Allison Lane (21 page)

“True, though the cloak itself must then be kept separate from other garments and great care taken to see that the outside never touches the lining.  Even a dash to a carriage exposes one to soot.  Walking is impossible, of course, and not only because of the air.”

“Then why?” asked Cecilia, frowning.

“Horses,” said Lewis succinctly.

“Horses?” echoed Lady Fosdale.

“Thousands of horses.  Riding horses, carriage horses, dray horses.  Even mules and donkeys.  All adding their droppings to the streets,” explained Symington.  “Walking becomes quite perilous.”

“As does breathing,” said Randolph.  “The last time I passed through Town, I nearly expired from the stench.”  He fluttered his serviette under his nose.

“This is hardly appropriate conversation for the table,” said Lady Fosdale after glancing at her red-faced husband.  “You were describing how my brother fares in Carlisle, Sir Lewis.  Is it true that my niece is enamored of Mr. Burton?”

Elizabeth caught Randolph’s eye and smiled as her mother determinedly kept the talk on gossip.  His plan was working better than she had expected.  Each new comment had etched a line deeper into Cecilia’s forehead.

When the ladies reached the drawing room, Cecilia sought her out.  “Do you think Lord Symington exaggerates?” she asked softly.

“About London?  I doubt it.  You know how much soot one fire generates.  I hadn’t thought of it myself, but thousands of fires must blacken the city.  And the same argument holds for horses.”

She grimaced.  “Actually, I meant about disliking Town.”

“He seems a man who knows his own mind and who will not alter his course without a very good reason.”

“But he would do so for love,” she decided.

“Forget about your effect on the squire’s sons,” she warned sharply.  “Lord Symington does not care a whit for you.  Why should he?  Even if he might have originally been susceptible to your charms, he obviously hates you now.  You forced yourself on him, trapping him into a marriage he cannot want.  For all you know, he may love someone else.”

“But Papa said he is looking for a wife.”

“Fosdale knows nothing of the matter.  And in any case, he only said that Symington was unwed.  Do not dispute me,” she added as Cecilia opened her mouth.  “I overheard that same conversation.  Symington may have intended to wed soon, but you have no way of knowing whether he had already chosen his bride.  Nor does Fosdale, no matter how he may have twisted facts in his own mind.”

“He swears that Whitfield expects a betrothal from this visit.”  Her eyes flashed.

“I give leave to doubt it.  What duke would press for a suit with a penniless nobody of questionable breeding without even discussing it with Symington?  You cannot make a case that the man is unable to find his own bride.”

“But—”

“There is no
but
.  Symington’s wealth and prospects alone make him acceptable to the highest sticklers in Society.  His looks are an added bonus.  Even were he mad, he could find a dozen duke’s daughters who would accept him.  So why should he look here?  Despite Fosdale’s title, we have no social standing and no fortune to offer a powerful lord.  Fosdale is the one who wants this connection.  He probably concocted the idea from whole cloth.  And after the way you misused the hospitality of this house, you cannot expect Symington to look on you with kindness.  In fact, his eyes blaze with contempt whenever he glances in your direction.  That cut was deliberate.  You will be well served if he locks you in a dungeon and starves you to death.”

“He wouldn’t dare!”  But her face had blanched.

“I do not know him well enough to say, but no one would stop him.  You know that wives have no rights of their own.  A husband may do as he pleases, and that includes imprisonment and beating.  Why do you think I oppose marriage so strongly?  I will not place my person or my reason under the thumb of someone who might take my desires into dislike.  Look what happened to Mother.  She was just as pretty as you in her youth.”

“But she was too timid to utilize her looks to advantage.”  Cecilia stalked off to talk to Lady Fosdale.

Elizabeth picked up a book.  Conceited fool.  The revelations Cecilia had already heard should have given her pause, but she was too sure of her charm to believe them.

Nearly an hour passed before the gentlemen arrived, but at least Fosdale did not accompany them.  Cecilia remained resolute, donning her most flirtatious smile as she approached Symington.

Mr. Randolph’s greeting kept Elizabeth from overhearing their exchange.

“I think that went rather well,” he said, drawing her apart from the others.  Sir Lewis was deep in conversation with Lady Fosdale.

“But not well enough.”  She shook her head.  “Her ideas are more firmly fixed than even I had thought.  She is convinced that her charm will win his heart.”

He groaned. 

“Perhaps I was too firm just now,” she continued.  “I pointed out that wives have no rights, leaving them at the mercy of their husbands, who may choose to mistreat them with impunity.”

“But few actually do so,” he countered.  “Most gentlemen deplore brutality.”

“Beating is not the only way men can mistreat their wives,” she reminded him.  “One need look no further than Fosdale.  He maliciously denies Mother anything she wants.  Not just visiting London, for I realize that such a journey would prove too costly.  But he refuses even innocuous requests.  She wished to plant flowers near the lake, propagating them from those in the formal gardens.  He would not hear of it.  She asked to transform an unused bedchamber into a sitting room using furniture from one of the attics – it is smaller than the morning room and easier to heat in winter.  He refused.”

“Do not agitate yourself,” he said soothingly, interrupting the flow of words.  “I agree that her situation is unfortunate.  In fact, Fosdale would appear to be a tyrant who exercises his power solely to prove that he can.  But again, few men follow that course.  You cannot judge all mankind by the deeds of a few, just as you cannot condemn the entire estate of marriage because your parents have created a bad one.”

“Please, don’t—”

But again he interrupted.  “I asked you to search your heart once before.  Are you afraid to discover that you reacted to your mother’s unhappiness by turning all men into monsters?”

“How dare—”

“Don’t answer now.  Let your pique settle, then think about it.  I have no quarrel with many of Mary Wollstonecraft’s premises—”

“How did you know I admired her?”

“Your philosophy reflects much of her thinking.  But marriage is seldom a form of slavery.  And even Mary chose to wed in the end – quite happily.”

Symington’s voice diverted her attention, and just as well.  Mr. Randolph’s ability to read her mind was becoming dangerous.  If he suspected that she found him attractive, he would never accept her refusal.

“You may acquire my name if you insist on taking it,” Symington growled at Cecilia.  “But you will get nothing more.  I have no obligation beyond setting a roof over my wife’s head – a roof of my own choosing.  If you think I will waste a single shilling on a greedy schemer, then you are the stupidest child alive.  I despise fortune hunters.”

Cecilia’s cheeks flamed, and she cast a pleading look at Lewis.  He shrugged and returned his attention to Lady Fosdale.

“But how could you face Society after mistreating a wife?” Cecilia demanded.

He laughed.  “Don’t you listen to anyone but yourself?  I care nothing for the opinions of others.  But even if I did, no one would care.  It is bad
ton
to interfere in a man’s personal affairs.  I can name a dozen lords who beat their wives regularly, but that is not a subject anyone would discuss.  Those silly books you read have given you very odd ideas of how the world works.  Rank has many privileges, among which is immunity to censure.  For example, the Duke of Norfolk is a drunkard whose low behavior encompasses every vice known to man.  But he is a close friend of the Regent.  And while prudent men might hide their daughters when he appears, he is welcomed everywhere.  Now, if you will excuse me, I must retire.  My constitution is not yet ready for extensive revelry.”

He took leave of Sir Lewis and Lady Fosdale, winked at Randolph and Elizabeth, then headed for his room.

“Why do I get the feeling that he is neither as sedate nor as opposed to London as we are implying?” she murmured as Cecilia joined Sir Lewis.

Randolph hid a grimace.  Elizabeth was sharp enough to sense hidden truths.  But he needed to keep the Symington image as real as possible.  “Symington has visited Town on several occasions, but he avoids Society and has always preferred the country,” he said carefully.  “He likes nothing more than to potter about his library.”

“That sounds unlike any lord I have ever heard of.”

He shook his head.  “There you go again, trying to fit everyone into the same mold.  Let me describe a few of the lords I have met, so you can rid yourself of that notion once and for all.”

“How do you know so many lords?” she asked suspiciously.

“I lived at Whitfield Castle,” he reminded her.  “I also attended Oxford, where I met many heirs, and I have known Symington since birth.  He may prefer country living, but he is no hermit.”

She frowned, but he ignored her.

“Lord Petersham is quite an odd fellow.  He is a renowned expert on both snuff and tea, but has little interest in anything else.  His extensive snuffbox collection permits him to use a different one every day of the year.”

“Merciful heavens.  How useless.”

“I agree.  You would doubtless prefer Lord Hartleigh.  His principal interests are the government and his family, but he also devotes time to several charities.  His favorite cause is training London street waifs for productive work so they do not turn into footpads and pickpockets.  He has converted one of his estates into an orphanage and school for that purpose.”

“He sounds an interesting gentleman.”

“Very.  And his wife is even more interesting.  Her particular cause is helping abused servants.  She abhors gentlemen who sexually assault unwilling maids.  You have much in common, for she is both charming and well-read.  And she would quickly disabuse you of your notions on marriage.  Hartleigh dotes on her, denying her nothing.”

“I stand corrected.”  Not that it changed her fundamental opposition to marriage.  There were undoubtedly some very good men in the world, but she had no way of knowing which ones they might be.  In particular, she did not want to consider Mr. Randolph, for he was under pressure to wed her.  Fosdale might not be pressing publicly, but he had to be doing so in private.  She knew him too well to think that he would ignore this opportunity to be rid of her.  Mr. Randolph might claim free will, but that was merely a sop to his own conscience.  And he could just as easily be feigning geniality to overcome her objections.

“There are gentlemen who are truly bad,” he admitted, again showing that uncanny ability to read her thoughts.  “Symington already mentioned Norfolk.  Then there is Lord Devereaux.  He is nearly fifty, but has wasted his entire life in the pursuit of dissipation.  He is a confirmed rakehell who lets nothing stand in his way when he decides to seduce someone, often wagering with a friend as to which of them can bed a lady first.  His gaming and drinking are legendary.  I cannot think of a single redeeming quality in the man except that he has never resorted to force.  That cannot be said for the former Lord Wroxleigh, who injured many girls in the course of a reprehensible life.  Thankfully, his son repudiated his father’s habits and is happily married to a charming lady.”

“Should you be discussing such things with me?”

He blushed.  “Probably not, but someone who treats all manner of illness is hardly going to swoon.”

“Do you object to my activities?”

“Not at all.  I admire your concern for others.  Even your pique over Cecilia’s treatment of Symington arises from a desire to see them both happy rather than fury or embarrassment at how the situation arose.”

“That is true, though I do not understand how you discerned it.”

“I am usually considered a reasonable judge of character,” he replied, leading her back toward the others.  “As are you if you relax enough to trust your instincts.”

Sir Lewis was preparing to leave.  They accompanied him to the hall.

“Be careful riding home,” urged Cecilia, unable to keep the concern from her voice.  The open door revealed thick fog outside.

“I will.”  He shivered.  “I should have expected this after our dinner conversation.  Everything tonight reminds me of London.  It suffers from incredible fogs.”

“So I’ve seen,” put in Randolph.  “One year, it was so bad I could not leave the house for nearly a week.  I literally could not see my hand before my face.  One of Whitfield’s servants disappeared trying to reach the market.”

“Disappeared?”

“Probably footpads.”  Lewis shrugged.  “They are bold enough at any time, but fog gives them free rein to attack at will.  God knows there are enough of them.  Bodies turn up in the Thames every week.”

“I’ve heard the problem has worsened since the end of the war,” said Elizabeth.

“Quite true,” confirmed Randolph.  “Former soldiers litter the city.  Between beggars and cutpurses, one cannot go anywhere without being accosted.  And ladies must take an escort for protection whenever they leave the house.”

“At least we have little crime in the country,” Lewis commented as he left.

Cecilia was shivering.  Without a word, she headed for her room.  But that line again furrowed her forehead.

“Good job,” said Elizabeth softly.  Lady Fosdale was also heading upstairs.

“Thank you.  And one problem is now solved.  Over the port, Fosdale agreed to send Symington’s secretary after the special license.”

“Wonderful.  I think Cecilia is close to breaking.  With luck, one more confrontation will do it.  What do you know of London society?”

“Enough to be grateful that I needn’t participate.”

“Excellent.  We must force her to admit that even visiting London will not fulfill her dreams.”