Fifteen

Late the next morning, as Gwendeline sat in her drawing room mending some lace, she regretted accepting so many invitations for the coming weeks. Her enjoyment of the party last night had been quite spoilt by Adele Greene, and she had no doubt that would continue to be the case. What was needed, she thought, was a plan of action. She must do something. She looked out the window for several long minutes; no thought came to her. What could she possibly do?

Reeves entered the room. “Miss Adele Greene,” the butler announced.

Gwendeline looked up in astonishment. It really was Adele. She stood before Gwendeline, looking very smart in a gold walking dress lavishly trimmed with yellow ribbons. “I can’t stay long,” she said, seating herself on the edge of one of the armchairs. “I’m on my way to Bond Street for a fitting.” She lifted her chin. “My wedding clothes, you know.”

Gwendeline merely nodded.

Adele appeared nervous, and this made Gwendeline feel more relaxed. “I wished to speak with you alone,” her visitor said, “about Lord Merryn.” Adele opened her reticule and took out a crumpled sheet of paper. “I received this in this morning’s post,” she said, smoothing it. “It isn’t signed.” She didn’t offer the page to Gwendeline. “Of course, one should pay no attention to such things, but I couldn’t help wondering, and I decided finally to ask whether it’s true.” She stopped, and there was a short silence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Gwendeline. “Do you intend to show me this letter?”

“No! I mean, perhaps. I’m not sure.”

Gwendeline frowned at her.

“It says that Lord Merryn is supporting you,” Adele said. “That he gave you this house and an income to live on.”

Gwendeline was at first taken aback, then a little angry. This was none of Adele’s business. Or, if she was to marry him, perhaps it was. “A group of my father’s friends provided for me, Lord Merryn was among them.”

“That’s what the letter said you would answer,” Adele cried. “That’s exactly what it says, that you would try to fob me off with such a story.” She crumpled the paper into her bag again. “So it is true then. But I’ve come to tell you that you can’t interfere with my engagement.” She glared at Gwendeline. “I don’t understand your position with Lord Merryn, and I don’t care to, but there is nothing you can do.” She sounded very certain. “It’s settled; I shall be Countess of Merryn. It won’t be broken off.”

Gwendeline rose from her seat on the sofa. “I cannot conceive why you came to tell me this. But I think you should go now.” She started to ring for Reeves.

“He speaks of you to others,” Adele replied almost wildly. “He was nearly distracted when you ran away. He has given you a house. Why are you no longer with his mother? Did she find you out?” At Gwendeline’s outraged look, she jumped up, clutching her reticule. “It doesn’t matter. That’s what I came to say. I shall marry him. You can’t spoil things. It’s settled.”

Gwendeline rang for Reeves. Though she was trembling, she kept herself under control. “Reeves,” she said when the butler entered, “Miss Greene is just going.”

Adele had recovered her composure. She bowed slightly to Gwendeline. “I’m very certain of what I’ve said,” she added and swept from the room.

When she was gone, Gwendeline sank back and took several deep breaths. Her hands trembled. What had Adele meant by saying that the earl “could not break it off”? Lord Merryn was a thorough gentleman, of course, and would not willingly do such a thing to a lady, but “could not”?

And who had sent Adele the letter? Gwendeline’s frown deepened. She had realized by now that most people assumed Lady Merryn was the source of her income, and she’d been content to have it so, for it was the easier and more proper explanation. Would Adele now spread her version of the story? The fact that Gwendeline had moved from Lady Merryn’s house might lend credence to it. She flushed scarlet suddenly. Even the thought of living on the bounty of a man she secretly loved made Gwendeline ready to sink.

She thought of Sir Humphrey. Should she go to him again and ask that he allow the truth to be published? But she doubted that he would agree. Abruptly, she realized that Sir Humphrey had never said outright that he was helping her. Gwendeline went cold. In fact, he’d seemed rather befuddled. At the time, she had put his behavior down to surprise and diffidence about revealing his charity, but what if that was wrong? Gwendeline wrung her hands. She could go to him again to make sure, but Lord Merryn had spoken to him long since. What had he said?

Gwendeline sat back on the sofa. It came to her that Adele wasn’t likely to spread this rumor, since it involved her fiancé and might cause a scandal about him. She took a further breath. Nothing had really changed then.

But the small doubt that had begun to grow would not be silenced. Gwendeline got up and began to pace. If Lord Merryn was supporting her and she found out, she’d be forced to leave London and this house and find some other means of living. And she would also be obliged to cut all connection with the earl, for he would have put her in such a compromising position that the only recourse would be a complete break. She didn’t think she could bear that.

The train of thought had taken only a moment, and Gwendeline’s decision came as quickly. She would do nothing overt. But for herself, she must know the truth. And if it turned out that the earl was indeed her sole supporter… She paused here and looked wide-eyed at the wall. Well, she would decide what to do about that when the time came.

In the meantime, she told herself firmly, she must draw even farther away from the St. Audleys. She mustn’t depend so heavily on them or see them so often. It would be good for her to deal with her own problems instead.

Just as Gwendeline came to this decision, Miss Brown hurried into the drawing room. She stopped near the doorway, looking perplexed. “Reeves told me that Miss Greene had called. I came as quickly as I could, thinking you might want my help in the conversation. Has she gone so soon?”

Gwendeline nodded. “Her visit was short, if not pleasant.”

“Was she rude to you? I wonder why she visited here?”

Gwendeline described the events of a few minutes past to the older woman. “I hardly knew what to say to her. Who would write such a letter?”

Miss Brown shook her head. She appeared both shocked and puzzled. “Some malicious person who has unearthed half-truths and wishes to stir up trouble, I suppose. Shockingly vulgar and hurtful. And Miss Greene’s actions were impertinent, though I can see why the letter worried her. How fortunate that you know its falsehood already and can shrug off such base insinuations.”

“Yes,” agreed Gwendeline uneasily. She almost told Miss Brown of her new doubts, but something stopped her. “Anonymous letters are beneath notice. Even I know that.”

“Yes, but it must be quite horrid to receive one.”

“I suppose so. But if she’s so certain that the engagement cannot be broken off, why should she attend to it?”

Miss Brown shrugged. “I have no idea. How any young lady could speak of her engagement in such a fashion I do not know.”

“Her remarks about Lord Merryn were most curious.”

Miss Brown shook her head. “Just don’t allow yourself to, well, to hope too much, Gwendeline.”

Gwendeline looked at her, then nodded.

They were sitting in silence when Reeves returned to the room, wearing his most stiffly disapproving look. Gwendeline prepared herself for some further unpleasantness. “Alphonse insists on speaking to you,” he said.

“Oh dear, has Michael been careless again? Or the greengrocer?”

“No miss, there have been no untoward events in the kitchen since your return.”

“I see. Well, ask Alphonse to come up.”

Reeves went out, and a few minutes later the chef hurried into the room. He appeared even more excited than usual as he stood before them. “Good morning, Alphonse,” said Gwendeline. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Yes, mademoiselle. I have something of the most important to say. It is the, the affair of the heart, you comprehend.” Alphonse clutched his chest dramatically.

Gwendeline looked at Miss Brown. “But why discuss that with me?” she asked the little man. “Do you have some problem?”

“Oh no, mademoiselle, no problem,” he replied. “I only wish to ask your permission to marry Miss Ellen.”

Gwendeline looked again at Miss Brown for enlightenment, but this lady was also taken aback, it seemed. “You want my permission to marry Ellen, my maid?” Gwendeline said finally.

“Yes, mademoiselle.” Alphonse waved his arms about. “She is the most beautiful, charmante young lady I have ever known. I am bouleversé.”

“What did Ellen say when you asked her?”

“Oh, I have not asked her yet,” replied Alphonse. “I hope that you will do it. Everything must be comme il faut, you understand.”

“I?” Gwendeline gazed at her chef, bemused. “But isn’t that up to you?”

“Ah, mademoiselle,” said Alphonse sadly. “I am so very shy, you see.” The two ladies exchanged incredulous glances. “I cannot do it, en fait.”

“But Alphonse,” began Gwendeline.

“Oh, mademoiselle,” he broke in, clasping his hands before him, “she would attend to you. She would consider. Me, she laughs.” He shrugged elaborately. “I do not comprehend these Anglaises.”

“Well, I suppose I could speak to Ellen,” Gwendeline said doubtfully.

Alphonse grabbed one of her hands and kissed it. “Oh, thank you, Miss Gwendeline. I will be so grateful. You will see. I will…I will cook for you the masterpieces.”

“Don’t get too excited, Alphonse. I’ll tell Ellen what you’ve said. I can make no guarantee of her response.”

“No, but if you ask her, mademoiselle, she will listen. I know it.” Alphonse clasped his hands together in joy.

“All right, Alphonse, you may go. Ask Reeves to send Ellen in.”

The small man stopped in midstride. “I cannot.” He shrugged. “She is out.”

“Is she? Well, I’ll speak to her later then.”

“Oh, thank you, mademoiselle, thank you.” Bowing and smiling, Alphonse left the room.

Gwendeline turned to Miss Brown with raised eyebrows. “What do you think of that?”

“I had no idea romance was afoot, I must admit,” she replied.

Gwendeline nodded. “I wonder if Ellen knows anything about it? I wager she doesn’t.”

Miss Brown agreed. “I’d like to see her face when you tell her.”

“Why did I agree to do so? But it will have to be later.”

Gwendeline was invited to Lady Merryn’s that afternoon for a chat and tea. The countess was eager for a talk, and even Gwendeline’s resolve to see less of the St. Audleys couldn’t stand against her pleas.

She found Lady Merryn in her study, busily writing at her desk, surrounded as usual by piles of papers. But she looked up immediately when Gwendeline entered and greeted her affectionately. “I’m answering letters,” she said. “Many people have written me about the novel, you know. No one ever did about the others. And, Gwendeline, you would be astonished at the number who are convinced that it is about them alone! I’m quite determined to write only modern novels after this. But how good it is to see you. Come into the drawing room for a chat.”

Smiling, Gwendeline followed her down the hall. “Now,” continued Lady Merryn when they were seated, “you must tell me all about your stay in the country. I understand you’ve become quite an artist. If only you’d told me you were interested in painting, I could have invited some artists to meet you. Mr. Woodley is acquainted with several prominent painters.”

“I’m hardly an artist,” replied Gwendeline. “I’ve done some drawing, and then I chanced to meet Mr. Ames.”

“Carleton Ames!” broke in Lady Merryn. “One of the foremost painters in England. Oh, Gwendeline, will you introduce me? I should so like to meet him.”

“Of course,” answered Gwendeline, a little embarrassed by this appeal. Then she remembered Mr. Ames’s remarks about Lady Merryn’s books. “That is, if he remains in town. He meant to stay only a short time, I believe.”

“Oh, he’s still here,” said the countess eagerly. “Mr. Woodley says he’s at The Crillon. Will he call on you soon?”

“I’m not sure,” faltered Gwendeline. “He doesn’t know I came to town.”

Lady Merryn looked worried. “Dear me. We must tell him.”

“I’ll send a note. Perhaps you can both come to tea.”

“That would be splendid,” answered Lady Merryn.

“Now you must tell me all about your adventures,” continued the countess, settling back on the sofa. “I want to know everything.”

Gwendeline retold the story of her stay in Penwyn, frequently interrupted by questions. Lady Merryn was thrilled by her narrow escape and speculated on Mr. Blane’s current whereabouts. “You must be very careful, my dear. He may return to England and try again.”

Gwendeline shook her head. “I don’t think he’s so foolish,” she said. “Or so interested in me. I believe he kidnapped me for revenge on Lord Merryn.”

“Alex?” exclaimed Lady Merryn. “Well, he was certainly clever there. Alex was— That is, what a horrid man! But you’re quite all right again, thank heavens. That’s the important thing.”

Gwendeline nodded. She was intrigued by the remark Lady Merryn had cut off. Hoping to elicit more information, she said, “You’ve had some changes in your family since I left you. I must offer my felicitations.”

“What?” replied the countess.

Gwendeline blushed. “Lord Merryn is engaged.”

“Oh yes, of course. So kind of you.” Lady Merryn rose and went to ring the bell. “It is nearly teatime already!”

And this was all the response Gwendeline could get. The rest of her visit was taken up by talk of Lady Merryn’s books, both the recent one and a new project she’d just started. Gwendeline had no further chance to discuss Lord Merryn, and she returned home no wiser.

Though she would have preferred a quiet evening alone with her thoughts, Gwendeline had promised to attend a theater party that night, organized by Lord Wanley. Lillian Everly had begged Gwendeline to come, since she thought the party a scheme of Lord Wanley’s mother. The formidable Lady Wanley was determined to marry off her son and wean him from poetry to the management of their deteriorating estates, and Lillian very much feared that she was the chosen bride. Thus, she wanted Gwendeline’s support through the evening.

Gwendeline wasn’t in the mood for a noisy theater. Altogether, she wasn’t looking forward to a “splendidly instructive”—Lord Wanley’s words—evening of Macbeth. She was, she had to admit guiltily, not fond of Shakespeare.

And she’d nearly forgotten her promise to speak with Ellen. The maid was chattering happily as she combed out Gwendeline’s hair, and Gwendeline found it awkward to broach the matter of Alphonse’s proposal. At last, she hardened her resolve and interrupted. “Ellen, there is something about which I wish to discuss with you.”

“Yes, miss?” said Ellen. “If it’s the scorched ruffle, I’m sorry. I just looked away for one minute and there it was. But I can mend it and…”

“No, it’s not that. It’s about Alphonse.” Gwendeline watched the girl’s face for some reaction.

Ellen seemed only surprised. “Alphonse, miss?”

“Yes.” And she told her of the chef’s request that morning.

Ellen seemed stunned. She said nothing for several moments. Then she found her voice. “Me, marry Alphonse? Why, the man must be daft. He never said nothing to me.” She looked at Gwendeline incredulously.

“He asked me to inform you of his offer.”

“But why, miss? Begging your pardon, but I think it should be between him and me.”

“I agree completely, Ellen, and I tried to tell him so. But he insisted he was too shy to approach you.”

Ellen goggled. “Shy! Him?” She shook her head. “He’s gone daft. I’ll go down directly and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you know best what to do.”

Ellen put her hands on her hips. “I do. You mustn’t worry yourself. The idea! Going to you without a word to me first. I’ll teach him.” She finished Gwendeline’s hair with such vigor that it brought tears to her eyes more than once. When Gwendeline was dressed, Ellen left the room with grim purpose in her eyes, and Gwendeline felt somewhat sorry for Alphonse. As she went down the stairs, she wondered what news there would be from the kitchens when she returned.

Lady Wanley’s carriage arrived in good time, and Gwendeline joined Lillian and her hostess in it. The gentlemen were apparently to meet them at the theater. This was Gwendeline’s first encounter with Lady Wanley, and she felt rather intimidated by this very large woman, whose sharp, cold blue eyes and prominent nose seemed to pin one to the side of her carriage when she talked. Lady Wanley wore a dress of heavy turquoise brocade and a turban of the same material. The latter was adorned with several nodding ostrich plumes whose hypnotic motion held Gwendeline’s eye as they rode. Their conversation on the short journey consisted chiefly of questions directed at each of the girls in turn by their hostess. Lillian’s answers were somewhat more spirited than Gwendeline’s soft replies, but both girls arrived at the theater very subdued.

They found their box occupied only by a reedy young man with pale blond hair and a stammer. His extreme youth and the cut of his jacket proclaimed his status, and the girls hardly needed to be told that he was a young cousin of Lord Wanley’s and still at college. Mr. Devlin appeared cowed by the presence of his aunt and two fashionable young ladies, and after responding nervously to a barrage of questions about his family, he subsided into a corner of the box and said little else for the rest of the evening. Gwendeline felt rather sorry for him, especially after Lillian took advantage of an unobserved moment to whisper, “She’s made very sure that Lord Wanley will have no competition, hasn’t she?”

Lady Wanley preferred to arrive early at the theater, and so they were nearly alone in the auditorium for a while. But soon the house began to fill. There was no sign of Lord Wanley, and his mother was looking more and more put out. Watching her, Gwendeline was profoundly glad that it was not she who was late.

“What did Eliot say to you?” Lady Wanley snapped at Mr. Devlin for the third time, as she surveyed the audience with a gimlet eye.

“H-he a-assured me,” the young man replied hurriedly, “th-that he would a-arrive in g-good time. H-he h-had an appointment w-with his p-publishers.”

Lady Wanley snorted, as she had with each previous mention of this engagement. “His publishers!” she repeated indignantly. “Those bloodsuckers he pays to bring out the hogwash he scribbles, you mean. He’ll ruin us with publishers.” She caught herself after this more extended response to her nephew’s answer. “Only a figure of speech, of course. Eliot’s preoccupation with poetry has me quite distracted. I wish that you would speak to him, my dear.” This last was addressed to Lillian.

“I?” she responded.

“Yes, if you would only discourage this poetry silliness. I’m sure Eliot would listen to you.”

“I fear you’re mistaken, Lady Wanley. You overestimate my influence,” Lillian answered. A gentlemen in the pit bowed to the young ladies in the box, and Lillian nodded to him, as she had to several others who had saluted them.

Lady Wanley looked sharply down, fixing this presumptuous sprig with a deadly stare as he chatted all unknowing with a group of friends.

“Young pup,” she muttered. “All the young men look such fools today. This ridiculous cropped hair and not a ruffle or a bit of lace about them. When I was a girl, no man would have ventured out of his dressing room without hair powder and a satin coat. And much more handsome they were, too.” She sniffed. The play was about to begin, and Lady Wanley scanned the crowd once more. “Where is Eliot?” she repeated.

Lord Wanley did not appear before the curtain rose, and Gwendeline sat through the first portion of the play very conscious of his mother’s anger. She thought her remarkably like one of the three witches in the opening scene, and the girl was even less able to enjoy the drama than she’d expected. Lady Wanley seemed completely uninterested in Macbeth. She fidgeted in her chair and muttered as she drew her lorgnette back and forth between her hands. When the curtain descended at the first interval, she sent Mr. Devlin out to look for her son, with curt instructions not to return without him. A silence fell in the box after his departure, and Gwendeline felt even more uncomfortable. The one remark about the play that Lillian ventured was met with a discouraging monosyllable, and she too subsided, with a humorous look at Gwendeline.

Both girls were relieved when visitors began to arrive. Several young men braved Lady Wanley’s patent disapproval and sat down to talk for a moment to the Beauty. Lillian was soon surrounded, and Gwendeline joined the light chatter gratefully. A few minutes later, an older man appeared. He was rather portly and his brown hair was thinning on top, but his expression was kind and unassuming. Even Lady Wanley was impressed when Lillian introduced him as the Duke of Craigbourne.

He sat for a few minutes in the chair Mr. Devlin had vacated and talked amiably with Lillian and Lady Wanley. Gwendeline, prepared to dislike him, found herself rather taken with his easy manner and open countenance. She agreed with Lillian’s view that he was the sort of man one could like very much if one didn’t have to consider marrying him.

The next visitor drove the duke from Gwendeline’s mind, however; Lord Merryn entered the box and greeted her. As he took the remaining empty chair, he asked Gwendeline, “Are you enjoying the play?” His quizzical expression as much as said that he knew she couldn’t be, with such a play and in such company.

Gwendeline remembered that they’d once discussed Shakespeare and her sad dislike of his plays. She smiled at him sheepishly. “Very much,” she replied, feeling Lady Wanley’s eyes on her back.

The earl leaned forward a bit. “She’s not listening, you know,” he said quietly. “She’s occupied with her distinguished guest.”

Gwendeline laughed, then quickly composed her features again. “Don’t set me off, please. I’m terrified of saying something stupid and earning her displeasure.”

He grinned appreciatively. “However do you come to be in her box?”

“Lillian asked me to come. She wanted support.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Sensible of her but not pleasant for you.” He glanced over at Lillian. “Craigbourne is surprisingly particular in his attentions. I wonder if he’s decided to settle at last.”

“I fear so,” answered Gwendeline. “I don’t know what to do.”

The earl raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do?” he echoed.

“Yes,” said Gwendeline very softly. “Lillian’s parents wish her to marry him and she does not…” Gwendeline stopped and flushed deeply. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Oh, my wretched tongue.”

Lord Merryn smiled. “I shan’t repeat it. But do you seriously tell me that Miss Everly doesn’t wish to be a duchess?” He looked a bit skeptical.

“Not at all,” Gwendeline answered.

The earl looked very thoughtful, but before Gwendeline could ask him why, two events occurred simultaneously. The duke rose to take his leave, and Lord Wanley arrived at last, his cousin at his elbow. Lady Wanley was patently torn. She wished to be all politeness to the duke, but an irresistible urge to scold her errant son was obvious in her reddening cheeks and swelling breast. She struggled with herself, her grip on her ivory lorgnette tightening alarmingly, but finally she contented herself with one withering look at Lord Wanley before she turned back to His Grace.

Gwendeline couldn’t help giggling as Lord Wanley turned and began to chatter nervously with them. He looked very apprehensive. People were beginning to return to their seats, and Lord Merryn took his leave. As soon as the box was empty of visitors, Lady Wanley drew herself up and said, “Well, Eliot, what have you to say for yourself? You’ve insulted me and these young ladies with your heedless manners. What excuse do you offer?” She eyed him wrathfully. “And do not talk any nonsense about publishers to me, pray.”

Lord Wanley muttered a nervous apology for his tardiness, but this by no means satisfied his mother. She launched into a furious catalogue of his faults that was only staunched by the beginning of the next act and the indignant stares of their neighbors. But though she was finally forced to contain herself, her expression declared that she was not defeated by this temporary setback.

When the curtain fell again, Lord Wanley devoted himself to Lillian, talking so continuously that he left his mother no opening to begin berating him. Gwendeline watched with some amusement, and after an abortive attempt to converse with Mr. Devlin, sat back in her chair to appreciate the scene. Lillian chatted amiably, occasionally glancing toward Gwendeline with twinkling eyes. Lord Wanley leaned toward her, and Lady Wanley sat behind them, arms folded, glowering. Gwendeline maintained her composure only with difficulty.

The entire interval passed in this manner. Lord Wanley wisely avoided the subject of his new book and poetry in general and turned the talk to Shakespeare, about whom he was surprisingly learned. He even managed to pry a few remarks on this subject from Mr. Devlin who, it appeared, was studying literature at Oxford. Gwendeline found herself interested in his explanation of beliefs in witchcraft in Shakespeare’s time. She’d never been so impressed by Lord Wanley; it seemed he had read all of Shakespeare.

The last act passed swiftly and soon the ladies were again in their hostess’s coach, driving home. Lady Wanley was in no mood for civilities, however, for her son had escaped to his club, pleading lack of room in the carriage—a point Lady Wanley couldn’t honestly dispute. They rode in stony silence, Lady Wanley’s anger a palpable presence. She made no effort to be polite to her guests, and the girls didn’t dare speak, though Lillian choked back a laugh several times. When Gwendeline climbed down at her house, Lillian squeezed her hand, promising to call the following day. Gwendeline went straight up to her room. Miss Brown had already gone to bed, but she found that she wasn’t particularly sleepy, and she sat down on her bed to think. She wondered if Lord Merryn knew about Adele’s visit. Somehow, she doubted it. She very much wished to talk it over with someone. Perhaps she would tell Lillian after all.

This made her think of another problem. What to do about Lillian’s situation? The duke was amiable, but Lillian mustn’t be forced to marry him. And what of Major St. Audley? She would ask them both to tea, she decided. Her expression lightened further. She would have a tea party to which she could also invite Lady Merryn and Mr. Ames. Thus, she could introduce Lady Merryn but not force Mr. Ames to talk only with her. Gwendeline’s spirits rose. She could ask Lord Merryn to repay him for the riding party and allow him to see the changes in the house. Gwendeline remembered her renewed doubts about her situation. She had vowed to see less of the earl, and now she thought to ask him to her house. This was certainly not following through on her resolve.

She put her chin in her hand and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. What to do? How to lay her doubts to rest without wrecking everything? She considered the problem for some minutes but did not find a solution.

Gwendeline looked again in the mirror. A strained, rather pale face looked back. “So many goals,” she said aloud, “and not a practical plan in your head. It is ludicrous.” A wan smile came to the face in the mirror. Gwendeline shook her head at it. “You’re a hopeless conspirator,” she finished. She rose, shrugged, and began to undress. I shall give a party, she thought. I don’t care. And I shall invite the St. Audleys. Defiantly, she made a list of tasks in her mind. Tomorrow, she’d speak to Alphonse about food; Reeves would know about the silver. Gwendeline fell asleep still ticking off details and forgot even to wonder what Ellen had said to Alphonse.