them the property, just as she had offered to give Westcott House to Alexander, and when she had been refused she had apparently informed them that she was willing Hinsford to Harry and his descendants and Westcott House to Alexander and his. Camille had remained in Bath, of course, to marry Cunningham.
“Yes, they are definitely there, Mildred,” the dowager countess said. “I had a letter just last week. Viola did not sound discontented.”
“It is not Viola who is my main concern,” Cousin Louise said. “It is Abigail. She is nineteen years old. One wonders how many eligible gentlemen she will meet in the country.”
“Well, there is the problem of her birth, Louise,” Cousin Matilda pointed out. “It is unfortunate, but her illegitimacy is one of those realities that cannot be ignored. It is unlikely she will meet any eligible gentleman no matter where she is. Perhaps she will be as content to remain with her mama as I have been to remain with mine.”
“I have tried to persuade her to come here,” Anna said, sounding unhappy. “She is my half sister, after all, and I would do all in my power to see that she was well received by all the people who really matter. Kind people, I mean. And sensible people. Abigail has done nothing to deserve ostracism. Avery would do all in his power too, and that is considerable. I am sure we all would, just as we did in Bath last summer when we went to celebrate Grandmama’s birthday. Perhaps we should all try to persuade her to come.”
