Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (4 page)

“Perhaps you ought at least to meet with him, Maggie. He may have changed. Many a man has been known to undergo a transformation of character upon being left a widower with children to raise.”

Maggie couldn’t credit that suggestion with an ounce of faith, but that did set her thinking of odious relations in general, and Lady Dunwell in particular.

She felt her face light up with a very wicked smile.

“Oh, certainly I shall. It will be great fun to torment Papa by willingly receiving his guest. If what he wants in a daughter is complete moral perfection, then so be it. I feel there is a lesson I ought to teach them both.”

*

The next day, Lady Compton departed for London in a temper. She had been apologetic, explaining she had not been able to sway her pig-headed brother in his latest idiocy, but she had also been adamant that Maggie was not to despair.

She was going to consult her friend, Lady Strathavon, who was the best person in the world at fixing things. They would persuade him eventually – or outsmart him.

Maggie couldn’t see how she was meant to keep her chin up when her father was talking about economical wedding confectionary.

Lord Chenefelt, meanwhile, had set the servants to prepare for Mr Stanhope’s visit with his future bride.

Maggie wondered if there was any way to get a message to Frederick in time to make a whit of difference, but Frederick had such a way of setting Lord Chenefelt’s back up that he would likely do more harm than good when Stanhope was already practically at the door. It was too late for Frederick.

If Lord Chenefelt had felt remotely suspicious at his daughter’s gracious acquiescence to meet with Mr Stanhope, he gave not the least sign of it.

He seemed to have decided that, at the urging of her aunt, Maggie had at last taken up the mantle of appropriate daughterly obedience.

*

The following morning, Maggie descended to the parlour in time to meet their guest and order refreshments.

Lord Chenefelt knew nothing of ladies’ fashions and so did not recognize Maggie’s dress for the drably plain creation that it was, instead concluding that she had opted for appropriate modesty in her morning dress.

She had pinned her already dull hair in a plain, severe style that did nothing for her pale complexion, and employed a touch of powder to make her face look even more gaunt.

When the guest was shown into the parlour, she did her best to look as though she’d just bitten into a lemon – it was as close as she could get to Lady Dunwell’s customary mien.

Mr Stanhope was everything Maggie remembered him to be. His eyes lingered on her form a little too long, and his words held a strong hint of lecherous insinuation.

The greetings alone left Maggie feeling uncomfortable, even though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about him that made her want to inch slowly out of the room, or throw a cup of tea in his face.

Stanhope was dressed as though he considered himself to be the pinkest of the pink. His jacket was of a fine blue velvet and his Hessians polished to an absurd shine.

His breeches were bright blue and his shirt points stood well above his ears. The whole ensemble was so far removed from what Maggie considered to be attractive on a gentleman that she had to fight very hard not to giggle at the sight of it.

It took a lot of effort to keep the irony out of her voice when her so-called intended was formally presented. He bowed over her hand, which sent unpleasant shivers down her spine even though their hands were encased in gloves.

Wondering if the charade was really set to continue, Maggie glanced at her father, who had always been so vocally intolerant of frippery. But he seemed unoffended by the current exemplar of Mr Stanhope’s rather memorable wardrobe.

After the prerequisite dull exchange concerning the state of English roads and the dismal weather, Mr Stanhope turned his full attention to Maggie.

“Well, my dear, you must be excited at our upcoming nuptials. I am told it is one of the greatest joys in a woman’s life, next to the states of motherhood and wife, of course, but you will soon attain those, if I may say so. I have four children of my own, who shall certainly be glad of a new mama, and the house wants running. Of course, we will add children of our own in no time, eh?”

Maggie forced herself to smile tightly, risking another glance at her father, who fixed her with a warning glare.

“Why, certainly, Mr Stanhope. It is so very generous of you to offer for me. I will tell you honestly, for I believe that honesty is a prerequisite in any person of piety, that papa has been very worried I should remain on the shelf.”

Mr Stanhope looked astonished at such a plain confession. “Oh, I am certain that is not so, Miss Dacre.”

She sighed tragically. “Alas, it is. But that is all in the past now, and we can set about planning our nuptials. I very much look forward to taking your children in stride. I feel there is much I have to impart.”

Lord Chenefelt, who had always had a dread of anything resembling plans or arrangements, seemed pleased enough at Maggie’s conduct that he excused himself quickly, leaving the couple to talk of their arrangements by themselves.

“After all, you are nearly wed,” he said with a chuckle before departing.

Left alone with the door open, Mr Stanhope flashed Maggie a delighted smile which left her distinctly nauseous. She held her place, however, and gave him her gravest thin-lipped look of disapproval.

“Alone at last, eh, Miss Dacre? You know, already I think of you as my wife…”

“Indeed,” she responded briskly. “We shall have to announce in the journals soon, as is only proper. And, naturally, we must take into account any holy days that might occur around the date. One can hardly be so crass as to marry or celebrate on a day devoted to martyrdom and purity. I shall have you know, Mr Stanhope, that I observe every fast and festival, and any straying from this is unthinkable. However, since father deemed you a suitable match for me, I am certain that you do also.”

He blinked at that. “Y…Yes. Of course.”

Maggie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Surely, her grim expression would have put even the puritans to shame. She was grateful at all the beastly letters Lady Dunwell has addressed to her over the years. It made for eminently suitable subject matter.

“Yes, I thought you would agree. You strike me as a man of sense and piety. No doubt your children will be glad of the discipline, though it come late in life. I have always said that a father, no matter how well meaning, cannot hope to establish the proper degree of obedience in his children. One must at every turn combat the impetuosity of youth. One should never indulge children at any age – it leads to
overindulgence
once they are established in their own homes, and then inevitably to vice and damnation. Overindulgence and defiance burn up the soul.”

“The soul?”

“Yes, indeed. The good English soul, so naturally a vessel of chastity.”

Stanhope seemed momentarily lost for words, and Maggie decided to press her advantage.

“Will we be wed at your parish or mine? I hope your vicar is a worthy one. While Mr Jenks, who heads our local parish, is a kindly soul, I find his sermons much too short, and occasionally humorous. Humorous! It is scandalous to even think of it. Why, just last Sunday, his sermon was under three hours. There is no place for haste in matters of the spirit, I always say.”

“Erm. Yes?”

“Indeed, I told him so quite honestly when he came for supper. I took the liberty of writing out some suggestions of more suitable topics for the man. One should never shirk the proper denunciation of behaviour that leads to divine displeasure: one must encourage trembling hands and faltering lips. And naturally I wrote of it to our mutual cousin, the dear Lady Dunwell. She is such a goodly creature that she is certain to have many sound suggestions for his improvement. I wonder if she will attend our nuptials. She does not approve of frivolity, and weddings are always frivolous despite one’s best attempts to the contrary, I am told. My aunt has gone to London, to order confectionary, because Papa says it is fitting. But I think it shocking, when bread and butter would do just as well.”

Mr Stanhope turned even more pale at the thought of bread and butter. Maggie suspected that the indomitable Lady Dunwell would have been suitably impressed.

Pleased with herself, Maggie decided that she was a much better actress than she had previously given herself credit for being.

Maggie watched with thorough enjoyment as Mr Stanhope struggled for words, no doubt picturing himself wed to a younger Lady Dunwell. This confirmed her suspicion that he, too, received regular and damning correspondence from the woman.

“And do you frequently correspond with my Lady Dunwell?” Maggie’s would-be suitor asked carefully.

“Oh yes! It is ever so rarely that one meets persons equal integrity and intelligence with her ladyship. I have come to admire her greatly over the years and value her advice above all else. It’s a shame that she lives such a great distance away. Where is your home, Mr Stanhope?”

“Three miles outside Bath, Miss Dacre.”

“Is that so? Why, that is certainly most agreeable. I shall be able to visit her often – such a dear elderly lady. I think, after we are wed, we must ask her to come and stay with us. Certainly, you are aware that I have no mother, and Lady Dunwell has been offering to teach me all I need to know to be a suitably irreproachable wife. She has a great many tips for running a household beyond compare.”

Maggie wanted nothing more than to lean back and enjoy the expressions of horror and dread flash across the man’s face. However, she forced herself to keep the rigid posture of the irreproachable Miss Margaret Dacre.

Cecile came in not long after with a tray of tea and the driest biscuits to be found in the larder.

“You refreshments, Margaret,” she said.

“Thank you, Cecile. That is most thoughtful. Mr Stanhope, would you care for a biscuit? I have them made especially by our cook. They have not an ounce of sugar. I believe sweet and rich foods pollute not only the body but the spirit. One ought to stave off corruption at every turn.”

“I am sure they are delightful,” Stanhope said faintly, accepting a biscuit but not tasting it.

Maggie peered at him owlishly over her spectacles, before nodding approvingly. “I shall have cook detail the recipe so that you may introduce them into your own household. She also makes a fine cabbage soup – just cabbage and water, of course.”

Privately, she wondered where Cecile had managed to find the dreadful things. The added touch was truly genius.

It was fortunate that the spinsterly Miss Margaret Dacre would never be so frivolous as to show any sigh of enjoying the biscuits, because she didn’t think her acting would hold up to
that
.

Stanhope cleared his throat. “You are too kind.”

After a moment, however, his horror was replaced with a flash of determination and then the most false expression of joy Maggie had ever seen.

She felt a stab of irritation: she had hoped to have him running for the door the moment the biscuits were brought in. Mr Stanhope, it seemed, was as desperate to contract the match as she was to escape it.

She wondered what his motives might be.

“Indeed, I must say I think that will be most agreeable, my petal.”

“Miss Dacre, if you please – I do not stand on informality. And I am pleased to hear that. I know you have been widowed for quite some time, and certainly a gentleman cannot run a household with the correct degree of frugal precision. No doubt you have fallen victim to the current fashion and employed a French cook. There will be none of that nonsense when I have charge of your establishment, you need not worry. Now, will you stay for supper? I never have dinner.”

Satisfied of having conveyed a suitably frightful impression, even if Stanhope was doing his best to ignore it, Maggie was about to set down her cup of tea and leave the room.

“I should be delighted. But first, we ought to get know each other somewhat better.” The glint in his eye was near mad with desperation.

“You are quite right. You are welcome to come with me to call at the vicarage before supper.”

“I thought perhaps we might speak
privately
?” The lascivious glint was back in his eyes.

“We are speaking privately, Mr Stanhope.”

In a minute, he had left his chair and joined her on the settee.

“But not privately enough. I declare, I am overcome with adoration, Miss Dacre. Your beauty has taken prisoner my trembling heart! I shall die if you do not kiss me. Do not be so cruel as to turn me away in my hour of need!”

“Mr Stanhope!” Maggie exclaimed in her most scandalized voice. “I believe it improper for a gentleman and a lady to sit so closely before they are lawfully wed.”

“To sit… And what of dances then?” He leaned into her.

“I never dance. It is corrupting and foolish. I prefer to indulge in reflection, instead. You may hear me read from my favourite book of sermons by Mr Bell, if you please. There is a fine one on the subject of chastity.”

She was determined to give him no opportunity to speak at all.