The Romance (7 page)

And all the while Belinda wondered why Miss Trumble did not lecture her on the folly of wanting to marry St. Clair. Perhaps Miss Trumble did not care for her as much as she did for the others!

When the dressing-bell sounded, Miss Trumble rose and took her leave, promising to call again.

Betty, the maid from Brookfield House who now acted full-time as lady’s-maid, came in to help Belinda to dress and arrange her hair.

With a feeling of nervousness, Belinda made her way to the drawing-room an hour later.

Her eyes went first to Mrs. Ingram. Belinda had never met her before but knew immediately who she was. She was the most striking lady in the room. She had flaming-red hair, as red as Lizzie’s, but her eyes were bright blue. She had a voluptuous figure in a gold tissue gown which had been damped to make it cling even more closely to her body. She was talking to Lord Gyre, who seemed at ease in her company. Three girls stood together in front of the fireplace: the Hartley twins, Margaret and Polly, plump and dainty little
brunettes, all rolling eyes, lisps and giggles; beside them stood Jane Chalmers, expensively gowned in the finest muslin and with her fine fair hair bound with a gold fillet. She had large grey eyes with fair lashes which surveyed the room with haughty contempt. Her mother was sitting on a sofa, also armoured in grand haughtiness. Mrs. Chalmers was bedecked with so many jewels pinned all over a black velvet gown that she looked rather like a town at night seen from the sea. Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, a small, plump couple, were chatting to Mirabel Dauncey and Lord St. Clair. Gurney Burke was entertaining Lady Beverley and Lizzie.

And then, just as Lord St. Clair was crossing the room to greet Belinda, the double doors were flung open and Jiggs intoned, ‘The Honourable Peregrine Vane.’

Saint Clair had white-leaded his face. Cracks of sour disapproval began to run across his white lead mask as he surveyed his cousin.

‘What brings you?’ he asked.

‘Uncle sent me down to see things were running smoothly.’

‘They are, so you can turn around and go away.’

Perry threw Belinda a comically rueful look and she found herself smiling. ‘Can’t do that. I have your father’s orders and you know he always expects them to be carried out.’

Saint Clair did not have the energy to be irritated for long. He gave a little shrug. ‘Miss
Belinda, may I introduce my cousin, Mr. Vane. Perry, Miss Belinda Beverley.’

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance,’ said Perry. He was taken aback by Belinda’s beauty. It was not just her beauty that was dangerous, he decided, but her almost sensual air of femininity, of vulnerability. Shrewd Perry saw immediately what even Belinda’s sisters had failed to observe: that Belinda Beverley was not made of iron, and that at the back of her large eyes was a certain something that told him that far from being triumphant at being back at Mannerling again, Miss Belinda was heartily wishing herself somewhere else—anywhere else.

Across the room, Jane Chalmers’s cool grey eyes studied Belinda as well. She had quite decided to make a play for St. Clair. Jane did not regard the dashing Mrs. Ingram as competition. She considered the widow little better than a member of the demi-monde and definitely not marriageable goods. Jane already coveted Mannerling. Earlier that day, the housekeeper had taken her on a tour of the place. She had marvelled at the beauty of the painted ceilings, at the fine plaster cornices, at the elegance of the double staircase rising out of the great hall. Through each long window lay a cool green vista of woods and gardens. She felt in an odd way that she had come home, that she could never, ever live in any other place again.

Although she admitted that Belinda was beautiful, she, too, had heard the girl was badly dowered and therefore did not anticipate much competition. Lizzie, covertly watching everything, saw Jane’s assessing look, and her heart sank. It had all seemed so simple on the journey down to Mannerling. Now, as she saw it, Belinda was surrounded by rivals.

Dinner was announced. They entered in order of precedence, which meant that Lord St. Clair, as host, led Lady Beverley in, followed by Lord Gyre with Mrs. Chalmers on his arm. Belinda was near the rear, with Gurney Burke, and at the very end came Mrs. Ingram with Lizzie.

Lizzie was prepared to dislike what she privately damned as ‘this fallen woman,’ but Mrs. Ingram gave her a friendly smile and said, ‘I see we both have red hair.’

‘Such a social disadvantage,’ mourned Lizzie. ‘Red hair is so unfashionable.’

‘Nonsense. It makes us both stand out in a crowd. Together we make everyone else look colourless.’

Lizzie found herself smiling back. ‘See,’ said Mrs. Ingram gaily, ‘they have placed us both together at the end of the table, but we do not mind, do we? For we can have a comfortable coze.’

Feeling that she should neither be grateful for nor encourage such company, Lizzie gradually found she was enjoying herself. She
did at first start to enthuse about the glories of Mannerling and about the wretched plight of the Beverleys when they had lost their home, but all Mrs. Ingram did was give her an infectious laugh and say teasingly, ‘Now, my dear, it is a very grand and elegant place, but it is gone unless Saint Clair pops the question, and surely your sister is worth better than Saint Clair.’

‘What is up with him?’

‘He is an amiable fool, and although your sister is now playing the part of amiable fool as well, and to perfection, too, she will surely tire of the act.’

‘But Lord Saint Clair would perhaps make an amiable husband?’

‘I would not depend on that. Even fops, or should I say especially fops, have a nasty habit of becoming quite tyrannical when they are married. Have you considered that Saint Clair perhaps regards your sister in the light of a new waistcoat—something for the other bucks and beaux to stare at and envy? So what happens when she loses her looks? She will be tied to a boring chatterbox and he will be sulky and berate her for losing her face and figure, never stopping to consider that producing a child a year is apt to do just that.’

Lizzie gave a little shiver. She could feel all the old Mannerling obsession engulfing her.

‘Are you cold?’ she realized her new friend was asking her.

‘No, it is just…Do you not feel this house has a presence?’

‘No, although I have heard it is haunted. But despite my Scottish ancestry, I am not fey. The ghosts do not walk for me. Let us not talk about this boring old house. Tell me about your schooling. It is reported that you have a formidable governess.’

So Lizzie talked happily about Miss Trumble while Belinda flicked anxious little glances down the table, thinking her innocent little sister was being too familiar with a harpy.

At last Lady Beverley, who had assumed the role of hostess, rose to lead the ladies back to the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their wine.

The Hartley twins and Jane began to talk of balls and parties. Mrs. Chalmers and Mrs. Hartley studiously ignored Belinda, Lizzie, and Mrs. Ingram. Belinda at last joined Lizzie and Mrs. Ingram with a view to prizing her sister away from such contaminating company, but soon found herself falling victim to Mrs. Ingram’s undoubted charm.

Belinda began to relax and entered into a lively discussion on whether the emancipation of the Jews would ever become a fact. She was aware that it was possibly dangerous to drop her silly act in front of this clever woman, but she felt she needed a rest from it before the gentlemen joined them.

When the gentlemen finally did, Jane was
urged by her mother to play the pianoforte. ‘Lord Saint Clair will turn the pages of the music for you,’ said her mother in the sort of commanding tone of voice which brooked no argument. As Lord St. Clair reluctantly drifted over to the piano, Mrs. Ingram rose and took Gurney Burke’s arm and began to talk to him while Jane found her music, and Lady Beverley abruptly summoned Lizzie and Belinda to her side, angry that they should be so friendly with Mrs. Ingram. Lizzie went to join her, but Lord Gyre sank down on the sofa next to Belinda, and said, ‘Talk to me. That is if you can talk sensibly. Never have I seen a young lady simper so dreadfully as you did at dinner.’

Belinda felt she ought to be insulted but found herself feeling amused instead. ‘It was indeed a marathon performance,’ she said. ‘I thought I quite outdid myself.’

‘Are you not worried that the fair and moneyed Miss Chalmers might not snatch Toby Saint Clair from under your nose?’

‘I thought perhaps you yourself, my lord, were the target of her ambitions.’

‘No, I fear Saint Clair is her quarry. Then you have another enemy.’

She looked at him questioningly.

‘Mr. Vane.’

‘I have done nothing to offend him!’

‘I am unfashionable, you see, Miss Belinda.’

‘And what has that to do with Mr. Vane’s dislike of me, my lord?’

‘You see,’ said the marquess, stretching a pair of excellent legs in clocked silk stockings out in front of him, ‘I listen to servants’ gossip. Perry, Mr. Vane, was resident here before Saint Clair’s arrival, and Mr. Vane was very much master of all he surveyed. I think he wants Mannerling for himself, and in order to get it he must make sure Saint Clair displeases his father. Now should Saint Clair succeed in announcing his betrothal, his father would be in alt, because the old earl wants grandchildren. Should something go wrong, should Saint Clair, for example, be shamed, then perhaps Mr. Vane’s ambitions would be realized—that is, that the earl would disinherit his son and make Vane his heir.’

Belinda looked at him wide-eyed, but fell silent as Jane began to play. It was a long, boring piece which sounded like a series of Czerny piano exercises, which in fact it was, Jane having not progressed very far in her piano studies.

Belinda sat very still, suddenly acutely conscious of the tall strong figure next to her on the sofa. His thick black hair was swept back in two heavy wings from his handsome face and proud nose. She stole a sideways look at him, found him looking at her and blushed, not a delicate maidenly blush but fiery red. Her breath came quickly and she wished the music would end so that she could escape from his disturbing presence. Lord Gyre admired the
quick rise and fall of Belinda’s excellent bosom and mentally chastised himself. He was not going to fall in love at this late age with a scheming minx who was proving to be a better actress than Mrs. Jordan.

At last Jane hit a final noisy chord. It was Lord Gyre who moved away to join Mrs. Ingram, and Gurney Burke and Lord St. Clair—moving quickly, for him—who crossed the room and took Gyre’s place.

‘Curst boring music, if you ask me, Miss Belinda.’

‘Miss Chalmers plays with great verve, I think,’ commented Belinda.

‘If you say so. Don’t know anything about music. I say, Miss Belinda, I heard some terrifying news about you.’

‘You alarm me, my lord. What can it be?’

‘That you are a bluestocking.’

Belinda dimpled prettily at him. ‘Oh, no, my lord, my stockings are pink.’ And she raised the hem of her gown an inch.

‘I say,’ said St. Clair, goggling at her. ‘You’re a bit of a goer.’

‘Now, my lord.’ Belinda gave him a playful rap with her fan. ‘It is your attractions that make me overbold.’

Mirabel saw the couple on the sofa, saw the way his friend was goggling at Belinda and said hurriedly, ‘What about cards? Silver loo? Piquet?’

Lady Beverley rang the bell and ordered the
card-tables to be brought in. Saint Clair, who was a dedicated gambler, promptly forgot about Belinda—which had been Mirabel’s intention.

Perry played his usual cautious game while his mind worked busily. His sharp brain had picked out a possible ally in Mirabel; he suspected that Mirabel did not want his friend to marry Belinda Beverley, but would not be averse to the idea of St. Clair’s marrying Jane Chalmers.

There must be some way, so ran his mind, of creating a disgrace at Mannerling, something so bad it would travel all the way to London and reach the ears of the earl. But he would wait and watch. He had hoped a scandal could be created through Mrs. Ingram, whose undoubted charms should have distracted his cousin. But it was being borne in on him, and not for the first time, that St. Clair was not overmuch interested in romance with the ladies. He frequented Cyprian balls, those elegant events held by the highest class of prostitute, but more because they were also frequented by such luminaries as Lord Byron rather than to partake in any of the sex which was so freely on offer.

Belinda, playing silver loo with the Hartley twins and Mrs. Ingram, let her mind wander from the game. If only Miss Trumble were here to give her a cool assessment of her chances. She suspected an enemy in Mirabel and felt she
must move fast to secure a proposal from St. Clair. But this was only the first day of the house party. What easy company this Mrs. Ingram was. No wonder Gyre had…had…but Belinda’s knowledge of sexual affairs was very limited and she could not envisage what a man did with a woman beyond kissing.

*      *      *

At last the party broke up and all went to bed, apart from St. Clair and Mirabel, who sat up drinking, with Mirabel trying to persuade his friend to propose to Jane Chalmers.

‘Why?’ was all St. Clair would say petulantly. ‘People don’t stare when the Chalmers chit goes by.’

‘Belinda Beverley is only interested in you because of her ambitions to live here again,’ sneered Mirabel.

Saint Clair leaned back in his chair, a drunken smile on his lips as he remembered that glimpse of pink stocking. ‘Thash where you’re wrong, old boy,’ he drawled. ‘Thash where you’re wrong!’

Mrs. Ingram could not sleep because she was suddenly very hungry. She had eaten very little at dinner because that was the fashion. Ladies were supposed to pick at their food. It was two in the morning. Always considerate of servants, she decided not to ring the bell, but to make her way down to the kitchens and forage for something. She climbed down from the high old bed and pulled on a wrapper. She lit a bed candle and by the light of its wavering flame made her way out into the long corridor which led to the central staircase. As she walked carefully down to the first landing, holding on to the banister as she went and holding her candle high, eerie shadows flew away from her and up the walls.