An Improper Companion (15 page)

It was a quiet day that ended early, for Mary felt it unsuitable to play at cards on the Sabbath. So, one by one, we drifted upstairs and I found a likely novel and read myself to sleep.

Monday we again had callers, but the pattern had changed. These already knew of my birth and, from the first, were courteous. Indeed, one apologised that she had not called before. I began to feel, cynically, that from a shortage of friends, I should soon have a surfeit. My father, with his careless ease, charmed them all, both men and wives. Even Mary grew more comfortable with Lord Pellen as she realised how his presence added to her consequence. Nor was Leslie displeased that I was finally to be accepted here. True, it was not London, and that would be a more difficult ordeal, but it was a start. And the men could now laugh with him again and visit easily. I realised for the first time that our marriage had, until now, cost Leslie the companionship of the neighbouring men. (Not that
they
cared whom he had married, but most had been prevented from visiting by their wives.) I no longer wondered that Leslie was so anxious to prove me respectable in the eyes of the world. Only Philip was absent during these visits, for he decided they were sadly flat. I confess I sometimes envied him the freedom to be out riding instead.

As Ellen dressed my hair late one afternoon I discovered that even the servants had a hand in the matter. “They’ll be taking back tales, the grooms will,” she proudly informed me, “of how good a mistress you be. And the Bentworth coachman has told the Warren housekeeper, and the Giles coachman has sisters in two other households, and...”

And so it went. I smiled at the pride with which Ellen spoke. Yet perhaps it was not a misplaced pride, for indeed the story would spread so. It were better to have the servants of a household friendly than against one. I sighed. How strange to be so cosseted as I was now. I shook myself free of such thoughts and turned to the task of dressing. On my table were the Kinwell garnets, and it was these jewels I wore. Perhaps, I thought with a smile, they would disturb Mary less than the emeralds had.

In this I was correct, for Mary was less sharp-set that evening, and indeed, it was a gay party we made at table. My father, at one point, raised his glass and said, “A toast to the future toast of London. My daughter, Heather.”

With smiles, Leslie and Philip drank to my health, and Mary sipped at her glass. Philip asked eagerly, “When will you be taking Heather to London?”

Lord Pellen raised an eyebrow. “I? I shall not be taking her to London. Sir Leslie shall, later in the spring. You must ask him the day. I shall be leaving for London tomorrow.”

In silence, I heard my voice echo, “Tomorrow?”

He smiled at me gently. “Yes, my child, I am sorry but I must leave. I have business matters to attend to, and I am no longer needed here.” Ever the diplomat, he added, “I hope to see you
all
in London. I shall look for you at the opera, Lady Mary.”

Mary fluttered and Philip smiled, but Leslie was grave. “I will ride as far as the village with you, if I may, Lord Pellen.”

My father nodded just as gravely, “Yes. Perhaps we might take care of a few matters there.”

I felt an unaccountable chill at these words. I wished again that I had been told what these matters were and could speak of them with Leslie. My father was talking again, “... er’s ball. I trust you will be in London then, Lady Mary?”

“Oh, I should think so!” Mary said emphatically. “Philip knew the sons at school and met Celia twice. He thought her well enough then, but she was still in the schoolroom. Now, I hear, she has quite blossomed.”

“Quite,” Lord Pellen replied.

I glanced at Philip, who was carefully staring at his plate. He was embarrassed, I saw, but not for care of the girl. Rather it was chagrin that his mother should speak so. Which was as well, I thought, for Celia, as I remembered her, was a spoiled chit who cared only for herself. I spoke lightly, “Indeed, at school we thought her a diamond of the first water.”

All eyes turned to me, Leslie’s concerned and Lord Pellen’s piercing. It was my father who spoke. “And did you tell her of your marriage when you left?”

I tried to match the casual tone, “No, I told no one. For I thought I’d no family or anyone truly to care. So one morning I slipped away.”

Philip seemed surprised. “But surely they knew he’d been dangling after you?”

“Oh, no. I was always careful, you see. When one is apparently an orphan, one must be over worried of one’s reputation,” I lied with amazing ease.

Philip seemed satisfied, but Leslie’s eyes were drawn together. My father said smoothly, “I think it would be best if one did not dwell on it. Though highly romantic, a schoolroom courtship must, in general, be frowned upon.”

“Well, of course I shall be careful!” Philip said indignantly. “I shan’t be hinting anything improper. And anyway, everyone knows Leslie is too high in the instep to have seduced Heather.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then we all were laughing, save Philip. It was that or cry. Again my father chose to answer. “My dear young man, that was not what I meant at all. A schoolroom romance should be frowned upon simply because Heather was so young to be thinking of marriage.”

“Oh.”

Philip flushed, and I wondered what he had guessed and what he had imagined. But I knew Philip could be trusted. He would not be careless of my reputation no matter what he thought. It was Mary, after all, who turned the talk to safer topics. “Tell me, my lord, have the musicians been chosen yet for the ball?”

It seemed they had not, and for several minutes the discussion was of the merits of various possible choices. The names meant little to me, for I had attended but one dance, and that in a borrowed dress, in the countryside. What else passed at table that night I cannot say, for I confess I did not truly listen. As Mary and I withdrew to leave the men talking over their port she taxed me with it. “My dear Heather,” she asked anxiously, “is something wrong?”

I smiled in spite of myself. “No, Mary. Only that I am tired. I fear I am not so accustomed to entertaining as you, and cannot be at ease yet.”

“Well, you must learn,” she replied instantly. “In Town you will no doubt entertain often. And, should you later have an establishment separate from Leslie, it will be doubly important.”

So, I thought, Leslie has already told Mary we shall do so. I felt unaccountably disturbed by the knowledge. But unwilling for Mary to see this, I spoke quickly. “I shall be happy to see London again. And dance. For I love to dance, though I’ve had little chance other than in school.”

Mary hesitated a moment, then said, “There will be occasions, my dear, where it would be considered improper for you to do so.”

“But why?” I demanded.

“Because you are a married woman.”

“Oh, no!” I protested and stood mouth agape in dismay.

I whirled about as a voice behind me asked with concern, “ ‘Oh, no’ what?”

I ran up to Leslie. “Mary says I may not dance in London because I am a
matron
!”

Leslie threw back his head and laughed, as did Philip and Lord Pellen. But Leslie’s arms encircled me as well. Behind me, Mary spoke crossly. “I did not say she could
never
dance, only that upon occasion ’twould be
improper
.”

Leslie chuckled anew. With one hand he tilted up my chin. “I shall be careful that you need not endure many such dreadful evenings,” he said. “And you need not fear. There will be many balls for you to dance at. We shall even give one, if need be.”

I smiled at him gratefully, feeling rather goosish. Then I glanced away as his face took on a strange expression. My father was watching us with open approval. Abruptly I realised where I was and that Leslie’s arms still encircled me. I pulled free, blushing deeply, but Leslie only smiled his strange smile. Philip broke the silence, his voice oddly pitched, “Lord Pellen, is it to be cards again this evening?”

“Why, I thought not,” my father spoke slowly, “I thought perhaps you and I might play at billiards.” He paused to wink. “And compare university life in my day and yours.”

Philip fairly glowed. “Oh, I should like that!”

“Good. Then it’s settled, Come along, my boy.”

As they left the room, I stared at the floor, unable to meet Mary or Leslie’s eyes. The silence grew uncomfortably until Mary said, “Well, I shall retire early. Please make my excuses to your father, Heather.”

I turned in dismay to stop her, but could think of nothing to say. And in a moment, Leslie and I were alone. I stared at him, my mouth dry. We had not spoken alone since that day I learned Lord Pellen was my father. And then, Leslie had been justly angry with me. He turned to look at the fireplace, where a small fire, suitable to spring, burned. At last he asked, “Are you sorry your father leaves tomorrow?”

“No!” I said truthfully. He looked surprised at my vehemence, and I added, “I mean no disrespect, but life will be quieter when he is gone back to London.”

Leslie nodded and turned back to the fire. “I have already told Lord Pellen we shall not follow for a few weeks, that you ... we ... are in need of time to prepare.”

I nodded, though his back was to me. And again there was a silence. I tried to fill it with chatter. “Mary says that we shall entertain much in London. That I must learn to be a good hostess. Particularly after we have separate establishments. But I...”

“Are you looking forward so eagerly to separate establishments?” His voice cut across my words.

I looked at the floor, my mouth dry again. “I ... well ... naturally,” I said as resolutely as I could, “it is what we both want, is it not?”

He looked at me for a moment with his piercing dark eyes and then, abruptly, strode from the room. I would have followed and caught at his sleeve, but remembered in time and did not. I stood alone in the empty and now chilly room, suddenly very tired. Slowly I climbed the stairs to my chamber. If the men thought me rude, so be it. I could not face them again that night.

We were all at breakfast next morning. My father asked, “Heather, will you give orders that callers are to be told you are not at home? We shall have more time together then, and none shall think you rude.”

I readily assented, and it seemed we were more relaxed, all of us, as we talked. After breakfast, my father and I walked to the copse of trees near the castle. He spoke of things I would do, places I would see, and people I would meet in London. And he spoke a little of his own ambitions and the steps (some of them) he had taken in order to achieve them. We talked comfortably, and for the first time I truly began to feel he was my father. And as I did I was aware of disappointment, for I could see that I would never have any real closeness or love from him. As we talked suddenly I felt very old and alone. And yet I knew that in trouble, he would stand by me ...
if
it did not require much sacrifice of him or threaten his reputation.

After luncheon, my father took his leave with the grace and charm I had come to expect of him. He kissed my hand and Mary’s and the compliments were many. Leslie was more abrupt. A few curt words were all he spoke to Mary and Philip. To me he said, “I shall be back late. You need not postpone dinner for me. I shall dine with your father.” He paused, then added with a smile, “I shall stop at the dressmaker to see if your riding habit is ready. Have you any other commissions for me to execute in town?”

In truth, I could think of none, and said so. But Mary charged him with a few. “A packet of pins, and some lace two inches wide. And ask at the dressmaker when my order will be ready. Oh, and...”

I ceased to listen. A few minutes later, Leslie was in the saddle, for he would ride beside, not in, my father’s coach. As he sat there I moved without thinking and, placing a hand on his arm, said, “Have a care.”

He smiled down at me and said quietly, “I shall.”

And then they were gone. The rest of the day passed slowly as I stayed in my room and read. Dinner was a quiet affair and we sat about, after, in the drawing room. Mary and I worked with our needles and Philip paced about. The hour grew late and still Leslie had not returned. Mary retired at ten, but Philip waited on with me. At midnight he spoke. “You’d best go up to sleep, Aunt Heather. I fear Uncle will be very late.”

He tried to speak lightly and I to reply in kind. “Perhaps. You must sleep as well.”

He nodded and together we climbed the stairs. At my door we halted and he said good night. Almost, it seemed, he would speak further, but he did not. Quickly he strode away and I entered to find Ellen waiting to put me to bed.

Chapter 13

It was late when I woke, for it had been late when I had at last slept. Indeed it was only when Margaret brought the tea that I rose. She looked at me oddly while Ellen slammed an unnecessary number of things, I thought, and I chided her for it. Then I learned the reason for the behaviour of my servants. “I’m sorry, my lady. ’Tis the master. He has not yet , returned, they are saying in the servants’ hall. And Peter, his valet, had no notion Sir Leslie would be gone o’ernight!” She paused for breath and I said, “Ellen, it is not for the servants to question Sir Leslie’s behaviour.”

“Well, we do, my lady!” she said hotly, to my surprise. “Scarcely two weeks married and he stays in town the night! With a
woman,
I doubt not!”

“Ellen! That is the outside of enough!” I said sharply. “If the servants must gossip, you may tell them
I
knew Sir Leslie would be gone the night. The only wonder is that he forgot to tell his valet as well. ’Tis nothing out of the ordinary.”

She flushed. “Oh, my lady, I’m sorry. I...”

We were both silent as she dressed me and I sent her away while I ate. In the empty room I was angry. Why had I lied for Leslie? Well, I knew the answer to that! Because I could not bear the thought the servants should pity me. Nor did I care to know our lives were watched so closely. But where was my husband?

I was descending the stairs when I heard him. I began to hurry, only to pause as I heard Philip’s voice. “Uncle, may I speak with you in the library?”

Leslie’s answer was both weary and alert. “Certainly, Philip.”

I decided to wait to greet my husband as Philip appeared to so be concerned over some matter. And indeed, I was almost glad Philip’s voice had halted me, for I realised my haste might have been misunderstood. Slowly I climbed the stairs to my chamber for had some small matters to attend to there. It was sometime later as I worked at my desk that the door was thrown open with a loud noise. I turned swiftly and saw Leslie standing in the doorway, his face white with anger. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. I was frozen in my chair as he advanced. “How dare you, madam?” he demanded softly, “How dare you?”

I stared at him, frightened and speechless. He towered over me. I, too, was pale now. “How dare you send that young whelp to question me?” he asked, his voice growing louder. “You could not greet me yourself and ask, if you must, for an explanation. Instead you send my nephew to demand—
demand
!—an explanation of me! How dare you, madam?”

“I ... I ...”

“And what concern is it to you if I should stay away the night?” he lashed out with his voice.

My anger now rescued me. “None, save that I must hear the servants offer me their sympathy that my husband of two weeks seeks women in town!”

He stared at me for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed a bitter laugh. “Indeed, madam?” he asked harshly. “Does this disturb you? But surely you cannot wonder at it if I seek elsewhere for what you will not give! Or do you prefer I follow your father’s advice and ravish you each night?” It seems I paled further, for he said bitterly, “I thought not. I shall speak with you later, madam. Now I wish to change. But I warn you, have a care whom you use against me. You hurt my nephew as well as yourself when you use him so.”

He gave a mock bow and was gone. For some time, I sat at my desk shaking. When at last I could stand again, I fled my room for the garden. I was still too numb to think, and I wandered aimlessly about. And when a little later I saw Philip approaching, I ran to him. For a moment, his arms encircled me. Then we remembered who and where we were. He led me to a bench and sat me down. We stared at each other. “He thinks...” Philip began.

I nodded. Philip clenched a fist, “I only meant to remind him of his duty to you. And he said...” I nodded again, helplessly. When he spoke, his voice was puzzled. “He said that if I were married to you, I’d take
his
side quick enough.”

I flushed. Philip’s voice was urgent now, “Why did you marry him, Heather?”

And in that moment, I was myself again. “Why does any woman marry a man?” I parried. “Leslie is not the same to , me as he is with you. Often he is very kind and gentle. If, at times, we quarrel, what of it?”

The words were not easy to speak, but I had a part to play, and play it I should. But it was not easy to sit still as Philip’s face showed its dismay. “I wish you had told me sooner that you were so
happy
!” he retorted. “Then I should not have made such a cake of myself!”

Angrily, he strode away to the castle. And I could only watch him go.

It was late when I returned to my room. Almost teatime. I would take tea with the others, else the servants would talk. I hurried to change, and Ellen quickly repaired the damage the wind had done to my hair. It was she who told me of the note “on your desk, my lady.”

I opened it quickly, the hand unknown to me. Perhaps ? Philip? No, there was a seal. From my father.

My dearest Heather,

It is my painful duty to write this note. Your husband will not have returned last night, and I doubt not you believe the worst. You had best know the truth of it. After we dined, your husband stayed late, drinking, and it was necessary to put him to bed at the inn. I must leave for Town early, but when he wakes, the innkeeper will send Sir Leslie back to the castle.

Indeed, I cannot approve of such behaviour, but we both know its cause. You are fortunate it was not worse. And I counsel you that if you do not school yourself to be a good wife then, in time, it will be worse. Sir Leslie well knows I believe him too easy with you and ...

The letter continued for a page and a half and I read it but quickly. I knew well enough what he would say to me. Of importance was the knowledge there had been no woman. I felt absurdly relieved. Feeling somewhat lighter, I descended for tea. To my surprise, Leslie as well as Mary awaited me, though Philip was nowhere to be seen. Mary looked nervously from Leslie to myself, but could not, I was sure, feel as nervous as I when I greeted him. The anger was still in his eyes, but he spoke quietly enough. “Good afternoon, Heather. Mary has already rung for the tea as we were not sure you would join us.”

“Indeed? Well, I confess myself ready for a cup. Has Mary taxed you yet with all your errands?”

Leslie looked surprised at the lightness of my tone. Mary was speaking... more than just errands! But enough of that; I have promised. Yes, Leslie remembered most of the charges. And your habit, he tells me, is as lovely as the one from London.”

I glanced at Leslie, who said, “I have only now sent it up. With all Mary’s packages, I’d forgotten to deliver yours. I believe you will be satisfied.”

The tea arrived, then, and with it, Philip. He greeted us curtly. Although he apologised to Mary for his tardiness, he would not look at me. Leslie glanced in puzzlement from Philip to myself, and I could not meet his eyes. Let him wonder.
I
should not explain!

We became more and more constrained, the four of us, and tea was quickly over as Leslie and Mary found excuses to withdraw. Only Philip remained longer, and he regarded me sullenly. I could bear it no longer and, in a moment, had undone all I had said before. I rose and walked to the doorway. There I paused and said in a voice that was not altogether steady, “Do not judge me so harshly, Philip, for you have not lived my life.”

He sat up abruptly, and under the piercing gaze, so like his uncle’s, I fled.

The evening meal passed much as had tea, save that Philip was more thoughtful than sullen. And we all sought our beds early that night.

With the tea tray, next morning, came a note from Philip. He had heard my new habit was ready, should I care to go riding? I should. I did not linger over my breakfast, and soon I was downstairs. Philip’s appreciative smile told me I looked my best. The horses were saddled and we were off. The wind in my face was agreeable, and Philip was his usual, charming self again. And I laughed as I had not laughed in days. Philip regaled me with
on-dits
of Oxford. We were laughing t over some such tale when we heard a horse behind us. As one, we turned to see Leslie approaching. I stiffened in preparation for his anger. But he only greeted us mildly and said to Philip, “May I borrow my wife, Nephew? You musn’t have all the pleasure.”

I listened with care but detected no sarcasm in Leslie’s voice. I glanced at Philip, but he had no choice save to ride away. Leslie’s horse fell in step with mine. “You’ve a good seat, Heather.”

I smiled a brief, wary smile. For a while, we rode in silence. Then he said, “You have turned my servants against me, madam. This morning,
Peter
took me to task!”

Dismay crossed my face. “ ’Twas not intended, Leslie, I...”

“Yes, I know. You told the servants you knew I expected to be away overnight. But Peter, I fear, did not believe, you and said it was one more cause I should not behave as I have.”

Leslie’s voice lacked anger and I looked at him warily, not trusting this mood. “Leslie,” I ventured, “I did not ask Philip to speak with you.”

He halted his horse and regarded me seriously. “I know that, Heather. Or rather I realised it yesterday, once I calmed down. I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

“No, of course not,” I replied boldly. He looked at me with raised eyebrows, and after a moment, I added, “Well, a little, I confess.”

He sighed. “I’ve the devil of a temper, and no amount of effort can school it. A little like your tongue, madam.” Leslie laughed as I bristled at his words. “No, I will not come to cuffs with you today, Heather. I mean to apologise for yesterday. I suppose I was angriest because the accusation was unfair!”

I knew he watched to see how I should react. “I know,” I said gravely. He was clearly astonished, and now I smiled. “My dear Leslie, do you truly believe my
father
could resist the opportunity to meddle? I had a note of him, late yesterday, in which he explained lest I think the worst. And he I spent much time advising me to be a good wife.”

“
And
?”

I looked squarely at .Leslie’s eyes. “And ... I do not believe my father is infallible,” I retorted, “nor do I believe he understands me very well.”

I could not read Leslie’s face as we rode on. He began to talk of other matters and told me about various tenants. But it was as though there were a wall between us, and the day felt suddenly cold. When we were in view of the stable, he halted his horse again and said, “This time there was no woman, Heather. But next time it may not be so. I meant what I said: I will seek elsewhere what you will not give. I’ll be discreet, but I’ll not live the life of a monk.”

I could not explain how I felt. I knew his words were reasonable, and yet ... Resolutely I said, “Of course. That was the agreement, was it not? I was distressed only that you had been (apparently) indiscreet.”

I could not meet his eyes and when we began to ride again, I stole a glance of his face. But it was again a mask. We rode without speaking, and in the courtyard, after lifting me down from my horse, Leslie strode away, leaving me to follow as best I might.

Nevertheless, matters were easier, and next morning, the books Leslie had ordered arrived. I was childishly happy as I sorted through them. Leslie had thrown off his dark mood and even laughed with Philip over my delight. I sat on the floor of the library, lifting the books out, one by one. Leslie sat beside me and Philip shelved the books as my husband explained where each belonged. Mary looked in from time to time, but only shook her head and went away again. “What will you do with so many books?” Philip asked in genuine puzzlement.

“Read them!” I said indignantly.

They both laughed and I reached for another book. As it came from the box I froze. It was a book of children’s tales. As was the next. Quickly now, I lifted out the rest of the books. They were all for children or of child and baby care. I stared at Leslie, anger rising in me. He, too, was pale. “I ordered them before ... before I knew ... there would be no children,” he said in the silence.

I stared a moment longer and Philip, clearing his throat, asked, “Shall I shelve the books?”

I handed them to him and rose. Looking at Leslie, I said, “I do not care what you do with them!”

Then I turned and fled the library. Leslie was on his feet before I reached the door, but he did not follow. And Philip looked away.

I would have fled to the grove near the castle, but it was raining and instead I went to the tower. I had never explored it, but I knew there was a room at the top. The staircase wound upward, and though I tired, I would not stop. The lock protested but yielded to my key, and I stepped inside the room. It was dusty, but I did not care for that and sat on the lid of a trunk. For the room had become a storeroom. My anger, which had been all but spent in reaching the room,
flared anew. How dare he? What in God’s name had he , meant by it? Even had I been with child by him, there should have been time enough to order such books later. What had he been thinking of?

Eventually, my anger died and I began to look about me. With a feeling of guilt, I opened a trunk. You are the mistress here, I told myself sternly, you need not feel guilty! And I began to look through the contents. In the second trunk, I found a journal and began to read the small, feminine hand. I was not the first woman in this house to be unhappy, or to be forced into marriage. Laura, her name had been, and the suitor an earl. Her father, an earlier Kinwell baronet, had forced her to accept the man. The journal ranged over only a few months, the half year preceding her marriage. I read with fascination of balls and routs and musical evenings. I read of a London I had never seen, for even then the family moved in the first circles. And as I read I knew that I, too, must leave an account of my misfortune.