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Authors: Jacqueline Diamond

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Chapter Eight

 

 

The society in northeast Cheshire
was sharply limited by the size of the population and by the region’s
remoteness. However enchanting the black-and-white magpie houses and the wild
moors might be, they could not adequately replace ladies wearing fashions
copied from the French and gentlemen dressed to outdo the Beau.

Or so any member of the elite
would have said.

Curiously, the residents of Marple, Stockport and
vicinity remained unaware that they were deficient in any regard. They believed
talk of Wellington and Napoleon, of farming conditions, and of trouble over
industrialization in the North to be an adequate replacement for gossip and
rumour. They also knew how to amuse themselves in dancing and cards.

In these parts it was considered
that if a lady possessed intelligent conversation, a warm heart, or a talent
for the domestic arts, she might be an excellent candidate for matrimony
despite a thick ankle, unfashionable clothing—or weak eyes.

And so it was, at the solid home
of Squire Roberts, that Meg Linley found herself for the first time an object
of approval and even admiration.

The Alton sisters, both approaching their late
seventies, commented favourably on her bell-like voice. Mrs. Albert Ludden,
wife of the curate, remarked upon the excellence of Miss Linley’s manners,
while her plain daughter, Veronica, stared at the newcomer with something
approaching awe. Squire Roberts, who had been seeking a second wife since the
death of his first several years earlier, found Meg thoroughly enchanting, even
to the gleaming facets of her spectacles.

As Mrs. Ludden played the pianoforte, Meg joined the
assembly in a set of country dances and then, her breath recovered, sang with
them. What a pleasure to read the words upon the page through her eyeglasses
instead of mouthing empty syllables! Her pleasant soft soprano blended
effortlessly with the marquis’s rumbling baritone.

“ ‘Tis rare good fortune to find
such a pearl newly arrived in our region,” the host declared when they had
finished, pressing a glass of ratafia upon Meg. He was a man of middle years,
stocky in build, with a face that might once have been handsome, but now showed
traces of excessive imbibing.

“I’ve never felt more welcome
anywhere,” Meg said truthfully. “The good fortune is mine.”

She allowed the squire to
introduce her to his eldest son, Jeffrey, who at two and twenty was a strapping
lad with a solid, dependable way about him.

“Not much younger’n you, Miss, I daresay, for all
you’ve need of spectacles,” joked the squire. Meg smiled and held her tongue.

She noted Lord Bryn regarding her
with a curious expression, as if she’d done something mildly displeasing. Meg
searched her memory for some misdeed but found none. Perhaps it was the
simplicity of her dress, a blue muslin that she had considered flattering; it
was the most elegant of the gowns she had brought.

Confused, Meg retreated to the
rooms set aside for ladies, where a maid helped restore an errant curl. A
moment later, a large girl entered, whom Meg recognized as Veronica Ludden, the
curate’s daughter.

The younger woman sank into a
chair beside Meg, envy writ large on her freckled face. Not a displeasing
countenance, Meg decided, although the girl moved awkwardly, as if she had only
just been introduced to her knees and elbows.

“You’ve spent most of your life
in London, haven’t you?” asked Veronica without preamble.

“Only the past few years,” Meg
said. “Why do you ask?”

A shrug. “That must be why you always know the right
thing to do.”

This observation struck Meg dumb
with astonishment. She, Meg Linley, the great gawk, suddenly become an arbiter
of manners? The suggestion was highly amusing, but she took pains to hide her
reaction from the earnest Miss Ludden.

“That’s very kind, but I’m afraid
I don’t deserve such a compliment,” Meg said.

Veronica regarded her in the
mirror. “You met him, didn’t you?”

“Who?”

“Jeffrey.”

Ah. The reverential tone with
which the name was uttered told everything.

“Is he your beau?” Meg ventured.

Veronica shook her head ruefully.
“If I knew how to go on as you do...
 
But my father doesn’t hold with fripperies. He’s the curate, you know.
I’m not to have deportment lessons, and my mother’s made-over dresses are good
enough for me.” She gestured down at the heavy chintz gown she wore, in a style
ten years out of date.

“How old are you?” Meg asked.

“Seventeen.”

This disclosure wrenched at Meg’s
heart. She would have guessed Veronica to be her elder by several years.

“It’s not difficult,” Meg said,
although she doubted a moment’s conversation would be of much help. “You must
move with grace, as if you might fly at any moment, but delicately, like a
swan.”

Oh, how members of the
beau
monde
would laugh to hear her speak so, she reflected. But in truth, with
her spectacles upon her nose, Meg could step out with as much confidence as
anyone.

“Like this?” Veronica arose and
glided across the floor in an exaggerated fashion.

“That’s the idea,” Meg said
encouragingly. “But you must keep your shoulders straight and not thrust your
neck forward. The point is less to imitate a swan than to capture the spirit of
one.”

Veronica turned and, following
instructions, performed a creditable sweep across the room.

“Yes!” said Meg. “You have a
natural talent for it.”

The younger girl beamed. “Do you
really think so?” Her expression sobered. “But it’s entirely different when I
try to speak to Jeffrey. I don’t know what to say.”

Meg had never given much
consideration to such matters, having been more concerned with avoiding crashes
into servants and stumbles over the furniture. Now she tried to recall the
natural way she responded to the marquis, for he was the only gentleman whom
she recalled truly liking.

“You must gaze directly into his
eyes without fidgeting,” she instructed. “Smile, but not too broadly, and pay
attention to what he says.”

“That’s all very well, but
sometimes I must speak also!” protested Veronica, crossing her arms in front of
her chest.

“There!” Meg pointed. “That is
not swanlike.”

Veronica uncrossed the arms and
clasped her hands in a more becoming fashion.

“Much better,” said Meg,
instinctively assuming her governess voice. “Now, when you speak to him, you
should answer his questions honestly but briefly, and in return ask him whatever
you wish to know. So long as it isn’t improper, of course.”

Veronica sighed. “Perhaps if I
were to watch you talk with someone you liked, I would understand better.”

Meg had no intention of flirting
with the marquis under the noses of his neighbours. What a bit of tittle-tattle
that would make! But the kindly squire might be flattered by her attentions, as
men of advancing years often were with young women.

“Very well,” she said. “I will
demonstrate upon the father, and you shall follow suit with the son.”

“Oh, Miss Linley!” Veronica
clapped her hands together. “You are a great sport.”

Happily, the two women returned
to the company. Meg was pleased to think that she might assist another young
woman as Helen had so often helped her.

Her task was made easier by the
sudden appearance of Squire Roberts at her side. “Are you a horsewoman, Miss
Linley?”

Conscious of Veronica’s gaze upon
her, Meg turned slightly toward him and stared directly up into his watery
eyes. “I fear not. My poor vision has prevented it.”

“Demmed shame.” The fellow glowed
under her rapt attention. “Got a new hunter to try out this fall. Should have a
rousing season. Countryside’s teeming with foxes.”

Meg recalled the small red
creature that had nearly caused Vanessa’s downfall in the carriage. “So I’ve
observed,” she agreed, placing one hand lightly on the squire’s arm. “Another
time, perhaps I may see your new horse. He must be splendid.”

A glance to the side revealed a touching tableau.
Veronica Ludden had fluttered a short distance away and, to the apparent
amazement of her mother, alit at the elbow of Jeffrey Roberts. The young man
was at that moment engaged in conversation with the Misses Alton’s grandniece,
a fetching girl with russet hair and grey eyes.

“I hope you are enjoying your stay
in these parts,” Jeffrey was saying to Miss Conley when Veronica slipped her
arm through his. He turned, an expression of surprise on his pleasant face.

“Yes, I do most sincerely hope
so,” agreed Veronica, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her
to stand there at Jeffrey’s side. “How long will you be staying?”

As the grandniece replied, Meg
saw Jeffrey shift uneasily, and hoped she hadn’t encouraged Veronica to make a
cake of herself.
 
Then she saw her new
friend peer hopefully in her direction, and realised the girl was looking to
her for a further example.

Rising to the occasion, Meg
dimpled coquettishly at the squire and pretended a fascination in his account
of his most recent fox hunt. This took considerable pretense, as she disliked
the notion of tormenting the poor creatures for sport.

Then, over the squire’s shoulder,
she noticed something she would never have seen without the aid of the glasses.
The marquis was regarding her with a deepening frown. Surely the simplicity of
her dress could not provoke him to that extent. Did he regret his impulse in
bringing her this evening? Meg wondered. He might think a governess out of
place among these gentlefolk. Well, he could scarcely blame her for accepting
his invitation.

Across the room, Mrs. Ludden
resumed her seat at the piano and began to play. Meg observed Jeffrey slipping
his arm from Veronica’s. He appeared to be asking Miss Conley to dance and
then, at her nod, escorted her to the area cleared for dancing.

Humiliation reddened Veronica’s
face. In their wake, she called, “How kind of you to make Miss Conley feel
welcome, Jeffrey.” Her shoulders drooping, she hastened toward Meg.

Mercifully, the squire was
distracted by a greeting from an old friend, giving the young women a chance to
speak in private. Meg felt a pang of distress as she saw the misery writ large
in her new friend’s expression.

“Now what am I to do?” Veronica
asked, her voice thick. “He’s much taken with that Conley girl, and I’m not
half so pretty as she.”

Meg considered what strategy
might help her friend to prevail. “A young man’s fancy is often drawn to
novelty, but surely his interest is not yet fixed. Remember that he cannot
properly dance with her twice in succession. When they’re finished, walk up to
them and make some friendly remark that will obligate him to ask you next.”

The girl seemed uncertain. The
squire returned then, and Meg seized the opportunity to provide a useful
example. “How fortunate that we are treated to music. I noted before what an
excellent dancer you are.”

“Did you?” A broad grin revealed
a set of teeth as square-shaped as the squire himself. “Would you honour me
with this dance, Miss Linley?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Meg
said brightly, and hoped her new student was learning.

As she laid her hand on the
squire’s arm, she observed the marquis once again scowling in her direction. He
really ought not to act so proud. She might be only a governess in his eyes,
but she intended to enjoy this dance. For Veronica’s sake, if not her own.

 

Veronica steeled her nerve as
they walked away. How fortune that she had Miss Linley’s example to follow.
Now, as the music ended, she approached Jeffrey. “Isn’t he a superb dancer?”
she said to Miss Conley, slipping her arm once again through his.

“Indeed,” replied the girl in
some confusion.

Mrs. Ludden struck up a new
dance, and Jeffrey, as courtesy required, invited Veronica to be his partner.
Only after she accepted did she realize the music was a waltz. Oh dear.
Veronica was well aware that she had rendered more than one gentleman
temporarily crippled upon the dance floor, and Jeffrey was regarding her with
apprehension.

She must surprise him with her
grace. Casting an eye on the elegant Miss Linley as she glided across the floor
with the squire, Veronica followed her example.

As Jeffrey partnered her, she
smiled warmly up at him and made cheerful conversation. How different she felt
from her usual clumsy self.

“You are much changed, Miss
Ludden,” Jeffrey observed. “Have you been taking lessons?’’

“Lessons?” That question struck
uncomfortably close to the truth.

“In dancing.”

“Yes. No. Well, not precisely.”
Veronica glanced nervously at her father glowering by the pianoforte, but
forged ahead bravely. “I’m determined to transform myself into a young lady.” Then
came a stroke of inspiration. She added in a conspiratorial tone, “May I be so
bold as to request your assistance?”

“In what way?” he asked, whirling her past his
father and Miss Linley.

“I’m only just learning to
conduct myself as a young lady. I’ve been terribly awkward, haven’t I?”
Veronica could feel the change in Jeffrey. A surge of sympathy showed on his
dear familiar face. “Miss Conley is beautiful, but then she’s had opportunities
that I have not, to go about in society and meet gentlemen. I fear I make a
poor showing by comparison.”

“You’re not so inelegant as all
that.” It was the strongest compliment he had ever tendered.

“If you could spare me a bit of
your time, at such events as these, to help me improve my manner, I should be
ever so grateful.”

What gentleman could resist so
complimentary a request? “Of course, I shall do my utmost,” he said.

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