Читать книгу Rake's Reward - Joanna Maitland - Страница 6

Marina looked round her small, sparsely furnished bedchamber. She supposed she should be glad that she had not been banished to the attics, with the servants. As a lady’s companion, she would be neither servant nor gentry, but something indeterminate in between. She must maintain her distance from the servants. Lady Luce and her guests would, in turn, maintain their distance from the companion. Marina would be alone.

The butler had informed her, in a somewhat fatherly manner, that she had been given a bedchamber on the same corridor as her ladyship’s so that she would be within easy reach, should Lady Luce have need of her services at any time. Marina had deduced that she was to be at her ladyship’s beck and call, twenty-four hours a day.

She shrugged her shoulders. What else had she expected? Her own grandmother had been equally exacting—and more than a little querulous towards the end of her life. Marina would just have to summon all her reserves of patience and understanding, and set about ministering to another old lady’s whims.

I shall pretend she is my own grandmother, Marina promised herself as she changed her gown. I learned forbearance then. I can surely do the same for another demanding old lady, especially as, on this occasion, I am being paid for my trouble.

She smiled at the thought of the money she would send to her mother the moment she received her first wages. Mama had said Marina would need to provide for her wardrobe, but surely she could manage with what she had brought from Yorkshire? A companion did not need many gowns to accompany her mistress when she took the air, or to wind her lady’s knitting wool. Marina had long ago decided to confine herself to what she already had. Her first duty was to her own family.

She considered her image in the glass that had been thoughtfully provided. It would do. Her grey gown, though creased from its time in her valise, was clean and neat, and set off with a fresh white collar. She looked like a lady, not a servant, she decided, with a small smile of satisfaction. Her dark brown hair had been neatly rebraided and pinned to the back of her head. Her newly washed complexion glowed with health. Her head was bare—she might be almost at her last prayers but, at twenty-three, she was not yet condemned to the spinster’s cap—and she wore no jewellery except the mourning ring that had been on her finger almost since the day she had learned of her father’s death. She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Lady Luce would see, in her, the model of a demure, biddable lady’s companion, well worth the wage she was to be paid. The Dowager would have no reason to send Marina back to her family. That must be avoided at all costs, for Mama desperately needed every penny Marina could spare.

And now she must go down to meet the lady who would have the ordering of her life for months, perhaps years to come.

Marina took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and made her way out into the corridor. Tibbs, the butler, was hovering not far away, waiting for her.

‘This leads to her ladyship’s chambers,’ he said, indicating a door near the head of the staircase. ‘No one else sleeps on this floor, except when her ladyship has guests. Though now there is yourself, miss,’ he added, apparently as an afterthought.

‘Does not the Earl stay here when he is in London?’ Marina asked.

‘No, miss. Her ladyship and her son…’ He coughed. ‘His lordship has his own house in town. He always stays there.’

‘I see,’ said Marina. It was understandable that a grown-up son would not wish to live under the eye of his mother, even for a day or two. The butler seemed to have been about to say something about the pair, something that had sounded for all the world like the beginning of backstairs gossip. Marina, not being a servant, should deliberately shut her ears to it. And yet she found herself wondering about the Earl and his relationship with his mother. Was she too demanding for his comfort? Elderly ladies often were. And a gentleman’s patience could be quickly exhausted.

The butler led Marina down to the floor below and to a room at the front of the house. With a grand gesture, he threw open the door and announced, in stentorian tones, ‘Miss Beaumont, your ladyship.’

Marina passed through the door that Tibbs was holding and heard it close quietly at her back. This sumptuous straw-coloured drawing room seemed to be empty. She could see no one at all. But surely…? The butler had seemed in no doubt…

Marina hesitated by the door.

‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Come into the light where I may see you.’ The sharp voice came from the depths of a chair by a large window overlooking the street.

Marina moved forward to find the source of that peremptory command. Only when she had reached the far side of the room could she see that the voice had issued from a tiny figure who was dwarfed by the chair she sat in. Lady Luce was richly dressed in plum-coloured silk, but in the style of more than forty years earlier, with wide skirts and an abundance of fine lace at her throat and wrists, and a powdered wig on her head. Although her skin was dry and wrinkled, the delicate lines of her bones showed that she had once been very beautiful. Now she resembled nothing so much as a miniature exotic fruit, so shrivelled and fragile that it might shatter if it was touched.

‘Good gad, they’ve sent me a beanpole,’ Lady Luce exclaimed.

Marina could feel herself blushing. It had been a matter of regret throughout her adult life that she had inherited her father’s height and build. Her slight figure made her seem even taller than she actually was. Compared with Lady Luce, she must seem a veritable giantess. Marina curtsied. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’ she said calmly, trying to manage a smile for the tiny—and extremely rude—Dowager Countess who was to be her employer.

The Dowager did not immediately reply to Marina’s polite greeting. She was looking her up and down, her sharp old eyes missing nothing of her new companion’s dowdy appearance. ‘Thought one of the Blaines would be better turned out,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t give a gown like that to a scullery maid.’

This was not a good start to their relationship. The Dowager must be instantly disabused of the idea that Marina was ‘one of the Blaines,’ or that she could afford to be better dressed. Marina knew she must set matters straight between them, even if Lady Luce sent her packing as a result. She had no choice.

‘I think you must be labouring under a misapprehension, ma’am,’ Marina began. ‘My name is Beaumont, not Blaine. I am only distantly related to the Viscount’s family, through my grandmother, but she was not acknowledged by them, not after her marriage.’

‘Hmph,’ snorted the Dowager. ‘Nothing “distant” about it. Your mother and the new Viscount are first cousins, are they not?’

‘Yes, but not—’

‘You’re a Blaine,’ said the Dowager flatly. ‘The old Viscount’s father was a tyrant and a blackguard, but that don’t change the bloodline, not in my book. Your grandmother was daughter to one Viscount, and sister to the next. You’re a Blaine, all right.’

It was clearly going to be difficult to argue with Lady Luce, perhaps even to get a word in, Marina decided. But, on this delicate subject, she must try.

‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she began again, ‘but you must understand that the Beaumonts have never been acknowledged by the Viscount’s family, not even when my grandmother’s brother succeeded to the title.’

‘That’s because he was just like his father,’ interrupted the Dowager, with a grimace, ‘which was only to be expected, since all the Blaine men—’ She broke off to scrutinise Marina’s face for a moment and then said, ‘I see you know nothing about your noble relations, young lady. Well, I may choose to enlighten you—perhaps—one day. But there are other, more pressing matters. For a start, we must do something about that frightful monstrosity you are wearing.’

Worse and worse, thought Marina, but before she had a chance to say a word in defence of her wardrobe, the Dowager was laying down the law on dress, just as she had on the subject of blood.

‘It is fit only for the fire,’ pronounced Lady Luce. ‘Or the poorhouse. Though, even there, I dare say the women would turn their noses up at it. Have you nothing fit to be seen, girl?’

‘I do have one evening gown, ma’am. Apart from that, I have very few gowns, all similar to this one. What spare money we have must be spent on my brother’s education. Harry is at Oxford,’ she added, with sisterly pride, ‘and he is destined for the Church.’

‘Don’t approve of spending every last farthing on boys,’ said Lady Luce quickly. ‘You educate them, and where does it get you? Eh? Take your every penny and fritter it away. If it’s not land drainage, or enclosures, or something equally unnecessary, it’s fast living and loose women.’

‘Harry does not—’

Marina’s protest was cut short by another disapproving snort. ‘Not your brother. Don’t know the first thing about him. He may be a pattern-card of rectitude, for all I know. But the sons of noble families…’ Lady Luce shook her head. Her message was clear. The sons of noble families were not to be trusted with money. Presumably that also applied to her own son?

‘A lady has to be independent enough to lead her own life, in just the way she wants,’ said Lady Luce, warming to her subject. ‘Especially once she is widowed,’ she added meaningfully.

At last, Marina understood. Lady Luce’s unusual views on female independence were clearly to be applied to her own case, and probably to that case only. It was unlikely she would care about the plight of Mama, or any other gently bred widow who had fallen on hard times.

‘You give ’em an heir and your duty is done,’ said Lady Luce. ‘Least a husband can do in return is to provide for a comfortable widowhood. But husbands seem to think that the heir should have charge of everything, even his mother!’ She stopped, looking up at Marina once again. ‘And just what do you think you are laughing at, young madam?’

Marina had not realised she had begun to smile at the old lady’s spirited defence of her own interests. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she lied quickly, ‘I was thinking only that you reminded me of my own dear grandmother. I miss her greatly.’

‘Balderdash,’ said Lady Luce roundly. ‘You were thinking that I was talking dangerous nonsense, but that I could be forgiven my revolutionary views because of my great age. Well? Were you not?’

Taking a deep breath, Marina said, with sudden resolution, ‘Yes, ma’am, I was. I admit it. But I see now that your arguments should not be dismissed on such spurious grounds. You are obviously a redoubtable opponent, for woman or for man, and your great age has nothing to do with the case.’

Lady Luce gasped. For a second, Marina held her breath, thinking how foolhardy she had been to speak so. The Dowager would ring a peal over her head and then despatch her post-haste back to Yorkshire. But nothing of the sort happened. Her ladyship stared sharply into Marina’s face, now mercifully straight, and then said, with a crack of laughter, ‘Yes, you’ll do. Once we have done something about your wardrobe, of course. I shall see to that tomorrow. You are not fit to be seen as you are. Turn round.’

Obediently, Marina turned her back.

‘Again,’ said the Dowager.

Marina turned to face her once more.

‘Sit down, girl,’ said Lady Luce, nodding towards a low stool at the side of her chair. ‘It’s giving me a stiff neck trying to look up all that way.’

Marina allowed herself a small smile as she obeyed. The Dowager’s bark was extremely frightening, but Marina now fancied that her ladyship’s bite was a little lacking in teeth, like a pampered old lapdog, yelping and snapping uselessly at every visitor.

‘Now, Miss Beaumont. Tell me about yourself,’ began her ladyship. She was obviously pleased to see that Marina, once seated on the stool, was shorter than she was. ‘What do they call you?’

‘Marina, ma’am,’ replied Marina, puzzled. How could Lady Luce have agreed to employ a companion when she did not even know her given name?

‘Marina. Hmm. Unusual name, is it not?’

‘I am not sure, ma’am. I was named for my father’s mother, I believe.’

‘Foreign, was she?’ Lady Luce’s voice betrayed her distaste.

‘I understand so. I never knew her. My father’s family had served in the army for generations. All the women followed the drum.’

‘Your mother, too?’ Lady Luce’s voice had a clear undertone of disapproval now. She probably felt that such behaviour was not appropriate for a niece of the Viscount Blaine.

‘Yes, ma’am. But after the Peace of Amiens, my father decided that his wife would be better in England, since my brother and I were so small. We settled in Yorkshire.’

‘And your father? What was he?’

‘He was a captain in the 95th Rifles, ma’am. He died nine years ago, at the battle of Ciudad Rodrigo, along with my uncle.’

Lady Luce nodded in understanding. Marina wondered whether she, too, had lost loved ones in the wars. Many titled families had.

‘But your mother was provided for?’ Lady Luce clearly had no qualms about enquiring into the most intimate detail of her companion’s circumstances. And she would doubtless persist until she received her answer.

‘No, ma’am. At least, not well.’ That was true, though it was not the whole truth. ‘My mother supplemented our income by taking pupils.’ Seeing her ladyship’s look of surprise, Marina added, ‘My mother is very well educated, ma’am. Her father was a great scholar. He educated his daughter exactly as he educated his son.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Unlike my mother, my uncle had no inclination for scholarship. He was army mad, almost from his cradle. A great disappointment to my grandfather.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lady Luce. It was not clear whether she approved or not. ‘And who was he, this scholar grandfather of yours?’

Marina was beginning to dislike her ladyship’s sustained questioning very much, but she did not think she could refuse to answer. ‘He met my grandmother when he was the Viscount Blaine’s private secretary, I believe, ma’am.’

Her ladyship smiled suddenly. ‘And he was remarkably handsome, too, was he not? Tall, with fine features and dark hair, and a beautifully modulated speaking voice?’

‘Why, yes. Grandmama did describe him in much that way,’ Marina replied. ‘Did you know him, ma’am?’

Her ladyship continued to smile, a rather secretive smile, and a faraway look came into her eye. ‘Aye, I knew James Langley. All the girls were mad for him, I remember. Handsomest man we had ever seen…but quite unsuitable…quite.’ She looked sharply at Marina as if looking for some resemblance. ‘Your grandmother kicked over the traces for his handsome face, did she, eh?’

Marina blushed and nodded dumbly. Her ladyship’s salty turn of phrase was not what she was used to in Yorkshire with her very proper mama.

‘And her father cast her off as a result?’

Marina nodded again.

‘Just what I’d expect from that family. Don’t hold with such cavalier treatment. Don’t hold with it at all.’ Lady Luce shook her head so vigorously that a little cloud of powder rose from her wig. ‘If I had had a daughter—’

The door opened to admit the butler. Bowing stiffly, he announced, ‘His lordship is below, your ladyship, and begs the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with Miss Beaumont.’

‘Does he, indeed?’ said Lady Luce, frowning.

Marina was astonished. What on earth could Lady Luce’s son want with the companion?

‘I suppose I must humour him, in the circumstances,’ her ladyship said, grudgingly. ‘Conduct Miss Beaumont below, Tibbs.’

Wonderingly, Marina followed the butler out of the room and down the staircase to the bookroom on the ground floor. Perhaps the Earl wished to look over his mother’s companion, to decide whether he thought her suitable? But what if he did not? Marina doubted that her son’s objections would make any difference to Lady Luce, not once she had made up her mind.

The Earl was standing by the window, looking out into the street. He was several inches shorter than Marina, and noticeably corpulent. Unlike his mother, he wore the newest fashions, even though tight pantaloons did not flatter his figure at all.

He waited until the door had closed before turning. He made no move towards Marina. And he did not attempt to shake hands.

Marina understood. To the Earl, she was only a servant. She curtsied, waiting for him to speak.

Like his mother, he surveyed her keenly. Marina caught his lofty expression and responded automatically by lifting her chin. Had not Lady Luce just insisted she was a Blaine?

‘Miss Beaumont,’ he said, in an affected drawl, ‘you have arrived at last. We had looked to see you somewhat sooner than this.’

Marina did not attempt to make excuses for the timing of her arrival. His lordship might travel post, but she could not afford such luxury. She looked calmly across at him, waiting.

‘However, it is of no moment now. We have more important matters to discuss.’

Marina’s surprise must have been evident in her face, for he said, ‘I take it Lady Blaine did not tell you about my requirements?’

‘No, sir. Lady Blaine said nothing at all about the nature of the post. She wrote only—’

The Earl clearly had no interest in what Marina wished to say, and no compunction about interrupting a lady who was no better than a servant. ‘What her ladyship wrote is of no interest to me, Miss Beaumont. What matters here are the instructions that I shall give you. Your role in this household is to prevent my mother from indulging in extravagant foolishness. No doubt you have heard that she has a predilection for gambling?’

Marina shook her head. ‘I know nothing at all about her ladyship’s manner of living, sir.’

The Earl snorted. He sounded worse than his mother. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Very well. The facts are these. My mother is overfond of gambling. On occasion, she has been known to risk considerably more than she can afford. Your role, Miss Beaumont, is to ensure that she does not.’

Marina gulped. How was she supposed to ensure such a thing? Surely Lady Luce would never have agreed to have her son’s agent foisted on her? ‘I do not understand, sir,’ Marina said.

‘It is quite simple,’ snapped the Earl. ‘Even a woman should be able to grasp it. I am employing you to stop my mother’s gambling. The means I leave to you.’

Ignoring his rudeness, Marina tried to grapple with his astonishing statement. ‘I had understood that I was employed by the Dowager Countess,’ she began, but she was permitted to go no further.

‘Ostensibly, but all the costs of your position fall to me. I am employing you. And your role will be as I have described.’

Marina swallowed hard. The task was impossible, surely? And the Earl was obnoxious. ‘Is the Dowager Countess content with this arrangement?’ she asked quietly. It would sound presumptuous for a mere companion to speak so, but the question had to be asked.

The Earl was beginning to look angry. ‘I require you to say nothing to her on the subject. If you do, you will be discharged instantly.’

Marina paled.

Lord Luce smiled nastily as he continued, ‘Remember, Miss Beaumont, that it is I, not my mother, who pay you. And that it is to me you will answer, if you fail in your appointed task. That is all I wish to say to you. You may go.’

There was nothing more to be said. Marina automatically dipped a brief curtsy and left the room. Her heart was pounding madly. She understood at last why Lady Blaine had written that short, cold letter to Mama. At the time, Marina had wondered why her haughty relation should suddenly offer to recommend her to a comfortable position, after decades of estrangement. But since pride was a luxury that the Beaumonts could not afford, Marina had had to accept the crumbs from the rich man’s table. Now, too late, she could see that the crumbs were laced with poison.

She was trapped. And she was alone in London. She could turn to no one for advice. If she was loyal to Lady Luce, the Earl would dismiss her. If she acted as the Earl’s instrument, Lady Luce would soon suspect and send her packing. After all the money that had been spent on her passage to London, it seemed she would soon become a burden to Mama all over again. She would have squandered her only chance to help her family.

She shook her head defiantly. No. She must do her duty. Somehow, she must find a way to satisfy both the Earl and his mother, and to earn the money to send home to Yorkshire to keep Mama from penury.

She must.

She would.