Lady Fortescue Steps Out (The Poor Relation Series, Vol. 1) Read online

  Sir Philip rushed up. Lady Fortescue, with a smile on her thin rouged lips, stood back.

  “Complaining about the prices, hey?” he said in a loud voice. “If you cannot pay, my lady, then I must ask you to leave a piece of jewellery as security.”

  The sheer effrontery of the remark left Lady Stanton speechless for once in her life.

  “My lady was merely saying the soup was cold, not complaining about the charge,” snapped Mr. Blackley.

  Sir Philip picked up Lady Stanton’s plate of soup, carried it to the sideboard, ladled more soup into another dish from the tureen, which was being kept warm over a spirit burner, and carried it back.

  “There you are,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “The soup really is excellent,” said the duke, his clear voice carrying round the dining-room.

  “What would you know about soup, or anything else for that matter?” raged Lord Darkwood. “A man who cannot appreciate one of the best speeches the Lords has ever heard cannot appreciate anything.”

  “A man who insults a gently born lady in public is a churl,” retorted the duke venomously.

  “Oh, do stop them,” whispered Lady Fortescue urgently to Sir Philip.

  “Do you know, I don’t think I will,” said Sir Philip gleefully. “This will be all over Town tomorrow and will add to our consequence. I insulted Lady Stanton, and the duke and Darkwood are arguing publicly over one of the servants.”

  “But no one will come if they think they are going to be insulted by an old fright like you,” said the colonel nastily.

  “Course they will. The upper classes have a masochistic streak and fawn on anyone who insults them. How do you think Beau Brummell became so popular? Give it a few moments and Darkwood will be crawling to the duke.”

  Lord Darkwood sat in a moody silence. He had visions of the duke, who was a maliciously witty orator, attacking him in the House of Lords and making him look like a fool. Besides, this wretched waitress was a friend of his wife, and she was looking daggers at him as if rehearsing the scene she was going to enjoy making as soon as they were in private.

  He threw down his napkin—a newfangled sophistry which puzzled some of the diners, who still wiped their mouths on the table-cloth—and crossed to the duke’s table.

  He sat down opposite and said in a conciliatory voice, “We are becoming over-hasty. I am sorry I appeared to insult Miss James.”

  “And I am sorry I criticized your speech,” said the duke with a sudden charming smile. “I was, in fact, most impressed.”

  “Well, now,” said Lord Darkwood, elated with relief, “I must say it is indeed a pity that Miss James there should lower herself to wait on table.”

  “Miss James is very competent, but I sometimes think it must be a very dreary life for her. She has no amusements or pleasures.”

  So the duke was interested in making Miss James his mistress, thought Darkwood. What other interest could he have in a female who had sunk so low? If he, Darkwood, helped the duke with his ambition, then he was sure he would have the duke’s undying gratitude, not to mention his considerable influence at court.

  “Come to think of it,” he said, “I haven’t been taking my poor wife about much. She has a desire to go to Vauxhall. Rowdy place, but that sort of thing amuses her. Perhaps I could beg you to be of our party tomorrow night, say. I am sure my wife would be delighted if Miss James joined us.”

  The duke thought briefly of telling him to go to the devil. He did not like his interest in Harriet being pointed out in this obvious way. But he would have an opportunity to apologize to her properly. “I would like that. Thank you,” he said. “May I suggest your lady asks Miss James but does not say I am to be of the party?”

  “Gladly.”

  Lady Stanton strained her ears and managed to pick up “Vauxhall” and “tomorrow night.” She turned to her escort. “I have a mind to go to Vauxhall tomorrow night,” she said.

  “If you will,” said Mr. Blackley discourteously for he had not forgiven her for making a scene.

  Harriet had been sent out of the dining-room for, as Lady Fortescue said, “If her very presence is going to start gentlemen challenging each other to duels, then she is better out of the way.”

  Harriet was summoned by Susan later that evening and found to her surprise that Susan’s husband was also there and making a supreme effort to appear cordial.

  “Darkwood has just had the most marvellous idea,” said Susan. “He is taking us to Vauxhall tomorrow evening. Please say you will come. Such fun!”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Lord Darkwood. “Apologize for any comments you may have overheard in the dining-room, Miss James, but distress at your situation prompted some ill-chosen remarks. Please forgive me.”

  “There! He’s apologized like the lambkin he is,” said Susan, “so you cannot refuse, Harriet. Too churlish. We shall quiz all the gowns and have such larks!”

  It was the duke who had changed Darkwood’s mind, thought Harriet. Would he be there? But Susan would have said so. But then Susan had said that the duke would not be at the ball. Perhaps he would be there, so what was the point in her going? He wanted her as his mistress and no man in love would offer her such a degrading situation. But if she went and if he were there, she could demonstrate to him exactly how little he meant to her.

  “Thank you, Lord Darkwood,” she said. “I accept your apology and your kind invitation.”

  The poor relations breakfasted in the schoolroom the next morning as usual, served by John and Betty. Harriet, tired after her early-morning expedition to the markets, often wondered what Lady Fortescue’s old servants thought of the arrangement because they were always correct, never letting any of their thoughts show on their faces. Lady Fortescue had expressed a wish to buy them a cottage somewhere as soon as they were in funds, to which John and Betty had said a polite thank-you but almost as if they thought such a great day would never arrive.

  A page-boy scratched at the door and entered. “Beg parding,” he said, “but there’s a Mrs. Blessop downstairs what wants to know if the Miss Letitia Tonks what is a partner here is her sister.”

  Miss Tonks let out a squawk of dismay and then cried, “What shall I do? She will berate me, bully me, might even cut off my little allowance. I cannot face her.”

  “Tell her Miss Tonks will be down in a minute,” said Sir Philip and the page went off.

  “How could you?” demanded Miss Tonks, wringing her hands.

  “Stow your whids,” jeered Sir Philip. “She wants a Miss Tonks, she’ll get a Miss Tonks. I need a dress and bonnet.”

  Lady Fortescue’s black eyes gleamed with laughter. “Never say, Sir Philip, that you are going to masquerade as Miss Tonks!”

  “Exactly. Now I’m a little fellow, so it’d better be one of your gowns, Mrs. Budley.”

  Mrs. Budley gloomily thought of which of her gowns she should sacrifice, for after it had been hung on Sir Philip’s unlovely body, she had no intention of ever wearing it again. She then thought of a plain puce gown she had never liked and her face brightened. Also, there was a bonnet like a coal-scuttle which she knew did not become her.

  Soon Sir Philip, suitably attired, made his way down the stairs to the coffee room, where a footman told him Mr. and Mrs. Blessop were waiting.

  Sir Philip stood in the doorway and studied Miss Tonks’s sister and decided he did not like what he saw. Where Miss Tonks was vague-looking and sheepish, this woman was hard, with a great slab of a face and squiggly black teeth. Her body was so rigidly corseted that she looked like a solid tube with a head stuck on top of it.

  “You wanted to see me?” asked Sir Philip, approaching slowly.

  “You are Miss Tonks?” said Mrs. Blessop, looking him up and down.

  “Yes, yes, yes. Evidently, yes. Told you it was all a mistake,” babbled her husband, a rabbity-looking man in a high collar.

  “I am Miss Tonks,” said Sir Philip, beginning to enjoy himself. “What is your business
with me? If you wish to reside here, I am afraid I must refuse. We are very particular about our guests.”

  “I would not reside here if you paid me to,” said Mrs. Blessop waspishly.

  “Then stop wasting my time and clear off,” retorted Sir Philip gleefully.

  Mrs. Blessop rose to her feet with a massive creak of corsets. She sounded like a square-rigger in a chopping gale. “I was under the false impression that my sister had had the folly to lend her name to this low enterprise. Good day to you, madam.”

  “And good day to you, you old …” Sir Philip used a four-letter word which began with c. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Blessop could believe their ears.

  But one look at this ugly old “woman’s” face persuaded both of them that if they stayed and challenged her, worse might be to come.

  Sir Philip grinned as they marched off. He felt elated and his faded old eyes ranged round the coffee room looking for more mischief. A Bond Street Lounger was sitting reading a newspaper, his feet up on the table.

  Sir Philip sat down next to him. “Morning, my fair charmer,” he leered. “What about a big smacking kiss?”

  Harriet spent that day altering one of her old gowns and embellishing it with the green silk ribbons picked off the ballgown. Lady Fortescue had given her permission to go, saying indulgently that although Lady Darkwood was a silly rattle, she had a good heart, and Darkwood had evidently apologized nicely for his insults. Privately Lady Fortescue hoped that if Harriet went about socially, she might meet some man who was prepared to marry her despite her lack of dowry. Such things did occasionally happen. Such a beautiful, capable girl, thought Lady Fortescue. She would make some clergyman, say, a good wife.

  Setting out in the Darkwoods’ carriage with no sign of the duke in sight made Harriet almost forget all the grand speeches she had been rehearsing and settle back to enjoy an uncomplicated evening.

  Lord Darkwood, made indulgent by the prospect of political help from the duke, had the carriage stop on Westminster Bridge, where they alighted to look at the view.

  It was a warm evening, with a pale-green sky. The view was magnificent, the curve of the river to Somerset House and St. Paul’s very fine, the glittering bosom of the stream covered by barges, sailboats, and watermen’s wherries, skimming about like dragonflies on a pond. The wherrymen and sailors were all singing, and more music came from a merry party setting off by boat to Vauxhall, and another party amusing themselves by blowing French horns under the arches of the bridge to awaken the strange echoes. The air was charged with excitement, that restless feeling that London always had as its thousands set out to drink and gamble and dance, a devil-take-tomorrow feeling, all too understandable in an age when death daily stalked the streets in the guise of every plague and illness, from cholera to smallpox.

  Harriet felt a tinge of sadness as she watched the river turning silver in the twilight and heard the music and laughter. She felt very old. Twenty-eight was a great age, an age to put on caps and forget about marriage.

  She was quite subdued by the time they reached Vauxhall, and thought all her planned speeches to the duke silly. She was in trade and had therefore put herself into the position where she must marry someone else in trade or stay a spinster.

  Vauxhall was crowded, gaily dressed men and women strolling up and down the long alleys under the trees. Harriet was in a composed frame of mind as they approached the boxes near where the band in its cockle-shell stand was playing music. She must enjoy this evening because such an evening would possibly never occur again. And then, as they climbed up to the box which Lord Darkwood had reserved, she saw the duke waiting for them and looked wide-eyed at Susan.

  “He is so handsome,” said Susan, “and besides, what can he do when you are chaperoned by me?”

  Thinking bleakly that Susan was possibly the least careful of chaperones anyone could possibly have, Harriet curtsied to the duke, thought of his remarks about seeing her naked, and blushed painfully, and then sat down at the table with her head averted and tried to concentrate on the music.

  “Now, isn’t this pleasant,” crowed Susan, although her voice came out in a suffocated way. Susan had not been aware of the discoloration of her own teeth until faced with the pure whiteness of Harriet’s and had tried to develop a manner of speaking which would not let them show. She was wearing a gown of white velvet striped with bands of white silk and cut very low to show a generous bosom painted with white lead, for Susan had freckles on her bosom which she thought unfair of the gods to inflict on her. Her face and arms were also painted with white lead so that she looked like a tall and amiable ghost.

  Harriet’s gown was of plain brown silk, bought when she had been trying to obtain a post as a governess. Although it now sported the green silk ribbons and shoulder bows from the ballgown, she felt dowdy and wished she had some jewellery. Susan was wearing a diamond tiara on her head and a great collar of diamonds around her neck. She had diamond bracelets over her white gloves. If I had one of those bracelets, Harriet found herself thinking covetously, I could set myself up for life. But that thought was followed closely by another. What was it that Sir Philip had stolen from the duke which had given enough money to pay the builders and decorators for the new hotel? Could it be a piece of jewellery? But jewellery did not fetch the price it once did, because of all the French emigrants resident in London who were selling their jewels off. Not unless it had been something magnificent.

  “You are dreaming, Miss James,” said the duke.

  “I was listening to the music,” replied Harriet.

  “Then you can both listen to the music,” said Susan gaily. “Come, Darkwood, I have a mind to see the hermit.”

  “But Susan …” Harriet began to protest, but Susan was already making her way down the stairs, with her oddly complacent husband behind her.

  After a little silence, the duke said gently, “I offer you my most humble apology for the embarrassment I caused you the other night, Miss James. Pray say you will forgive me so that we may be comfortable again.”

  Harriet looked at him doubtfully. “Your grace, I have no parents to ask you your intentions. I have no wish to become your mistress.”

  “Friendship,” he said. “Shall we agree on friendship?”

  “Gladly.” Harriet smiled on him charmingly and gave him her hand, which he shook, although he had to restrain himself from raising it to his lips.

  “I see Lady Stanton has just arrived,” he observed, “and has not yet seen us, so perhaps we should take a stroll.”

  “Naturally you cannot be seen with a waitress,” said Harriet.

  “Naturally not,” he replied gravely, “or you would indeed be damned as my mistress. Were the Darkwoods here with us, then that would be another matter. I have seen no one, other than Lady Stanton and her escort, who was in the dining-room last night. I suggest we go to find the Darkwoods so that we may all return together and be comfortable.

  Harriet took his offered arm once they were in the walk. At least he had wanted to escape Lady Stanton, she thought with a lightness of heart. They promenaded through the alleys, stopped to hear Mrs. Mountain sing “Home, Again,” a popular ballad. The tender music throbbed on the soft air and hushed the revellers. Then they moved on to admire the tin waterfall and so towards the fireworks display.

  The crowd swayed backwards and forwards and oohed and aahed as each burst of stars hit the night sky. Harriet was pressed close against the duke’s side, hardly able to watch the tumultuous tumbling firework stars in the sky for the tumult of emotions inside her.

  She did not know whether to be glad or sorry when the display finished and they walked back sedately down the walk.

  “I do believe Mrs. Mountain is being asked for an encore,” said the duke. “Would you like to hear her again? The Darkwoods are not yet back in the box.”

  Harriet nodded. Mrs. Mountain was being called on to sing “Home, Again” once more. Harriet listened to the words this time, and sentimental as they were,
they suddenly gave her a lost feeling, and started her wondering if she herself would ever have a proper home again.

  The evening light is failing fast,

  The birds have gone to rest.

  And, oh, that I were home again,

  Safe in my family’s breast.

  The last note trailed away and then the applause was deafening. Harriet surreptitiously wiped away her tears. She had had a poignant memory of sitting beside the fire on a dark winter’s evening writing careful letters on a slate for her governess while her mother sewed and her father read.

  “You are crying,” said the duke quickly.

  “I am over-sentimental,” said Harriet. “I see the Darkwoods are returned.”

  The duke silently damned the Darkwoods. He realized he had been hoping to guide her along one of the darker walks and steal a kiss. But he had offered her friendship.

  And then he began to think: Of course, I could marry her. The thought was outrageous, but still … He owed a lot to his family name, but yet … There were all those long years of fending off matchmaking mothers, counter-jumpers, mushrooms and toadies of every description. He had armoured himself in pride. He had become expert at keeping the pretentious and encroaching at bay. It was too bad that Harriet should have chosen such a vulgar profession. Had she joined the ranks of the demi-monde, then he could have made her his mistress. But raging passions and lusts apart, he wanted more from her than that. I want, he thought gloomily, her very soul. She has bewitched me, she is like a poison in my blood, seeping through my body until my wits are lost.

  Arrogance warred with longing so that by the time they reached the box, the normally urbane and self-possessed duke replied abstractedly to Susan’s banter and did not even protest when Lady Stanton, with Mr. Blackley in tow, insisted on joining them. Susan chattered, Lady Stanton flirted with the duke, Mr. Blackley politely talked about the state of the nation to Lord Darkwood while Harriet sat with her hands clenched in her lap, staring straight ahead, and the duke drank glass after glass of rack punch and did not seem to hear what anyone was saying to him until Lady Stanton penetrated his thoughts by remarking loudly in a voice edged with pique, “So bold of you to bring that serving maid out with you, Rowcester.”