The Last of Lady Lansdown
Read The Last of Lady Lansdown Online
Authors: Shirley Kennedy
Tags: #Europe, #Regency, #General, #Romance, #Great Britain, #Fiction, #History
The Last of Lady Lansdown
Shirley Kennedy
Camel Press
PO Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
For more information go to: www.Camelpress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
The Last of Lady Lansdown
Copyright © 2012 by Shirley Kennedy
ISBN: 978-1-60381-818-6 (Paper)
ISBN: 978-1-60381-819-3 (eBook)
LOC Control Number: 2012932492
Produced in the United States of America
Chapter 1
Northern England 1814
To all who knew her casually, even those who knew her well, Jane Elton, Countess of Lansdown, appeared to be a most fortunate woman. Possessed of charm, wit, and a radiant beauty, she had attracted plenty of suitors during her one London season. Although she rejected them all—to the infinite distress of Amelia Hart, her mother—she eventually married the wealthy Arthur Elton, Earl of Lansdown. “A magnificent marriage!” declared Amelia. She had every reason to think so, considering that her husband’s gambling led to the family’s financial ruin. In the nick of time, Jane’s alliance with Lord Lansdown elevated Amelia and her daughters from the brink of poverty to a life of wealth, privilege, and luxury.
That Jane did not love the earl was of little consequence. Despite the earl’s lack of compassion and superior air, Amelia felt certain that her daughter would learn to love him in good time and all would be well.
Chatfield Court, Lansdown’s ancestral mansion, nestled amidst the trees on a verdant hillside overlooking the River Hulm. Early one warm June morning, Jane decided to take a stroll along the bridle path bordering the river. The stables were close by, located on the banks of the river, but since her husband had sold Beauty, her beloved horse, she took pains to avoid them. Soon she saw two horsemen approach. One she recognized as her neighbor, Lord Rennie. The other she did not know.
“How delightful to see you, Lord Rennie,” she exclaimed when the two horsemen drew alongside. She meant her words. As a first son who inherited a huge estate and a bachelor besides, Rennie could easily have become one of London’s arrogant dandies. To Jane’s surprise, however, he never attended a London season. She suspected that his shy, retiring nature kept him home. Then, too, it might have been his appearance that made him shy. Tall and stoop-shouldered, he was nothing to look at, what with his awkward gait, large, protruding ears, and pock-marked face. Rennie was a good man, though, affable and kind. What a shame he could not find a wife.
Rennie gave her a big, open grin. “Countess! Why are you walking? I should think you’d be riding on such a lovely day as ... oh dear,” Rennie said with dismay, “I forgot you cannot—”
“Quite all right,” Jane hastily interrupted. Not for the world would she have dear Rennie feeling uncomfortable. “I will ride again someday. Meanwhile, I am quite content to stroll along this beautiful riverbank.”
What a lie.
Not a day went by that she did not eat her heart out because she couldn’t ride.
Rennie swung from his horse and faced her. “You have not met my houseguest.” He gestured toward his companion, still on horseback. “Come down here, Douglas.”
Jane gazed up at the stranger. Age around thirty, she guessed. Tall, lean, and sinewy ... dark hair worn long and slightly disheveled. In fact, an unruly lock hung over the middle of his forehead. She judged from the careless manner in which he sat his horse and the slightly amused smile on his face that he did not much care what she thought of him, or what anybody thought of him. As she watched, he swung from his horse—with infinite grace she noticed—and joined Rennie, who said, “May I present my friend, Douglas Cartland. Douglas, meet my next door neighbor, the Countess of Lansdown.”
Jane hardly heard the introduction, so startled was she by two piercing brown eyes that seemed to focus on her face while observing every part of her. He looked familiar. Did she know him from somewhere?
“Mister Cartland is my guest. He’s a hydrologist.”
“He’s a
what
?”
“Douglas designed the canal I’m building. As for hydrology, it’s the study of water as it moves on earth. For example, around four thousand B.C., the Nile was dammed to improve agricultural productivity of previously barren lands. Then we have the ancient Roman aqueducts—”
“That’s enough,” Cartland interrupted in a casual, jesting way. “I am sure the countess has little interest in ancient water projects.”
How true
. She remembered her manners and dipped a curtsy. “I am delighted to meet you, Mister Cartland. I have the feeling we have met before.”
Cartland bowed, his eyes never leaving her face. “We have.”
Her curiosity was aroused. “When and where did we meet?”
His answering smile held a touch of irony. “On the evening of June sixteenth, eighteen hundred nine, you were in London at Lady Morton’s ball. You wore a blue satin gown and flowers in your hair ... roses, if memory serves.”
“Of course, now I remember. We danced twice. First the Ecossaise, and then—”
“A Scotch reel.”
Memories flooded back. She remembered dancing with this man and finding him quite beguiling. She also remembered how her mother spotted her during the second dance and could hardly wait to yank her off the dance floor. “Douglas Cartland is not suitable,” Mama hissed in Jane’s ear, eyes wide with horror.
“He seems perfectly charming to me.”
“You do not see him at Almack’s, do you?”
“Just what is wrong with him?”
“For one thing, he’s a ne’er-do-well rake of the worst order. He drinks. He gambles. He’s the disgrace of the family. Besides that, he’s the fifth son of Viscount Kellams.
Fifth
! There is no inheritance there, just a stipend. Practically nothing.”
Jane assumed a wide-eyed expression of innocence. “Does that mean he’s off the list?” She loved to plague her mother.
“Are you daft?” Mama replied in amazement. “He was never on the list!”
As expected, Jane’s attempt at subtle humor went right over her mother’s head. Even so, she could not resist adding, “What a catastrophe I wasted two whole dances on such a rascal.”
Mama’s answer was a dour, “If he asks you again, you must refuse.”
Douglas Cartland had not asked her again, and by the time her next dance partner whisked her away, she had totally forgotten him. She had not thought of him since, either, except ... was there not something else about him she should be remembering? Something bad. Something very bad ... “I find it interesting that you would recall the exact day, sir, considering that was five years ago.”
His smile had a strange, haunted quality she did not understand. “I have a good memory.”
She waited for him to say more, but he did not. Instead, Rennie asked, “How is your sister?”
“She’s fine.” Poor man. She knew he was quite enamored of her younger sister, but Millicent, madly in love with Lord DeWitt, would never give poor, plain Rennie a first glance, let alone a second.
“Please do give her my regards.”
“I most certainly shall.” She tried to sound enthused, as if her scatterbrained sister would be thrilled to receive a greeting from their awkward neighbor.
“Please tell Miss Hart I shall come calling soon. I trust she will be at home?”
“She will be delighted.”
No she won’t. Poor Rennie
. For the fleetest of moments her eyes met Douglas Cartland’s. The glance they exchanged spoke volumes.
No chance. Poor fool, he’s wasting his time.
“My regards to your dear mother and grandmother, too.” As an obvious afterthought, Rennie added, “And, of course, give my regards to the earl. I trust he is well?”
“He’s in excellent health.” Actually, she would not dream of conveying Rennie’s regards to her husband. In the first place, Rennie was only being polite and did not give a fig for her husband’s health. Nobody did. In the second, she could easily envision the cynical curl of his lordship’s lip should she convey such a greeting.
For a few minutes, they chatted before the gentlemen mounted their horses and went on their way. Realizing she might be late for breakfast, Jane reversed her course and headed home. As she walked, her thoughts centered on Douglas Cartland.
What an intriguing man! How handsome, too
. Now, if only she were single ...
Her spirits sank. She was
not
single. She recalled her season in London. She had flirted outrageously, enjoying every moment. What could be more exciting than meeting, flirting with a man, always with the prospect he could be
the one
? Not that he ever was, but the fun was in the looking.
Then the fun ended and she had to marry the earl ...
As she trudged up the hill to Chatfield Court, her mind drifted to a dark place far away, a miserable, dungeon-like spot where no matter which way she turned, there was a high, blank wall. No escape. She knew when she married Lansdown she didn’t love him. And now ...
Try not to think about it. I must focus on the good things in my life.
Hard as she tried, she could not think of any good things. Her mood remained gloomy.
Minutes later, in the spacious dining room of Chatfield Court, Jane sat at breakfast while family chatter ebbed and flowed around her. The endless prattle of her love-struck sister ... the pithy, if not downright crude, remarks of her impossible grandmother ... the carefully chosen words of her mother, who, as far as anyone knew, had never allowed an improper phrase to slip past her lips.
Mama glared accusingly. “Jane, you have not touched your eggs.”
“Well, then, I guess I should be hung at Newgate, or at the very least transported to Australia on a convict ship.”
Mama bristled. “I must say, you are out of sorts this morning. For what reason, might I ask?”
“She doesn’t need a reason.” Granny Harriet, always Jane’s defender, snapped at the daughter she had never understood. “Lord sakes, Amelia, the woman is twenty-six years old. If she doesn’t want to eat her eggs, that’s her business, not yours.”
Jane shoved a portion of her eggs across her plate with her fork and sighed. She should know by now that her mother, who possessed absolutely no sense of humor, would not appreciate her attempt at wit. “Sorry, Mama. I am simply not hungry this morning.”
“Well, I cannot understand why.” Amelia regarded her daughter with critical eyes that suddenly lit up, as if a pleasing thought occurred to her. “Unless … You are not—?”
“No, I am not expecting.” Good lord! If such an earth-shaking event should occur, she would make haste to inform the world. Mama would be ecstatic. His Lordship would be beside himself with joy, and with good reason. Elizabeth, his first wife, had been barren, a lamentable condition for which he blamed her entirely. What irony that now, after nearly a year into his second marriage, Jane, too, had yet to conceive.
Mama shook her head. “I cannot understand what is taking so long.”
“Don’t be a goose, Amelia.” Granny Harriet slurped her tea, a habit she knew full well set her daughter’s teeth on edge. How sweet she looks, Jane mused, gazing across the table at the tiny old lady wearing a lilac shawl over her frail shoulders, a lace cap perched atop her silver head. Sweet indeed, until she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t nag the child. God’s blood!”
“Mother, for heaven’s sake, watch your language.” Aside from her husband deserting her, the greatest tragedy of Amelia Hart’s life was having to endure the constant embarrassment of living with a mother like Granny Harriet, who uttered whatever uncouth remark entered her head and never gave a fig about her status in society.