In the Shadow of Arabella Page 2

  “He did what? That is ludicrous! I mean, I knew Archie was interested, he even dangled after me once, but he is too old for Serena!”

  “Sir Humphrey does not think so. He told me today that all is settled. They even chose a date in the autumn.”

  “Katy, you cannot allow that child to marry such an old man. She would be wretched.”

  “I know. I also realize that I cannot remain in my present situation, never knowing what Sir Humphrey may do next. Of the limited options available to me, I choose marriage. With a husband I will have a home of my own, free of my stepfather’s control, and a safe place to take Serena. For I swear to you, Charity, she will never marry Archie Postlethwaite or any other man she does not wish to.”

  *

  Chapter 2

  Lord and Lady Brent and their youngest daughter gathered in the green salon of their town house in Berkeley Square to await the arrival of their young relative from Lincolnshire. The Gazette absorbed Lord Brent, while his wife busied herself with a piece of fine embroidery. Eighteen-year-old Marie, an attractive brunette with soft brown eyes and a small, upturned nose, eagerly paged through the latest issue of her favorite fashion magazine.

  Sophia Brent was a kindhearted matron who had managed to retain her youthful figure through the births of seven children. Her husband, Marcus, having raised five daughters, had achieved a level of female tolerance unknown to many of his sex. He had grown accustomed to the atmosphere created by a house full of people. He always enjoyed the visits of his niece and had been pleased to hear that she was coming for an extended stay.

  The journey had exhausted Katherine and Charity. As their coach finally approached the outskirts of London, Charity said sleepily, “Thank goodness, we are almost there.”

  “It has been a long day,” Katherine agreed.

  In order to arrive in town early enough to avoid inconveniencing their host and hostess, they had left the inn where they spent their one night on the road at a very early hour. Twelve hours in the jolting coach with only one short stop for a meal at midday had left them tired and hungry. Charity’s maid, Molly, slept peacefully in the corner and the young ladies marveled at her ability to do so. The coach was well-sprung, but the roadway had become rougher as they progressed into the town, yet the bouncing and bumping had not awakened her.

  “I had forgotten how noisy the city is,” Katherine commented, as carriages clattered by and people shouted to one another along the streets.

  “And how it smells!” Charity added. “There is always so much smoke.”

  “As the weather warms, there will be less.” Katherine studied her friend’s frowning face. “Charity, we are going to have a wonderful time, I promise you. Your mother was right; you have been rusticating too long. When was the last time you shopped in London or went to the theater? You used to love the theater.”

  Charity responded with little enthusiasm. “I do love it. But you know how I hate hobbling about city streets. I feel as if everyone is watching me.”

  “If they are, it is only because you are so lovely.”

  “Oh, Katy.”

  “Truly, Charity, I lose all patience with you. So you limp a little! I would be willing to wager that there are at least a dozen plain, well-bred girls in London who would trade places with you in an instant. I envy you myself, you know— your hair, those eyes.”

  “Katy, you are such a liar! You know you would never willingly trade with me. Only look how you love to ride.”

  “I have always insisted you could ride as well,’’ Katherine said. “It is your father who discourages you. Personally, I think riding is the perfect exercise for you. The horse does all the walking while you sit and relax.’’

  “I am never relaxed on a horse,” Charity objected. “They are so big, so unpredictable.”

  “You feel that way because you are unaccustomed to them,” Katherine persisted. “You would soon change your mind if you rode more often.”

  This conversation was interrupted by their arrival at Brent House. They were warmly welcomed by Lord and Lady Brent, who were delighted that Katherine had decided to accept their invitation after all. When she apologized for giving them no warning, they made little of it, saying the house echoed with empty rooms now that most of their children were married and gone.

  The weary travelers were shown upstairs to tidy themselves, and within the hour dinner was served. Lady Brent’s warm good nature, Marie’s bright-eyed admiration of her older cousin and her friend, and Lord Brent’s congenial manners did much to restore their spirits. By the time the young women retired to bed soon after dinner, they agreed that coming to London might be an exhilarating experience after all.

  The following morning Lady Brent took her young guests to the morning room, announcing that they had much news to share. Her questions to Charity concerning their trip south were generously interspersed with tales of her four married daughters and her plans for Marie’s come-out this year.

  Katherine sat with Lord Brent and in no time they were deep in a discussion of horses—a subject dear to them both.

  They had enjoyed perhaps thirty minutes of uninterrupted conversation when the butler opened the door to announce some morning visitors. “The Earl of Rudley, my lady, and Mr. Oliver Seaton.”

  Any casual observer would have judged that the two gentlemen now entering the room were related. Both were tall and much the same height, and although the earl was dark and his brother fair, there was a strong resemblance between them. Each possessed dark blue eyes under prominent brows and a marked similarity of feature in the lines of the cheek, nose, and chin. Both were immaculately dressed in proper morning attire: tight-fitting cutaway coats of superfine, skintight pantaloons molded to muscular legs, and gleaming Hessian boots. It would have been hard to choose which was the elder and in fact only two years separated Edward Seaton, fifth Earl of Rudley, from his brother, Oliver. Both men had served under Lord Brent in the army and had remained good friends in peacetime.

  Lord Brent rose with a smile and stepped forward to greet his visitors. “Rudley, and Oliver, too! How good to see you. When did you get back to town?’’

  “Only yesterday,” the earl replied. “But you are engaged. Perhaps we should call another time.”

  “No, no. Do come in. I should like you to meet my niece and her friend. They arrived last evening from Lincolnshire.”

  Katherine looked up in surprise when the visitors were announced. She recognized the earl immediately, for they had met the previous year at a hunt ball in Leicestershire. She glanced quickly at Charity and found her friend blushing slightly, but beautiful as always, even after two grueling days of travel. Charity’s bright golden hair was gathered into a knot on the crown of her head, leaving two luxuriant curls to fall over her shoulder. Soft wisps had escaped to frame her delicate face, while her striking blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at the gentlemen. She was breathtaking, and Oliver Seaton was startled into staring, as were most men when they first met her. He recovered himself quickly, however, and stepped forward to be introduced by Lady Brent.

  As the earl was introduced and bowed to Katherine, she said, “We have met before, Lord Rudley, but you may not recall.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Stillwell, I remember the meeting well. You, Miss Harrington, and, I believe, her parents were the guests of Lord Beecham. It was one of the best hunts of the season.”

  “Indeed, it is fine hunting country, my lord.” She smiled and nodded as he moved on to greet Charity. Katherine was not surprised that the earl remembered them, for Charity’s was not a face to be quickly forgotten.

  Rudley and his brother stayed twenty minutes only, then, amid protests, rose to leave.

  “If you are planning to stay in town for the Season, we are sure to meet again,” Mr. Seaton said. He stood beside Charity’s chair, his own fair head bent over hers and a pleasant smile on his face.

  “My aunt is planning a musical evening late next week,” the earl added. “Perhaps yo
u would all join us.”

  Lady Brent beamed upon him, accepting his invitation graciously, but after the gentlemen had departed Charity was moved to object. “Are you sure you should have accepted such an invitation for me, Aunt Sophia? The earl’s party is certain to be very grand, and I had not intended—”

  “I know what you intended,” Lady Brent interjected. “Each time you come to visit it is the same. You buy a few tawdry dresses; you go to the lending library; you visit those dusty museums. Well, this time things will be different! Marie’s come-out will be at ton parties and balls, and where we go you girls shall go as well.’’

  “I am hardly a girl, Aunt Sophia,” Charity objected. “I will be six and twenty in the fall.”

  Lady Brent continued as if Charity had not spoken. “Your father has agreed to stand the nonsense, and we shall begin our shopping this very morning. There seems to be an overabundance of silly, empty-headed females on the town this year. It will be refreshing for everyone to have two older, more sensible young ladies to converse with. As for your infirmity, Charity, I will not listen to any nonsense. The Marquess of Strickland’s eldest daughter is coming out this Season. She is blind in one eye, and no one thinks a thing of it. We will go to Lord Rudley’s party, and we will all enjoy ourselves.”

  Since no one seemed inclined to dispute this startling decree, Charity said innocuously, “They seem to be pleasant gentlemen, Lord Rudley and his brother.”

  “You will seldom find two finer, my dears,” her aunt agreed. “Both quite devastatingly handsome, both with position and fortune. Oliver, of course, has not Rudley’s wealth or title, but I believe that their father, the fourth earl, provided generously for all his children.”

  “My friend Sally Drayon calls them the eligible widowers,” Marie put in.

  “Which is no reason for you to do so, miss,” her father replied dampeningly. “They have both lost their wives, it is true, but I find it most unfortunate for men so young to have their lives disrupted by tragedy.’’

  Seeing that Charity’s and Katherine’s interest had been captured, Lady Brent continued, “Oliver lost his wife—it must be more than six years ago—in childbed. They had been married only a few years. She was a fair, gentle thing, seeming not at all frail. It surprised everyone when she had trouble with the birth, and she lived only a few hours after the child was born. The babe was quite strong and healthy, however, and I hear he is the image of his mother.”

  “And Lord Rudley’s wife?” Charity asked.

  “Ah, the lovely Arabella,” Lady Brent went on. “She contracted some malady three or four years ago. I do not believe the doctors ever knew exactly what it was. She and Rudley also had a child, a daughter born early in the marriage. She must be nine or ten years old by now, for Rudley was quite young when he wed. I have wondered why they never had other children. I should have thought Rudley would have wanted sons.”

  “He is a young man, Sophy, and can easily marry again,” her husband remarked. “But even if he don’t choose to, there is no lack of heirs to the title. There is Oliver and his young son Nicholas, as well as Rudley’s youngest brother John and his sons.”

  “As to Rudley’s marrying again,” Lady Brent countered, “he certainly has shown no inclination to do so, though I have lost count of the matchmaking mamas who have cherished hopes in that direction.”

  “What about Lady Milicent Battle, Mama?” Marie asked.

  “Yes,” Lady Brent mused, “I was beginning to wonder about her. He escorted her to the opera recently, and I have seen her driving with him in the park. She is a beauty, no question, but her tongue is too sharp for my taste. Even so, he does not act like a man who is eager to settle down. Why, only last week Beatrice Weatherby was telling me that she saw him with yet another of those actresses—” She stopped suddenly in some confusion when her husband cleared his throat noisily.

  Into the rather awkward silence that followed this interruption Katherine interjected a question. “Does Lord Rudley’s daughter live in London?”

  Pleased to be back on a safe subject, Lady Brent answered readily. “No, my dear, Rudley’s daughter and Oliver’s young son both live at his lordship’s seat in Hampshire. I must agree that the country is the only place to raise children, even if they must be separated from their parents for long periods of time. Although, I must say, most parents see more of their offspring than do either the earl or his brother. Both gentlemen reside at Rudley House and live much of the year in town.”

  At this point she interrupted herself. “Oh, dear, just look at the time! I promised Beatrice Weatherby we would call on her this morning, and we must not delay our visit to the shops. We have little enough time before your first party.” Rising from her chair, she lost no time in sweeping her daughter and houseguests from the room.

  Lord Brent watched them out of sight, then settled back into his chair and opened the Times. He was certain that with three young ladies in the house it promised to be an interesting and busy Season.

  In an imposing mansion in Cavendish Square, Lord Rudley lounged in his favorite armchair, a glass of brandy in his hand. His feet toasted near the hearth where a lively fire crackled.

  During dinner he had endured a full twenty minutes of his brother’s superlatives concerning the person of Miss Charity Harrington. They agreed that it had been many years since such a beauty had descended upon the London scene. More than a few mamas with plain daughters would find their precious ones looking plainer still once Miss Harrington had entered the room.

  Oliver had eventually gone on to his club, but Rudley declined to accompany him, preferring, he said, to spend the evening reading. And, indeed, he intended to do so, but the volume he had chosen lay unopened on the table beside him.

  It would have surprised Katherine considerably had she known it was she, and not Charity, whom Rudley most remembered from their meeting last winter in Leicestershire. He had joined an early morning party of riders; Miss Stillwell was among them. Even now, as he stared into the fire, he could see the great bay horse she had ridden that day. He was at least sixteen hands, with powerful quarters, widely spaced intelligent eyes, and more fire that any one animal should possess.

  It was not unusual to see such a fine animal, nor was it unusual to find a woman who rode well. Few women, however, cared to exhibit their skill on an animal as strong and spirited as the one Miss Stillwell rode that day. Her riding was superb. He could still recall the stunning picture she made: her cheeks flushed in the cold air, her eyes dancing with excitement. Later that same day Rudley had asked his host, Lord Beecham, who she was.

  “On the bay gelding, you say … Oh, you must mean Katy Stillwell. Her father was a particular crony of mine—taken in his prime by the influenza. Katy has been coming here since she turned fourteen. No better seat in the county in my opinion. She has no decent beast of her own, so I mount her on the best I have, and she shows us all the way. Take that bay—heart of a giant, but hates people. He threw two of my grooms last week; one of them broke his arm. Katy started with the horse Tuesday. It took her only three days to convince him to accept the sidesaddle, and she assured me he was ready to go today. And, by Jove, she was right! He went for her like a lamb.”

  At the ball the following evening Rudley sought an introduction. When he complimented Miss Stilwell on her riding, she thanked him, then introduced him to her friends, the Harringtons. She soon joined the dancing with Lord Parnaby and Rudley moved away.

  He found his attention attracted to her several times during the ball. She spent most of the evening near her dazzling blond friend, who was lame and did not dance.

  Miss Stillwell herself was no beauty, her features being more pleasing than handsome. He judged her to be about five foot six, too tall to be modish. Though she was past the first bloom of youth, he admired the way her simple gown flattered an excellent figure. She had an abundance of richly colored chestnut hair, and if her features in general were unremarkable, her eyes were not. They were
smoky gray in color, large and widely spaced, and framed by sweeping dark lashes. Deep dimples appeared whenever she smiled, which was often.

  Rudley found himself wondering what sort of person she was. Curious, he thought, how one person could observe another indefinitely and be able to discover little. Yet given the opportunity of ten minutes uninterrupted conversation, one could normally gather enough information to form a relatively valid judgment. His casual observation told him only that Miss Stillwell was a graceful dancer and that she had more than a passing interest in young Parnaby. Rudley had not asked her to dance that evening, however, and he had left the house party two days later without speaking to her again.

  The earl slowly finished his brandy and set the glass aside. If Miss Stillwell and Miss Harrington were to stay in town, he would undoubtedly meet them often. He found himself looking forward to the dinner party at his home the following week. If he was given the opportunity to advance his acquaintance with Miss Stillwell, perhaps he would discover what had brought such soberness to her fine gray eyes, which had once sparkled with humor.

  That same evening, while the Earl of Rudley was remembering the first time he met Miss Stillwell, she was sitting at a small writing desk in the handsome bedchamber allotted her by her hostess. She carefully opened the journal she had purchased earlier in the day. On the top of the first page, in neat spidery writing, she inscribed “James Haygarth, Viscount Parnaby.” She turned to the next page, running her finger down the crease to make the sheet lie flat. Then, dipping her quill again, she wrote “Mr. Oliver Seaton” at the top of the second page. At the top of the next she hesitated, glancing across the room to the sofa where Charity sat reading.

  “What is the Earl of Rudley’s given name, Charity, do you remember?”

  “I believe it is Edward.”

  “Ah, yes. I am sure you are right.” She then entered “Edward Seaton, Earl of Rudley” across the top of the third page. “Well, that makes three.”