The Husband Season (3 page)

‘Twenty-eight and still single. How have you managed to resist wedlock so long?’ his cousin Mark had asked him.

‘Easily. I have never met the woman I would want to spend the rest of my days with and, besides, I’m too busy.’ At that time he had recently inherited his father’s title and estate at Saddleworth in Yorkshire, which had undoubtedly enhanced his attraction.

Then he had done the unpardonable thing in the eyes of the
ton
and married Anne Bamford, the daughter of a Saddleworth mill owner. Whether it was a love match or done to enhance his own wealth no one could be sure, but after that no one had much to say for him, thinking of him only as the one that got away.

His father-in-law had died soon after the wedding, leaving him in possession of Bamford Mill, and in the following year tragically his wife had died in childbirth along with his baby son, and he was once again single. To try to overcome his loss, he had thrown himself into his work, both at the mill and on his estate, which was considerable. He was rarely seen in London.

On this evening, he was striding down South Audley Street towards Piccadilly when he encountered his cousin. ‘Mark, by all that’s wonderful! Fancy meeting you.’

Mark, who had been negotiating a muddy puddle, looked up at the sound of his name. ‘Adam, good heavens! What are you doing in town?’

‘Urgent business or I would not have bothered.’

‘I was sorry to hear of your wife’s passing.’

‘Yes, a very sad time. The only way I could go on was to throw myself into work.’ This was a gross understatement of how he had felt, but he was not one to display emotion. It was easier to pretend he did not feel at all.

‘All work and no play is not good, you know. And you are no longer in mourning.’

‘Mourning is not something you can put a time limit on, Mark.’

‘No, of course not, clumsy of me. I beg your pardon.’

‘Granted. I was on my way to White’s. Do you care to join me?’

Mark agreed and they were soon seated over supper in that well-known establishment. ‘How is married life?’ Adam asked his cousin. ‘I am sorry I could not attend your wedding, but at the time I had only recently taken over the running of Bamford Mill and there was a great deal of resentment that had to be overcome. There was, and is, much unrest and I needed to persuade my people not to join the Blanketeers’ march.’

The march to London from the industrial north, which had been organised by the Lancashire weavers two years before, had been for the purpose of petitioning the Prince Regent over the desperate state of the textile industry and to protest over the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, which meant any so-called troublemakers could be imprisoned without charge. They had carried blankets, not only as a sign of their trade, but because they expected to be several days on the march. It had been broken up by the militia and its leaders imprisoned. None of the marchers had reached his goal and the petition was never presented.

‘Did you succeed?’

‘Unfortunately, no. I am afraid nothing will really satisfy them but having a say in their own destiny. I fear some dreadful calamity if they are not listened to.’

‘Surely not your people? You have the reputation of being a benign employer.’

‘I do my best, but that will not stop some of the hotheads persuading the rest that to stand apart will bring down retribution on their heads.’

‘What can you do to prevent it?’

‘I don’t know. I pay them more than the usual wage for the work they do and provide them with a good dinner, but that has brought censure from my peers that I am setting a bad example and will ruin all our businesses. I am in a cleft stick, but hoping to avert trouble by other means.’

‘Militia?’

‘No, that is a last resort. Innocent people are apt to get hurt when soldiers are let loose. I intend to speak in the Lords in the hope that the government will listen to reason and grant at least some of their demands.’

‘Do you think they will?’

‘I doubt it, but I must try. If I can rally enough men of good sense on my side, I might achieve something. Times are changing, Mark, and we must change, too, or go under. Ever since I inherited the mill, I have tried to put myself in the shoes of my workers. I have cut the hours of work of the children by half and have set aside a room as a schoolroom and employed a teacher, so the other half of their day is gainfully employed getting an education. Even that does not always go down well—some parents accuse me of giving their children ideas above their station. I answered that by trying to educate the adults, too. It incensed the other mill owners who fear giving the workers an education will make them even more rebellious.’

‘I would have thought that a man who can read and write would be a better and more efficient worker because of it.’

‘My argument exactly. Everyone should be able to better themselves.’ He paused. ‘But I believe you have been doing something similar.’

‘Ours is a home for orphans, but we have a schoolroom, too, and good teachers. It is my wife’s project more than mine, but I help out when I can. We started with only a handful of children, but there are so many of them now and more in need, we have to expand. I am in town to hire an architect for the project and to try to drum up more funds. Everything has become so dear, it is hard work to keep it all afloat.’

‘You are not wanting in the necessary, surely? I understood Broadacres to be a thriving estate.’

‘So it is, but Jane is determined to make the Hadlea Home stand on its own, and I indulge her wishes and help out in a roundabout way. Besides, it is incumbent on me to keep the estate prosperous for my son’s sake and laying out blunt for the orphans, which seems never-ending, will not help to achieve that.’

‘You are a father now, I collect.’

‘Yes, Harry is ten months old and the darling of his mother’s eye.’

‘And yours, too, I’ve no doubt. I lost my child, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know and I am sorry for you, but you will marry again and there will be other children.’

‘I doubt it. There can only be one Anne.’

‘That is true. We are all unique in our own way, loving and loved for different reasons. It doesn’t preclude a second wife.’

‘When she died, so painfully and so cruelly, I swore not to let it happen again.’ He paused, unwilling to dwell on his loss, which no one who had not experienced it could possibly understand, and wondering how to change the subject. ‘Shall we have a hand or two of whist?’

‘Not tonight, cousin. I brought my wife’s sister to London to stay with her aunt in Mount Street and have not yet been home to Wyndham House. The servants will be expecting me. Where do you stay?’

‘At Grillon’s. I have never felt the need of a town house when I am so rarely in town.’

‘Then stay at Wyndham House. You may come and go as you please while there.’

To have congenial company and a more-than-respectable address while doing what he had come to town to do would serve him very well, Adam decided. ‘Thank you. I shall be pleased to do so,’ he said.

They left the club, Mark to go home and alert his servants that a guest was expected and Adam to go to Grillon’s, settle his account and arrange for his manservant, Alfred Farley, to take his luggage to Wyndham House.

Chapter Two

S
ophie woke the next day to find the sun was shining, though it was still cold. Bessie was busy about the room, finding warm clothes for her to wear. ‘Such weather for May,’ she said. ‘You would think it was winter, not the beginning of summer. Do you think you will be able to go out today?’

‘Yes, I am determined on it. If Aunt Emmeline cries off, I shall ask Teddy to take me. I did not come to London to sit about indoors.’

On Bessie’s insistence she put on a fine wool gown in a soft blue that was warmer than the figured muslin she had hoped to wear and went down to the breakfast room, where she ate a boiled egg with some bread and butter and drank a dish of hot chocolate in solitary splendour. Lady Cartrose was never an early riser, and when Sophie enquired of a servant if Mr Cavenhurst was up and about, she was told that he had not come back to the house until nearly dawn and was still abed. She was obliged to shift for herself.

* * *

After breakfast she wandered about the downstairs rooms getting in the way of the servants who were busy with housework that had to be done before their mistress put in an appearance. This inactivity was making her impatient and cross and she went up to her room to don a full-length pelisse, a velvet bonnet, walking shoes and a muff and went out into the garden. It was not a very big garden and she had soon seen all she wanted of it. The wider world beckoned.

There was a small gate at the end of the garden that led to the mews where her ladyship’s horses and carriage were kept and her groom lived. She walked past the stables and presently came out on to Park Lane. It was still early in the day, but the road was already very busy. Carriages and carts rumbled by, riders trotted towards the gate into the Park, walkers hurried about their business and children made their way to school accompanied by nursemaids. Three soldiers, colourful in their red jackets, gave her a lascivious look as they passed her on the way to their barracks. One even went so far as to sweep off his hat and bow to her. Haughtily, she put her chin in the air to pass him, and that was her undoing. She slipped on a patch of ice on a puddle and found herself flat on her back with her skirts up to her knees, displaying a well-turned ankle and several inches of shapely calf.

They immediately rushed to her aid. Despite her protests that she was unhurt and could rise unaided, one of them came behind her, bent to put his arms about her under her shoulders and heaved her to her feet.

She stood shaking, not so much with hurt or shock, but indignation that he could have manhandled her in such a way and seemed in no hurry to relinquish his hold of her. ‘Let me go,’ she said.

‘But you will fall again if you are not supported.’

‘Indeed, I will not. I am perfectly able to stand. I insist you release me.’

They might have let her go, but her hauteur made them want to have a game with her. ‘There’s gratitude for you,’ one of them said. ‘Did your mother never teach you manners?’

She did not answer, but repeated, ‘Let me go. I shall call the constable.’

‘Constable? I see no constable, do you, Jamie?’

‘Never a one,’ his companion concurred, picking up her bonnet from the road where it had fallen, putting it on his own head and prancing about in it. They had attracted quite a crowd, none of whom seemed inclined to interfere. Most were laughing.

‘You do realise that your fall broke the ice and your fine coat is wet and dirty. What will your mama say to that, I wonder?’ This from the one who held her firmly in his grasp.

She was well aware of the state of her coat; the cold and damp were penetrating through to her body. ‘Let me go, you great oaf.’ She struggled ineffectually to free herself. It only made him hold her more firmly.

‘Dear, dear, such language, but I take no offence at it, though I fear that if I let go, you would take another tumble and then, as you disdain my assistance, I should feel obliged to leave you sitting in the puddle. On the other hand, if you were to ask me prettily and give me a kiss as a reward, that might be a different matter.’

‘Certainly not.’ Her pride had given way to fear, though she endeavoured not to show it. No one had warned her of the perils of going out without an escort, or if they had, she had not listened, confident of being able to take care of herself. In Hadlea she thought nothing of walking about the village on her own, and no one would have dreamed of molesting her. The onlookers did nothing to help, being too busy laughing at the soldier who was wearing her bonnet and curtsying to them, pretending to hold out imaginary skirts.

She was fighting back angry tears when a gentleman pushed his way through and grabbed the soldier who held her and flung him aside. ‘Off with you, or your commanding officer will hear of this.’

Recognising the voice of authority when they heard it, they flung her bonnet down and fled, leaving Sophie to fall into the arms of her rescuer. He held her a moment to steady her before releasing her. His face had a weather-worn look of someone used to being out of doors and there were fine lines at the corners of his brown eyes, above which were well-defined brows. His hair, under a tall hat, was light brown and curled a little into the nape of his neck. He was stylishly but not extravagantly dressed, but none of that counted with her because he was endeavouring not to laugh, and that annoyed her. She felt obliged to thank him, but it was done in such a superior way, he could have no reason to think his assistance was any more than her due as a lady.

He picked up her bonnet and attempted to brush the mud off it, but it was ruined, and he simply handed it to her. ‘Have you far to go?’

‘Only to Mount Street.’

‘I will escort you there.’

‘That will not be necessary. I bid you good day.’ She walked away, her only purpose at that moment to return to the safety of her aunt’s garden and make up her mind how to explain the state of her clothing.

* * *

Thankfully her aunt and brother were still abed, so she was able to creep up to her room unseen. Bessie was there, unpacking the things from her trunk that had not been taken out the night before. ‘Mercy me, Miss Sophie, whatever happened to you?’ she asked, seeing the state of her young charge.

‘I slipped on the ice and fell into a puddle.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, except my pride.’

‘You had better take off those wet things before you catch cold.’ Bessie bustled about fetching clean clothes for her. ‘Where did this happen?’

‘On the way to the park. I had seen all there was to see of the garden, so I thought I would take a walk.’

‘Miss Sophie,’ Bessie said while busy helping Sophie out of her clothes, ‘you cannot, indeed you must not, go out on your own.’ The maid had been with the family so long, she felt at liberty to speak her mind to the young lady she had known since the day she was born. ‘This is London, not Hadlea. Anything could have happened. Did anyone see you?’

‘Only the people walking in the street, but I soon got up again and came home.’

‘No harm done, I suppose, but you should have come indoors and asked me to go with you, if there was no one else.’

‘I didn’t think of it. I have never had to do it before.’

‘Isn’t that just what I have been saying? What is permissible in Hadlea is not permissible or wise in London.’

‘You won’t tell my aunt, will you? It is too mortifying.’

‘No, of course I will not, but you must not do anything like it again. You could have twisted your ankle or broken your arm. It is fortunate that you did not.’

‘It was more humiliating than painful.’ Just how humiliating she was not prepared to divulge.

* * *

Her aunt came downstairs at noon to find her niece in the morning parlour with a novel by Miss Jane Austen in her lap, although she was not reading it but daydreaming. Not even Miss Austen’s elegant prose could hold her attention. She had never expected to be so bored. It was worse than being in Hadlea, where at least she could go out walking or riding or visit her sister.

‘When we have had nuncheon, we will go out in the carriage,’ her aunt said. ‘I must go to the library and change my book.’ She nodded towards the volume Sophie was holding. ‘Unless you want to read it.’

‘No, Aunt, I have already read it.’

‘Then to the library we will go and then we will call on my friend Mrs Malthouse in Hanover Square. Mr and Mrs Malthouse are very wealthy, but it makes no matter for I have often spoken of you and dear Jane and Issie and their husbands and how well up in the stirrups they are, so you do not need to feel in any way inferior.’

Sophie did not see why she should feel inferior and was tempted to say, ‘I do not’, but held her tongue.

* * *

Mrs Malthouse was even rounder than Aunt Emmeline, but in spite of that wore fussy clothes with a great many lace flounces and ribbons. Her daughter, Cassandra, was nothing like her mother, being tall and slim, with dark brown hair arranged in ringlets and a merry smile.

‘You remember me speaking of my sister’s family, do you not?’ Lady Cartrose explained to her friend. ‘Sophie is staying with me, but as you know, I seldom venture out in the evenings nowadays. Her brother is also with us and will escort her to whatever function has been arranged for her to attend. Everyone knows I do not go out so very often these days and I am wanting in invitations. I am come to appeal to you to help me out. I know Cassandra is engaged to attend the Rowlands’ dancing party and wondered if you might ask them to include Sophie in the invitation.’

Sophie disliked the way her aunt was begging on her behalf and would as lief forgo the dance as to be invited out of charity. ‘Aunt, we should not put Mrs Malthouse to the inconvenience,’ she said. ‘Doubtless there will be other invitations.’

‘It is a public subscription dance,’ Cassandra put in. ‘It is only being held at the Rowlands’ because they have a large ballroom. You have only to buy a ticket. I think it costs five guineas.’

‘That is a prodigious amount,’ Emmeline said.

‘It is so high as to keep out the undesirables,’ Mrs Malthouse put in. ‘And because it is to raise money for a suitable gift for the new princess. She is to be christened Alexandrina Victoria, though I believe she is to be known as Princess Victoria.’

‘In that case I shall naturally obtain tickets for Teddy and Sophie,’ Emmeline said. ‘I shall not go.’

‘If Sophie is in need of company,’ Mrs Malthouse added, ‘then she and her brother are welcome to join our party.’

‘Thank you, Augusta. I knew you would help,’ Emmeline said.

Sophie added her gratitude while wondering who was to pay for the tickets. The pin money she had been given would not stretch to it. Her aunt seemed unconcerned, so perhaps she expected Mark to put his hand in his pocket yet again, but Mark might judge ten guineas for two tickets a monstrous imposition and refuse to pay. It would be a bitter disappointment if she could not go.

‘Shall we take a turn in the garden?’ Cassandra suggested to Sophie. ‘We can leave Mama and Lady Cartrose to their gossip.’

She readily agreed and the two young ladies left the house by the conservatory. The sun had come out and chased off the frost, and the garden was secluded and sheltered. It was pleasant strolling about an immaculately tended garden and talking. ‘Have you been to London before?’ Cassandra asked her.

‘No, never, though my sisters have. They are older than me and both married. Jane is married to Lord Wyndham, and Isabel to Sir Andrew Ashton, who owns a fast clipper and takes her all over the world on it. My brother is in town with me. He is older than Issie and younger than Jane.’

‘Yes, I have heard Lady Cartrose talk of your sisters. Your father has a substantial estate in Norfolk, I believe.’

‘It is fairly extensive. It is mostly arable land and grazing. I have often heard Papa say the land is very fertile, but I know nothing of agriculture so cannot vouch for it.’

‘We don’t have a country estate. It is not that we could not afford it, but that Papa’s business as a top lawyer in constant demand keeps him in town all the year round and we would hardly ever use it. Sometimes I go and stay with my uncle and aunt in the country, but I miss the entertainments and the shops and meeting my friends, so I am always thankful to come back home.’

‘I can quite see that. I should, too, I am sure.’

‘You are very pretty and I do admire your dress,’ Cassandra said, looking at Sophie’s yellow sarcenet gown with its high waist and puffed sleeves, over which she was wearing a matching silk shawl. ‘It must have been made by the finest mantua maker.’

‘Indeed it was,’ Sophie said. ‘Just because I live in the country does not mean I am ignorant of fashion, or unable to procure the best.’ This was all dreadfully boastful and not exactly accurate, but she couldn’t bear to be thought of as a country yokel. Besides, Jane’s needlework was up to anything a London mantua maker could produce.

‘I am so pleased to hear it, Miss Cavenhurst. I can think of nothing worse than having to stint. We are fortunate not to have to think of it.’

Sophie had only intended to praise Jane’s work, but her aunt had already told everyone she was well connected and she felt she could not contradict her, so she let it go. ‘If we are to be friends, please call me Sophie.’

‘Of course we shall be friends, so Sophie it shall be. You may call me Cassie. Everyone does except Mama and Papa and my grandparents.’

‘Cassie, do you have a beau?’

‘No, Mama would never tolerate it before I come out, but this year I hope to find a husband. What about you? Do you expect to find one while you are in town?’

‘That is the idea of a Season, is it not?’

‘Indeed it is. Have you anyone in mind?’

‘No one. My brother says I am too particular, but I will not marry just for the sake of it. I have already turned down three offers.’

‘Three!’ exclaimed Cassandra. ‘You cannot mean it.’

‘Indeed, I do.’

‘Were they all handsome and rich? Did they have titles?’

‘One was handsome and tolerably rich, one was a baronet and one a lord, but none combined all the attributes I am looking for. The lord was a widower with two children. I have no wish to be a second wife. I had no difficulty in rejecting them.’ She was boasting again, although she had said nothing that was not true and was amused by the expression on Cassandra’s face, a mixture of shock and incredulity.