The Yuletide Countess: Harriet's Traditional Regency Romance (17 page)

Isobel looked surprised to hear the gentle Letitia so waspish, but said
nothing.  The ladies proceeded to the drawing room, where his lordship waited. 
He was a middle-aged man, with a stout, unhealthy air about him.  His pallid
countenance and flaccid frame were those of one who might be an excellent
trencherman, but clearly pursued little vigorous exercise.  He had a rather
petulant expression, not assisted by small, weak eyes, which he blinked
rapidly.  Isobel was a bit taken aback by his unprepossessing appearance. 

Bainstall was looking mournful, and he gestured towards the bier.  “A
very bad business this," he said.  "The thought that a man so young
could be struck down in the flower of his youth, must make each of us recall
that at any time we could be called upon to give an account of our actions in
this world, and that we should be prepared to justify ourselves to our
Creator.”

Letty looked rather nonplussed at his moralizing, but replied quietly. 
“Quite so, Lord Bainstall.  I believe that you are not acquainted with my
friend Lady Exencour.  Allow me to introduce you to her.”

Isobel summoned up a vision of her grandmother, who had been a very grand
dame indeed, and favored the baron with a frosty smile, a slight nod of her
head and offered his lordship two fingers to shake.  Letty turned her head
aside to hide a smile, and then invited them to sit.

Bainstall seated himself heavily.  “I came as soon as I heard,
cousin," he said.  "I fancy you must find yourself very much in want
of my advice.”

Letty did not know how to answer him politely, so she remained silent and
tried to avoid looking her skepticism.  Isobel took up cudgels on her behalf,
however. 

“I think that Letty suffers from no shortage of friendly advice from
those who have her interests at heart,” she said.

“Indeed not,” replied Bainstall in a displeased tone. “But who can better
ascertain those interests than the head of her family?” he inquired
rhetorically.

“Perhaps Lady Morgan’s opinion might be solicited first,” answered Isobel
sweetly.

Letty had to smile at this exchange. “Cousin, your kindness in wishing to
assist me in this difficult time is appreciated,” she said placatingly. 
“However, Lady Exencour too has my welfare in mind.”

Unfortunately, Lord Bainstall chose to ignore this invitation to cease
hostilities and looked closely at Isobel.  “Ah, you are the former Miss Paley,
are you not, Lady Exencour?” he asked.

Isobel merely nodded and smiled in reply.  Undeterred, Bainstall pressed
on. 

“Letitia, I must tell you that I do not think that Lady Exencour is one
in whom you may place your confidence.  She led you very much astray last year
when you visited her in London, and you should not place your trust in her
now.  Although you came to your senses and returned to your home, Lady
Exencour’s influence on your actions I can only describe as ill-advised.”

There was silence after this speech as both ladies were so much angered
by it as to be temporarily rendered tongue-tied.  Bainstall, fancying himself
to have had the last word on the matter smiled at Letitia.  “You must allow
yourself to be guided by me, cousin, and we shall see you respectably settled.”

The door had opened silently during this last speech by the baron and
Lord Exencour had entered undetected.  He now stood with a gleeful smile on his
handsome face, watching his wife draw breath to embark upon a blistering
retort.  Electing at the last moment to cast water rather than oil upon the
flames of her wrath, he cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Ah, you must be Bainstall, Lady Morgan’s cousin.  I am Exencour.  Lady
Morgan has undoubtedly already introduced you to my wife.” Francis smiled
easily and extended his hand to Bainstall.  He then turned to Letitia,
effectively cutting off any comment her cousin might wish to make.

“Lady Morgan, you will be happy, I believe, to hear that my search has
prospered and I have been able to locate your bailiff.  You are fortunate; he
had purchased a passage to America, and was waiting to take ship in three days’
time, although I fancy he would have called upon you first in any event.  He
seems to be an estimable fellow.  I have invited him on your behalf to return
to Morgan Park, which he does with great willingness.  He will wait upon you in
an hour's time.”

Letty was delighted to have Grieves restored to her and opened her mouth
to thank Exencour when she was interrupted by Lord Bainstall.

“If I am to meet with your bailiff soon, cousin, perhaps you could have
me shown to my room so that I may change my clothing from this travelling
garb.”

The other three looked surprised, but unanimously chose to leave the
baron to enjoy his ignorance.  The bell was rung and soon Bainstall was being
shown to the green bedchamber.

“Oh dear,” said Letty as the door closed behind him.

“What a pompous bore,” Isobel burst out.  “Letty, he is twice as bad in
person as he was in that dreadful letter he sent you.”

“Yes, I fear that it will be very difficult to avoid offending him
deeply, Isobel, for he plainly feels it his duty to take my affairs in hand,
and indeed, I do not wish him to do so.”

“It is a shame that Morgan Park is not a huge pile like Strancaster,”
said Exencour with a glinting smile.  “When my mother wishes to avoid an annoying
guest, she has only to place him in a distant chamber, where the bell most
mysteriously refuses to function.  Unable to summon a servant to show him back
to the family rooms, the poor wretch may wander about for days, even risking
starvation, in search of the remainder of the party.”

“Alas, Morgan Park is too small to perplex even my cousin for more than a
minute or two,” answered Letty.  “We shall have to resort to plain speaking it
seems.”

            “Well,
Letty, it is best to begin as you mean to go on," said Isobel. "And
if you are to manage for yourself now, Lord Bainstall will have to be put in
his place.  Not but that I doubt he will know it when that happens.  He seems
remarkably thick-witted to me."

            Chapter 2

The Marquess of Eynsford viewed the
assembly at Almack’s with a jaundiced eye.  The rooms overflowed with the cream
of the ton; while Almack’s did not have the most spacious rooms or the finest
refreshments, it was still a venue in which any person wishing to be accepted
by Society must appear.  Fresh-faced young women, newly out, were escorted by
their ambitious mothers, while eligible gentlemen eyed the scene languidly. 

            “Don’t look so stern,
Phillip,” said the dowager marchioness of Eynsford. “People will think that you
don’t wish to be here.”
            The marquess turned to his mother and smiled slightly.  “They would
be perfectly correct, a fact of which you are well aware.”

            “If you don’t care
about the future of the Eynsford estate, I do,” his mother replied stoutly. 
“You have been knocking about the Continent for years now, and one would think
you would be ready to settle down. You are the last of my sons, and I wish the
title to remain with your progeny, not those of your uncle.”

            “I would hardly call
fighting the French and negotiating with Metternich ‘knocking about,’” the
marquess said plaintively.  “And one scion of the Eynsford line is much like
another, I would imagine.”

            “Nonsense.  Your Uncle
Robert is a fool, and his sons are worse.”  The dowager frowned up at him.
“You’re two-and-thirty, Phillip, and it is high time you married.  I was
willing to put up with your nonsense before, but now it is time to accept your
responsibilities.”

            Phillip Masham,
Marquess of Eynsford, gazed at his mother, both annoyance and sympathy in his
eyes. Despite the passage of time, she was still a beautiful woman, her high
cheekbones and fierce blue eyes as memorable as the day she came out.  The past
five years had been difficult for her; his father had died, followed not six
months later by the sudden death from pneumonia of his eldest brother, leaving
behind a childless widow.  At that time his mother had decided that Phillip,
whose father had placed him in the military, should embark on a less physically
hazardous career than leading cavalry charges, and he had been assigned to the
diplomatic corps.  The shocking death of his second brother in a sailing
accident had made the diplomat a Marquess, a position to which he had never
planned or wished to accede.

            “Mother, dear,” he said
sweetly, “I came here because you asked it of me.  But you can hardly expect me
to pick out one of these young women at random and hurry her off to the altar.”

            “No, but you can dance
with some of them, and try to find one to your liking,” the dowager answered
bluntly.  “Not that I’m terribly impressed; the lot of them look as though they
have barely one thought to share.”

            The Marquess raised his
quizzing glass and surveyed the scene again.  “Which should I lead out first,”
he asked teasingly.  “The one with the squint, or the one with the shocking
amount of jewelry strewn about her person?”

            “Lord, Phillip, I don’t
care,” said his mother.  “Surely one of ‘em must be reasonably attractive and
able to speak two or three sentences without making a fool or herself.”

            “You set the bar very
low, Mother,” said the Marquess.

            “Well, if you had a
tendre
for a respectable woman, I’d not say you nay,” she replied.  “But I’ve never
seen you in love, Phillip, so I don’t see why you should worry about that now. 
You’re far more interested in foreign opera singers and other men’s wives, so
it hardly matters whom you marry.  I suppose she must be able to put up with
your nonsense, so a bit of stupidity might not be amiss.”

            He sighed. “I should be
shocked at your conversation, Mother, but I seem to be inured to it.  How do
you know about my opera singers?”

            “All I hear from my
friends is gossip about your doings.  Do you take me for an idiot?” demanded
his mother.

            “Decidedly not,”
responded the Marquess.  “I would never make such a mistake.”

            “See that you don’t,”
she snapped. 

            “As long as we are
here, I suppose I should do what I promised you, and dance with an eligible
child,” he said, giving her a humorous look that belied the tone of their
conversation.  “Allow me to escort you to a seat.”

            The dowager took his
arm, looking up at him with affection.  The marquess was an extremely handsome
man, with thick dark gold, curly hair, astonishing indigo blue eyes set under
arched brows and heavy lids, a thin, straight nose, and mobile, well-cut lips. 
A passing stranger might well have supposed he could have posed for a painting
of a Renaissance angel.  This beauty of countenance, however, was marred by the
harsh, cynical expression that habitually blanketed his features and the air of
perpetual ennui he carried with him.

            “You certainly are
handsome enough to charm any woman,” she said stoutly.  “Finding a wife should
be no difficulty at all.”

            His lips twisted in a
cynical smile.  “I would have no trouble finding a wife if I were fat, bald,
and aged,” he said.  “There isn’t a woman here who wouldn’t take me simply for
my title and my fortune.”

            “And you would marry
her only to supply an heir, so neither of you would be robbing the other,” his
mother pointed out. “I see no reason why you should demand devotion from your
wife when you have no intention of returning it.”

            “Spare my blushes,
Mother,” said the marquess.  “One usually pretends that the bride and groom
have some affection for one another.”

            “Which is utterly
ridiculous.  In my day we didn’t tiptoe around the subject!”

            “I’m well aware that
there are no subjects upon which you will not hold forth,” rejoined the
marquess.  “But perhaps Almack’s is not the proper venue for your views.”

            The dowager looked
around.  “As though I would give a button for the thoughts of anyone in this
room,” she snorted.

            “I am in complete
agreement with you.  And yet, if you wish me to marry one of them, perhaps
discretion should be the order of the day.”

            His mother snorted, but
allowed him to lead her towards a chair by the wall.  “Lord, not near Amelia
Setterington,” she objected.  “I can’t abide the woman.”

            Phillip obligingly
changed course, and soon the dowager was settled on a spindly chair next to her
old friend, Lady Hambledon.  After fetching her the strongest refreshment he
could find, a claret cup that she greeted with derision, he prepared to leave
her to her gossip.

            “Mind you, find someone
who won’t cause me trouble,” she said.

            “A respectable, only
slightly stupid, young woman who will not cause you trouble,” he said.  “I will
bear it in mind.”  He kissed her hand lightly and strolled away, his gaze
raking over the room.  If dancing with a few of the young women present would
make his mother happy he would be glad to oblige her, but he had no intention of
marrying any of them. 

The past years had
given him ample opportunity to observe how much more attractive he was with a
title than without.  As a younger son with a competence that could command the
necessities but not the elegances of life, he had been anathema to matchmaking
mamas, who viewed a young gentleman of great beauty and excellent address, but
limited fortune, with great suspicion.  As soon as he acceded to the honors of
the marquisate, however, he became the most pursued man in the kingdom.  

            “Eynsford!  What are
you doing here?”

            The marquess turned to
see a very exquisite young gentleman with elaborately high shirtpoints and a
turquoise coat approaching him. 

            “Good evening,
Partney,” he murmured.  “I am escorting my mother.”

            Sir Jason Partney
raised his eyebrows.  “I’m surprised to see you at Almack’s. Since your return
you’ve been far more likely to be found at Watier’s or the Daffy Club.”

            “I find all this sadly
flat,” agreed the marquess.  “But my mother is formidable and not to be denied.”

            “I’ve met her,” said
Sir Jason with a laugh.  “A daunting woman, to be sure.  The last time I met
her she told me she did not care for my coat.”

            “She finds all of us to
be dreadfully lacking in manners and taste,” said Phillip.  “You should not feel
singled out.”

            “Would you care to join
me in the card room?” asked Sir Jason.  “The stakes here are not high, but it’s
better than dancing with girls barely out of the schoolroom.”

            The marquess shook his
head.  “Thank you, but no.  I intend to dance with one of these delightful
ladies.”

            Sir Jason appeared to
be surprised.  “At your mother’s behest?” he asked.

            “You understand me
perfectly,” said Phillip.

            Sir Jason laughed. 
“When you are bored, you know where to find me.”

            “Indeed.”  Phillip
watched as Sir Jason strolled towards the card room and then resumed his
perusal of the room.  Many a young woman eyed him hopefully as he made his way
across the room.  The Marquess of Eynsford was known for his address, his
exquisite dress, his impeccable manners, and his caustic wit.  A sign of favor
from him could greatly add to a lady’s consequence.

            Eventually he appeared
to find what he was searching for, and he crossed the room, his face a mask of
boredom.  If he noticed the inquiring glances and murmur of voices that
followed him, he gave no sign.  Eventually he reached his quarry, and bowed low
before one of Almack’s patronesses, the Princess Esterhazy.

            “Eynsford!” she
exclaimed.  “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

            He kissed her hand and
held it for a moment.  “I’m delighted to find you here in London,” he said. 
“It reminds me of our time together in Vienna.”

            She gave him a sly
smile and tapped his cheek with her fan.  “Ah, Vienna,” she murmured.  “But now
we are in England.”

            “Indeed we are,” he
said, releasing her.  “And I must ask you to present me to Lady Pamela
Ravenscroft as a desirable partner.”

            “Lady Pamela
Ravenscroft?”  The princess’ delicate eyebrows inched up.  “She’s a shy thing,
and hardly in your league, Eynsford.  The poor girl’s tongue-tied and often
lacking partners.”

            “Exactly,” said the
marquess.  “Her father was a good friend of my father’s, and I feel that I
should help his children if I can.”

            The princess laughed. 
“How noble of you!  You mean to lend her some of your consequence, do you?  But
you are not
epris
in that direction?”

            The marquess gave her a
look of amazement.  “Hardly,” he said. “After being in your presence how can I
look at another woman?”

            “You’re altogether too
glib, Phillip,” murmured the princess.  “But I don’t see why we shouldn’t give
the youngster a treat.”

            With a flirtatious look
she took his proffered arm, and they strolled across the room to where Lady
Pamela stood by her mother.  A seventeen-year-old still in possession of her
baby fat, with a slightly sallow complexion and large dark eyes, she barely
glanced at them at first, but her expression became increasingly alarmed as
they drew closer.

            “Are you sure you wish
to do this?” asked the princess.  “She looks terrified.  Perhaps it would be
kinder for you to find a woman more up to snuff.”

            “Not at all,” replied
the marquess.  “This is my good deed for the day.”

            The princess shrugged.
“Very well, my friend.”

            They paused in front of
Lady Pamela, who gaped at them openly.  Her mother stepped quickly into the
breach. 

            “Good evening, Your
Highness, Lord Eynsford,” she said, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction at
the envious eyes turned on them by the other ladies in the vicinity.

            “Ah, Lady Ravenscroft,”
said Princess Esterhazy.  “Allow me to present Lord Eynsford as a very
desirable partner for your daughter.”

            Lady Pamela flushed a
brilliant shade of red as Phillip bowed over hand.  “If I you would honor me
with this waltz?” he murmured.

            “Oh—oh my,” stammered
Lady Pamela, shooting an anxious glance at her mother, who nodded firmly. 
“Why—why yes, thank you, Lord Eynsford.”

            With a nod at Lady
Ravenscroft and a wicked smile directed to the princess, the marquess led Lady
Pamela out onto the floor.  He lightly circled her waist with one arm, and
clasped her hand in his.

            “Are you ready?” he
asked gently.

            She glanced up at him,
alarm in her eyes, but nodded.  With a reassuring smile, Phillip swept her into
the dance.  Lady Pamela had clearly been trained in the steps of the waltz, but
was an inexpert practitioner.  The marquess, however, was extremely adept in
that art, having found over the course of his years as a diplomat that skills
in the ballroom were every bit as important as those at the negotiating table.

            He did not speak to
Lady Pamela for some moments, quite aware that she must be overwhelmed by the
moment.  Eventually, however, it felt it best to attempt a conversation.

            “Is this the first time
you’ve waltzed?” he asked in a gentle voice.

            Lady Pamela’s head
popped up, and she gazed at him, her eyes wide.  “I’ve waltzed with my dancing
master, of course,” she said.

            “Of course,” he
responded.  “I hope I dance as well as he does.”