The Counterfeit Gentleman (20 page)

She therefore decided to lunch with her aunt in the
breakfast room, rather than having her meal brought up to
her room on a tray.

It was too much to expect that she might actually enjoy
dining with her aunt.

“Really, Bethia, I cannot understand how you came to
hire such a person as footman,” Aunt Euphemia whispered,
glancing over her shoulder to where Little Davey stood
waiting patiently by the sideboard.

“He is not a footman; he is my bodyguard,” Bethia
replied calmly, taking another bite of steak and kidney pie.

“Please do not ever again use that word in my presence,” her aunt said crossly. “It is enough to make me lose my ap
petite completely. I declare, I do not know if I am coming
or going.” She shuddered. “I do wish we could simply for
get all these ... these ...”

Bethia wondered if her aunt was at long last ready to
admit that wicked things had been happening—that in fact
one of her Harcourt cousins was conspiring to have her
murdered.

“... these flights of fancy you have been having. Really,
my dear, the more I consider it, the more I think it would be
wise to send for Doctor Abernathy. He is bound to have
some powder that will make you feel more the thing.”

Bethia rolled her eyes, but Lady Clovyle continued to
prattle on in much the same vein while she ate, and despite
her claim, Bethia did not notice any diminishing in her
aunt’s usually healthy appetite.

Since reasoning with her had failed, Bethia gave up all
attempts to persuade her aunt to accept the truth. Instead she
thought about Digory, wondering where he was and what
he was doing. Was he even now lunching with Lady Letit
ia?

As if her thoughts had conjured up the spirit of that infa
mous matchmaker, Uppleby entered the room, bearing a
note on a silver salver. Bowing, he presented it to Bethia’s
aunt, who quickly broke the seal and unfolded it.

“Oh, my. Oh, my! Oh,
my
!” she said. “Oh, I cannot be
lieve it. Oh, you will never imagine what has happened! I
never thought this day would come, and yet here it is!”

Smiling radiantly, Aunt Euphemia held out the invita
tion, but before Bethia could take it, her aunt clutched it to
her bosom.

“I am sure I cannot hazard a guess,” Bethia said.

“Lady Letitia”—there was reverence in Aunt Eu
phemia’s voice when she uttered that name—“Lady Letitia
has invited me to tea. Think on it, dearest niece, she has invited me. Me! It is beyond my wildest dreams that she has
singled me out for such attention.”

A rapturous look in her eyes, she stood up and drifted to the door, still clutching the invitation.

It was easy to tell that she had not yet put two and two together and come up with the conclusion that Digory was behind this invitation, Bethia realized. And when Aunt Euphemia discovered that pertinent fact, she would probably come down to earth with a thud.

Fortunately, that was Lady Letitia’s problem.

* * * *

With great consternation Lady Clovyle watched Lady Leti
tia bid a fond farewell to That Wretched Man, even going so
far as to turn her cheek up for him to kiss. There had to be
some explanation, but it defied Lady Clovyle to find it.

“Just who is Mr. Rendel?” she asked after he had left the
room. “I must confess that I am not acquainted with his family.”

She was amazed at her own temerity, because one did
not, as a general rule, question, contradict, or gainsay Lady
Letitia, unless, of course, one had no desire to come within
a hundred miles of London for the next twenty odd years or
so.

Fortunately, Lady Letitia did not take offense, but instead immediately launched herself into a recital of Mr.
Rendel’s ancestry.

Lady Clovyle did her best to follow the convoluted lineage, although not a single name was familiar to her. Then
Lady Letitia said, “And he, as I am sure you know, was
killed in the Battle of Hastings—”

Lady Clovyle’s blood ran cold. She was no historian, but
even she knew that the Norman invasion of England had
occurred in 1066. Surely her hostess did not intend to recite
750 years of begats?

Apparently she did.

“—and his son Robert married Maria, daughter to Sir
Geoffrey Tylle, who was married to Margaret, daughter to
Roland of Sanslevieux. Sir Geoffrey’s mother, of course, was Anne, sister of Sir Ethelred Arnold the Younger, and
not his daughter as some people have claimed. Sir Ethelred
did have a daughter Anne, but she is the Anne who married Guy de Fontainelle, and she unfortunately died in childbirth
and the child with her. Anne’s mother—that is, of course,
the Anne we are interested in, who was the mother of Sir Geoffrey—”

If the truth were told, Lady Clovyle was not interested in
that Anne or any other Anne, and she sorely regretted having asked Lady Letitia about Mr. Rendel’s family.

“—was Gertrude of Saxony, and her father’s name is un
certain, although I am inclined to think that she was de
scended from the lesser branch of that family, not the major
one. That would explain why her shield is quartered with three lions gules rather than two griffins verts.”

Lady Clovyle’s mind began to wander, and at some point
when she was not paying strict attention, Lady Letitia slid over from Norman nobility into a long recital of Welsh
kings. Lady Clovyle was not sure just how they were con
nected to Gertrude of Saxony—in fact, she had long since given up trying to sort everyone out.

“—Madog ap Gruffydd Maelor ap Madog ap Gryffudd
ap Maredudd ap Bleddyn ap Cynfyn ap Gwerstan ap
Gwaethfoed ap Gwrhydr ap Bleddyn ap Caradawg ap Lies
Law Deawg ap Ednyfed ap Gwynnau ap Gwynnawg
Farfsych ap—” Lady Letitia’s voice droned on and on.

* * * *

Lady Letitia reached over and removed the teacup from
her guest’s slack hand. Then she smiled in satisfaction. One could always count on dear Lady Clovyle’s dropping off to sleep in her box at the theater or during the Sunday services
at St. George’s in Hanover Square.

Rising silently from her chair, Lady Letitia tiptoed across
the room and rang for Owens, who had provided her with
the book from which she had obtained the long and monot
onous Welsh genealogies. He had also coached her on the
proper pronunciation of the Welsh names, although it is
doubtful that Lady Clovyle would have noticed anything
amiss even if Lady Letitia had invented some wholly ficti
tious names.

In any event, it was now time for the second act to com
mence.

* * * *

Startled out of her sleep, Lady Clovyle sat up and gazed
around her in bewilderment that rapidly turned to horror.
She had dozed off while Lady Letitia was speaking—her
life was ruined, absolutely ruined! She would never again
be able to show her face in London!

But Lady Letitia did not appear to have noticed the social
solecism her guest had committed.

“And that is his father’s side, so I am sure you will un
derstand why I call him cousin. Now on his mother’s
side—”

Lady Clovyle gave a mental groan. Surely she had been
tortured enough? Why had no one ever warned her not to
bring up the subject of ancestors and lineages when Lady Letitia was present?

The door opened, and Lady Letitia paused in her recital.
“Yes, Owens, what is it?”

Her butler replied, “Lady Edington has come to call. Do
you wish to see her or shall I deny her?”

Lady Letitia frowned. “Dear me, this is unfortunate. I
have not seen her for an age, but on the other hand, Lady
Clovyle and I have been having such a pleasant coze.”
Turning to Lady Clovyle she said, “Would you mind dread
fully if I postponed telling you about my cousin’s mother’s family until another time?”

“No, no, not at all,” Lady Clovyle hastened to assure her.

“You must be sure and remind me the next time we are
together,” Lady Letitia said.

When pigs fly, Lady Clovyle said to herself. Then she
was shocked at the vulgarity of her own thoughts.

* * * *

“Lady Letitia, the most delicious bit of gossip—I had to
be the first to tell you.” Acting as if she did not even notice
that Lady Letitia had another guest, Adeline crossed to
where her coconspirator was sitting and kissed her on the
cheek. Then she sat down in her appointed chair, which had
been cleverly placed so that she had her back to Lady
Clovyle.

I should have been born to the stage, she thought to her
self. This is vastly entertaining, and I am clearly blessed
with hitherto unsuspected thespian talent.

Without giving her hostess or their audience of one
enough time to speak, she launched herself into her mono
logue, which Lady Letitia had written and which she her
self had finished memorizing a bare half hour ago.

“You will not credit it when you hear who I saw climb
ing into a coach at the Red Stag in Staines. Surely, I
thought when I saw him, that cannot be Lady Letitia’s
cousin, Mr. Rendel, but I could not doubt the evidence of
my eyes, for I find him quite the handsomest of men. It was indeed he, and you must have a word with him. He is being quite a naughty boy, you know, because his fair companion
was no cyprian. Imagine my surprise when I beheld her to be none other than the rich Miss Pepperell. Really, as well
-
heeled as he is, I would not have thought he would need to
seduce an heiress.”

There was a gasp behind her, and Adeline turned, as if
only then becoming aware of the third person in the room.

“I am not sure you two have met,” Lady Letitia said.
“My dear Lady Clovyle, may I present Lady Edington?”

“Not the aunt?” Adeline said, clasping her hands to her cheeks in a bit of impromptu acting that was so overdone,
she was surprised that Lady Clovyle did not immediately tumble to the truth.

Lady Letitia nodded. “Just so.”

Affecting a look of deep chagrin, Adeline said, “Oh,
dear, I do believe I have put my foot in it now.”

Conflicting emotions ran across Lady Clovyle’s face,
and Adeline felt the urge to prompt the older lady, who
seemed to have forgotten her lines.

“You have completely misunderstood the matter,” Lady Clovyle finally said. “Mr. Rendel and my niece have long
been betrothed, only ... only...”

“Only they did not wish to make it public because of a recent death in my dear cousin’s family,” Lady Letitia said
smoothly. “They are being married here at my house tomorrow, and I must ask you not to tell a soul, for we wish
to keep the ceremony private since dear Digory is technically still in mourning.”

Enjoyable as it might be to playact, Adeline had to admit
that Lady Letitia’s skill as an actress far surpassed hers.
Listening to her talk, Adeline almost felt that they should
be speaking in hushed voices out of respect for the dear de
parted.

“I shall not say a word to anyone,” Adeline promised.
“But only on the condition that we are invited to the ceremony. Matthew would be devastated if he were not able to stand witness to Mr. Rendel, who is one of his oldest and
dearest friends.” Turning to face Lady Clovyle, she begged,
“Do say we may join you tomorrow in celebrating this
happy occasion.”

Still looking a little pale, Lady Clovyle hastened to say,
“Of course you and your husband are welcome to come.”

Adeline smiled. Lady Letitia smiled. Lady Clovyle, on
the other hand, looked as if she had been handed an invita
tion to her own execution.

* * * *

Bethia was sitting by her window, watching the sky
change from blue to purple and wondering, as she had been
doing the entire day, where Digory was and what he was doing. Her musings were interrupted by a light tap on the
door.

“Come in,” she called out, although in truth she was not
in the mood for company.

Aunt Euphemia entered, looking girlishly coy. “There is
a gentleman come to see you,” she said.

“Tell him I am not at home,” Bethia said, turning to stare
once more at the darkening sky.

“It is your Mr. Rendel who is below in the library,” her
aunt continued as if Bethia had not spoken, “and he has
asked for and I have given him my permission to address
you.”