The Last of Lady Lansdown (2 page)

“Granny has a point.” Jane once again attempted to mediate the thorny relationship that always existed between her mother and grandmother. More than once she had wondered how it was possible that prickly, blunt Granny Harriet could have given birth to a slavish follower of society’s rules like Mama, whose main concern in life was that she, or one of her family, might do something “unacceptable.”

Mama’s snobbishness notwithstanding, Jane loved her dearly. She possessed a generous heart and could not have been a better mother to Jane and Millicent. At one time she possessed a cheerful disposition, too, and was known for breaking into gales of merry laughter. Those days were nothing but a nostalgic memory since Papa had left. Now Mama had a bitter, caustic edge, which Jane coped with and totally understood.

Am I developing the same attitude?

Unhappiness seemed to accompany her everywhere she went these days, like a dark cloud constantly floating over her head. Now this latest ...

“Come to my bed chamber directly after dinner this evening.” His lips twisted into that cynical smile of his. “I shall have a special surprise for you.” Her nerves tensed at the thought of what her husband might be up to now. She became even more suspicious when he ordered up the coach and left for an unexplained errand in the village. Why? His lordship hardly ever ventured into Sudberry. Running errands was beneath him. Let the footmen perform such menial tasks.

So what could be so important Lansdown had to journey to Sudberry? The question nagged. A sense of unease spread through her. Whatever it was, it could not be good.

Her sister flashed her a teasing smile from across the breakfast table. “I hear we are having company. Your favorite sister-in-law. Are you not thrilled?”

“I, for one, am not thrilled,” Mama said. “Beatrice Elton puts on such airs that you would think
she
was the countess, not you, Jane.”

That had set her mother off again. Jane hardly expected any other response when informed that the earl’s twin brother, his wife and eldest son were about to descend upon them. Actually, Jane agreed. Beatrice Elton possessed a habit of being constantly critical, as though she had the right to order everyone around. If truth be told, Jane didn’t care for her, either, but she felt no desire to encourage Mama’s vitriol. “Look at it from Beatrice’s point of view. It’s not easy being married to a second son, especially one who’s only one minute younger. It must be galling hearing me addressed as ‘your ladyship’ while she remains merely ‘Mrs. Elton.’ It truly is unfair. Have you ever thought how unjust it is that the first son gets the title, money, properties—everything—while the other sons get little or nothing?”

“Why, Jane,” Granny said with mock astonishment, “are you questioning the laws of primogeniture?”

“Certainly not ... well, yes, I suppose I am.”

“Beatrice Elton knew her husband’s status when she married him,” Millicent lightly declared.

Mama nodded. “She has only herself to blame. If she had any sense, she would have found herself a first son to marry.” She directed one of her small, tight smiles toward Jane. “Like you had the good sense to do.”

Granny sniffed. “Did she have a choice?”

“Let’s change the subject.” Jane did not wish to give Mama a chance to answer. Granny spoke the truth. Jane had had no choice. Thanks to Papa. Once again, thoughts of her father triggered a depressing wave of grief. Her beloved Papa was gone. Not dead, she fervently hoped, but gone to America where he might very well be dead. No one knew. The family had not heard a word since that terrible day nearly two years ago when he took the coward’s way out and left England, a passel of bill collectors hot on his trail. Only after his ship sailed did his family discover they were destitute. Unbeknownst to them, Papa had squandered the entire family fortune gambling at his London clubs. Of them all, poor Mama suffered the most. Her sheltered, well-ordered world had collapsed irretrievably around her. The shock nearly did her in. One minute she was The Honorable Mrs. John Hart, wife of a baronet, wealthy and respected, a pillar of society with the proper friends. The next, a deserted wife, dirt poor, friends gone, left with two unmarried daughters and no dowries, having to pawn the silver and family jewels, as well as sell their beautiful country manor just to pay the debts and survive.

Mama glowered at Jane. “I do not wish to change the subject. You know you didn’t have to marry Lord Lansdown. The choice was yours.”

“Of course she had to marry him,” Granny snapped. “Who else was going to marry her without a dowry? It’s a good thing she did, Amelia. Otherwise, you would be living in some thatched-roof hovel, collecting rags in the street.”

“I shall not dignify that remark with a reply.” With a haughty tilt of her nose, Mama turned to Jane. “Tell me you are at least fond of the earl. Tell me you were quite willing to marry him and restore our fortune.”

Jane’s sister put down her fork and tossed her blonde curls. “How could she be fond of a man who is full of arrogance and never laughs?”

“Millicent!” Mama looked highly annoyed. “Need I remind you that if it had not been for the earl, you would never have had your coming-out and your season?”

Millicent’s blue eyes lit. “Plus my dowry. Yes, of course, I’m grateful for that, but he’s all I said, nonetheless.” She stood and pushed back her chair. “The seamstress is coming this afternoon to finish the blue calico. When Lord DeWitt arrives next week, I shall look so absolutely smashing he will have no choice but to propose.”

“Are you sure you love him?” Granny asked.

“Love him? Lord Dewitt is perfect in every way and I absolutely adore the man.”

Granny emitted one of her skeptical grunts. “No man is perfect, missy.”

“Well, Lord DeWitt is, and he’s going to be mine, all mine!”

After Millicent bounced out of the room, Granny turned to Jane. “I wonder if that girl realizes the sacrifice you made.”

“Does it matter? I’m just glad she’s happy.” Jane recalled her sister’s sad plight after their father left. Her flighty heart had been set on a coming-out and season wherein she would meet and fall madly in love with her future husband, who of course would be rich, titled and incredibly handsome. Instead, after Papa fled the country, she spent her days sobbing on her bed, convinced her life was over. Not until the earl proposed to Jane, promising in his zeal to support her family, did Millicent bounce back to being her lovable, scatter-brained self. She’d had her season. Even better, she had met rich, titled, handsome Lord DeWitt, who, everyone predicted, was bound to propose when he came for his visit.

Mama cast a triumphant look at Granny. “There, you see? Jane is happy.”

“Quite happy.” A lie, of course, but some things were best left unsaid.

“Now all she needs is to present his lordship with an heir and her life will be complete.”

“Well, I don’t see that happening.” Granny’s voice had a sly lilt. “It’s been a year. What do you say, Jane? Can Lord High-and-Mighty not get it up?”

Mama jerked as if she’d been stung by some insect. “Mother,
please
.” Furtively, she looked around, as if to make sure no servant overheard such an indelicacy. “Mother, how could you?” She drew herself up into a quivering bundle of self-righteousness. “There are some matters we simply do not ever discuss.”

“Maybe we should.” Granny looked at Jane. “Well? Are you going to answer my question?”

“No, I am not.” Jane had long since learned the best way to deal with her grandmother was to counter bluntness with bluntness. Besides, if ever there was a subject she did not want to discuss, it was her intimacies with her husband. Little did they know ... and as far as she was concerned, they would remain in ignorance.

Mama stubbornly continued, “Jane, it has been a whole year. Do you not have any idea why—?”

“No, I do not.” Jane rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “So, what are you saying? My year of grace is up and therefore you will be hounding me from now on?”

“You need not be so touchy. I am only thinking how important your producing an heir must be to the earl. How it must gall him—not having one child while his twin brother has eight.”

“Of course he would like a child, but please have patience and don’t keep asking.”

Her words seemed to make no impression on her mama. “You do realize what would happen if his lordship dies without issue? The title would pass to that worthless twin of his.” Seemingly horrified at the vision she had created, she scowled. “Dear God, that awful Beatrice would be the new Countess of Lansdown. She would get everything, and you, Jane, mark my words, would be thrown out on the streets with nothing but your jointure.”

“I won’t be out on the streets. I’ll have my dower house.”

Mama ignored her. “The rest of your poor family would be out on the streets, too. I can just see Beatrice flouncing about, Queen of the May, with her fancy title.” Mama seethed with mounting rage. “Oh, I cannot bear the thought. You must give the earl an heir immediately!”

Easier said than done. Jane stifled her smile. “You are the one who always says ‘Everything in its own good time.’ Well, give it more time and don’t look for trouble.”

“Oh, indeed,” Mama sniffed, “I would not be surprised if Beatrice prays every night you will go the way of the first countess.”

Enough was enough. “Let’s proceed to a more pleasant subject,
please
.”

Granny spoke up. “I wish to go upstairs now. Jane, ring for Griggs. Tell him I want that new young footman to carry me up, the one with the shapely calves.” She sneaked a conniving glance at Jane. “Do you suppose he pads them?”

“Mother, please! You are not supposed to even notice a mere servant, much less—”

“She’s joking, Mama.” Jane rose hastily and went to the bell pull. “I’ll ring.” She was grateful to Granny for distracting Mama’s attention. She wished
she
could be distracted. No such luck. Ever since her husband had issued his command invitation, her ordinarily sunny mood had given way to joyless apprehension. She had grown to hate the summons to her husband’s bedchamber. Worst of all was knowing that she did not have a choice.

Why did he go to Sudberry this morning? What was so important he had to go himself?

She could not imagine what it was.

Chapter 2

On the cobbled main street of the small village of Sudberry, passersby stopped to watch the shiny black coach, resplendent with the Lansdown coat of arms on its doors. It was pulled by four matched grays that brought it rumbling to a stop in front of Felton’s Apothecary Shoppe. The interest of the passersby turned to ill-concealed surprise when the earl stepped from the coach. Seldom were they privileged to gaze upon His Lordship in person.

“Wait here, Thomas.” Arthur Elton, Earl of Lansdown, a tall, spare man in his early fifties with a thin face and hawkish nose, stepped to the curb and cast a scowling gaze upwards at the wooden green apothecary’s sign swinging above the door. A mortar and pestle were painted on the sign, circled by the Latin phrase,
Major Agit Deus. “
A God more powerful is the agent,” the earl silently mouthed. From Virgil’s
Aeneid
. He would lay odds that nary an oaf in this wretched village could translate the words, and that included old Felton. Well, he did not give a farthing which God was more powerful as long as he acquired what he came for.

A bell jingled as he stepped inside the shop and closed the door.
No other customers, thank God
. Felton stood behind the counter. He was a stooped, bespectacled old man, backed by shelves lined with the Dutch blue delft jars storing his various nostrums. One was filled with water that was teeming with a disgusting collection of leeches.

“Ah, Your Lordship!” Felton’s rheumy eyes lit with delight. With a bright smile, he came around the counter and gave an obsequious bow. “Again, I am honored you have graced my shop by your presence, sir. I—”

“Do you have it?” Lansdown’s lips tightened. Smiling at underlings was a waste of time.

“Indeed, I do, m’lord. At last!” Felton, his smile stifled, scurried back behind the counter. He reached underneath, brought up a brown paper packet and laid it before the earl. “Just arrived this morning.” Employing great care, he unfolded the paper. Within, cradled in cotton, lay a small vial filled with a black liquid.

“Here it is. Not easy to come by, if I do say. Just as you ordered—genuine Spanish Fly.”

Spanish Fly
. The very words caused Lansdown’s heart to skip a beat. “You’re sure it’s genuine?”

“Indeed, yes. ’Twas shipped direct from Spain through a most reliable source.” Felton held the vial up to the light. “Actually, flies have nothing to do with it. The substance comes from a powder made from the crushed dried wings of a greenish beetle found in Southern Europe called Lytta vesicatoria. It’s an aphrodisiac for men as well as women. Although it’s little known—”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Of course, m’lord.” The apothecary hastened to rewrap the package. As he did so, he leaned forward, glanced around as if other ears might be listening and whispered, “It drives them wild.” He gave a lecherous wink. “A few drops of this and she will be on her knees begging for it. Dying to please you, to do whatever you want her to do. She will—”

“Five crowns as agreed.” Lansdown drew out a bag of silver coins and unceremoniously poured them on the counter. “Good day, Felton.” He scooped up the package and turned to leave.

“Use it with care,” Felton cried to the retreating figure. “No more than ten drops mixed with any liquid and not a drop more.” He heard a near-indistinguishable grunt from the earl, who did not bother to turn his head as he opened the door. “Mind, it is a most dangerous drug, m’lord, and must be used properly, else—”

The door slammed. Felton shrugged and softly addressed the empty shop. “Else you could kill the poor girl.”

At last he had his Spanish Fly. Back in the coach, Lansdown leaned back against the squabs and allowed himself a satisfied smile. The months of frustration were at an end. By God, his wife of a year, the high-and-mighty Jane, would soon receive the surprise of her life.