Читать книгу An Unreasonable Match - Sylvia Andrew - Страница 8

1812

Feeling rather like a sheepdog in charge of a flock of very pretty lambs, Hester Perceval ushered her cousins out of Mr Hammond’s draper’s shop in the centre of Northampton. They were all in tearing spirits, exclaiming and laughing as they slipped on the snow-covered street, frantically clutching the parcels which they had adamantly refused to leave to be delivered the next day. Even Hester, normally so sober in public, found it impossible not to laugh at their antics, as she helped first one, then the other to negotiate the busy high street. The gentleman coming from the Receiving Office was enchanted by the picture of the four young ladies as they rounded the corner from Abington Street—rosy, animated faces framed in fur-lined hoods, youthfully slender figures in their warm pelisses, blue, wine-red, russet and green.

Just a few yards from the Peacock, Henrietta, the youngest of the cousins, slipped yet again and lost her balance. Hester managed to save her from falling, but dropped her own parcel in the snow as she did so. The gentleman hurried towards them and picked up the sadly sodden package. He held it for a moment, then said with a charming smile, “I think the damage is superficial. Would you like it, or shall I hand it to the boy at the inn for treatment? I take it that you are making for the Peacock? Your servant is no doubt waiting for you there.”

Hester caught her breath in shock. A deep, drawling voice, a tall, elegant figure. Dungarran. Impossible to forget him, however often she may have wished to. Fortunately, the gentleman had apparently found it perfectly possible to forget her!

“Thank you, sir,” she said, keeping her head down. “Our groom will be here in a few minutes. He has gone to fetch my brother from the Cambridge coach. We have a parlour bespoke in the Peacock, where we shall wait for him.” She turned to follow her cousins.

“Wait a moment!” He came round and stared hard at her. “It’s Miss Perceval, is it not? Hugo Perceval’s sister! Well, well!” He looked at the three girls, standing in amazement behind Hester.

“Are these your sisters?”

“My cousins, Lord Dungarran.”

“But what am I thinking of! You shouldn’t stand on the street in this weather. Come! You must allow me to escort you into the inn. We can talk inside.”

Hester hoped that her dislike of the idea did not show on her face. It was impossible to refuse. He was right to express surprise, however disguised, at the lack of a maid or groom to attend them in such a busy town. It was certainly unheard of in London. And Dungarran, she thought bitterly, was the example par excellence of a London gentleman.

Inside the inn the landlord greeted her party with friendly respect. “The parlour is ready, Miss Perceval, and I’ve laid out some pasties and pies in case you need something to keep you going. Shall I fetch some coffee or tea? Or would you like a drop of negus? It’s cold enough outside, and shopping is thirsty work.”

“Thank you, Mr Watkins.” The innkeeper looked inquiringly at her escort. “Lord Dungarran will join us until my brother arrives.”

“However, I’d like something stronger than negus, landlord. Have you a pint of good ale?”

“The best, my lord! Please to come this way.” He led them into a cheerful room, furnished with a table and cushioned settles, and warmed by a glowing fire. “You’ll be comfortable in here. We’ve sent the boy to Hammond’s to have your parcel rewrapped, Miss Perceval. He should be back in a moment.”

Hester thanked him and he disappeared. There was slight pause, then she said coolly, “Girls, I’d like to present a friend of Hugo’s. Lord Dungarran, my cousins Miss Edwina Perceval, Miss Frederica and Miss Henrietta.” The girls curtsied rather solemnly. They all regarded their cousin Hugo with some awe, and this friend of his was just as impressive. The greatcoat he had removed on coming into the inn had no fewer than five capes, and one could see now that his indoor clothing—dark blue coat, a snowy, immaculately starched cravat, light-coloured buckskins—was in the first stare of fashion. They gazed at his tall figure and handsome looks, his short black hair and lazy grey eyes, with guarded admiration. However, they relaxed when Lord Dungarran smiled and said, “I am charmed, ladies. Truly charmed. But I am consumed with curiosity, too. Tell me what is in those intriguing parcels which you are so reluctant to relinquish.”

The girls laughed and put their parcels down on one of the settles. At the same time they loosened their pelisses and took off their hoods. Hester slowly followed suit. Henrietta, the youngest and least shy, said eagerly, “Muslins and silks. For dresses. We are all to have some new evening dresses, even me. Robina is coming out in the spring.”

Dungarran looked enquiringly at Hester. “Robina is my eldest cousin,” she said colourlessly, not looking at him. “She is not with us today. My aunt is taking her to London some time in March for her début in society.” She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. Her own catastrophic début six years before had been witnessed by the gentleman standing before her. Indeed, he had been a key player and from the conscious look on his face he, too, was aware of awkwardness in the situation. Fortunately for her peace of mind the landlord reappeared with a tray laden with warm drinks and Dungarran’s ale. By the time he had removed the covers from the food laid out on the table, adjured them to enjoy it, and gone out again, Hester had recovered her composure. Dungarran cleared his throat.

“Did you say Hugo has been in Cambridge, Miss Perceval? I thought he was in Gloucestershire with the Beaufort?”

“He is. We are meeting my other brother. My younger brother, Lowell. He should be here at any moment.”

Reminded of their favourite’s imminent arrival, the girls went to look out of the window. Hester and Dungarran were left by the fire. Hester felt she must break the uncomfortable silence that followed.

“Are you staying in the district?” she asked stiffly. “Althorp, perhaps?”

“Er…no. I was at my own place in Leicestershire, but the weather hasn’t been good for hunting. I’ve decided to return to London. I’ve things to do there.”

Hester took a sip of her wine, and turned away to look at the girls. Why didn’t Lowell come? It was impossible to sustain a casual conversation with this man. Yet it would be humiliating if he was reminded of the girl she had been six years ago—scornful of small talk, determined to discuss serious matters of state and politics, inept and unskilled in the manners of society…And, for a short while, stupidly in love with him. Her cheeks grew warm with shame and resentment at the memory of their last encounter. How she had hated him after that…!

“I hope the coach is not delayed by the weather. Would you like me to make enquiries?”

Hester pulled herself together and spoke as civilly as she could. “Thank you, but we were early. It wasn’t due before the hour. But please—you mustn’t let us delay you. We are quite safe and comfortable here. The landlord is an old friend.”

“So I have observed. Very well, I shall finish my ale, and then be on my way.”

She was hard put to it to disguise her relief. Though the violent emotions of six years before had long been mastered and then forgotten, she still disliked and distrusted this man. She would be glad to see him go. Unfortunately, at that moment Henrietta scrambled from the window-seat and ran to the door, calling Lowell’s name. Hester sighed. Dungarran would now be bound to stay a short while longer.

“But I think I know your brother already, Miss Perceval,” he said when she had introduced them. He turned to Lowell. “I’ve seen you at White’s with Hugo, but we didn’t have an opportunity to speak. But tell me, are you still up at Cambridge?”

Lowell flushed with pleasure at this evidence that the great man had taken notice of him. “No, I came down some time ago,” he replied. “But I still have friends there. In fact I’ve just been arranging to share rooms with one of them when he comes to London in the spring. At the moment I’m living at Hugo’s lodgings when I’m in town.”

“Why haven’t we met more often?”

“Oh, Hugo’s mode of life is a touch above mine, Lord Dungarran. We each go our own way.”

Dungarran nodded. “All the same, we must meet again in London.”

In spite of her unease, Hester was amused at her brother’s efforts to imitate the elegance of Dungarran’s manner—Lowell was normally loudly self-confident, boisterous even. It was proof, if any were needed, of Dungarran’s status in the closed world of London society. But the next moment she was horrified to hear her brother say somewhat shyly, “Are you staying long in Northampton, sir? I am sure my family would be pleased to receive you at Abbot Quincey.”

She breathed again when she heard Dungarran expressing regret that he had to be on his way. “I merely called in at the Receiving Office here. I had some enquiries to make. Miss Perceval, it was a pleasure to meet you again. Will you be joining your cousin in London for the Season?”

This harmless question roused a storm of protest in Hester’s breast but she replied calmly. “I am not sure, but I doubt it, Lord Dungarran. There’s…there’s always so much to occupy me at Abbot Quincey.” Then, she could not help adding, “I’m sure you will be kind to Robina—she is very young.”

He gave her a sharp look then bowed, took smiling leave of the rest and left. Hester breathed a huge sigh of relief and prepared to gather her party together for the journey home.

Later, after they had deposited the three girls at the Vicarage in Abbot Quincey and were rolling up the drive to Perceval Hall, Lowell said, “He’s a great chap, Hester.”

“Please, Lowell, can we now leave the subject of Dungarran! Ever since we left Northampton the girls have talked of nothing but the polish of his address, the attraction of his looks, the elegance of his clothes, till I was sick of hearing his name. Surely there are more interesting topics of conversation?”

Lowell looked curiously at her. “Come, it wasn’t as bad as all that. I thought they talked quite as much about their shopping, and the dresses they were having made. What’s wrong, Hes?”

Hester could not reply. The unexpected encounter with Dungarran had stirred up feelings she thought she had conquered years before. Anger and humiliation were choking her, six years’ peaceful reconstruction of her pride and confidence were momentarily forgotten. Lowell waited patiently. He and Hester were very close. With just one year between them, they had always been allies, both fond of Hugo, their elder brother, but both somewhat in awe of him. It was natural enough—Hugo was five years older, a born leader, a touch autocratic, rather conscious of his position as the eldest of all the Perceval children, cousins included. When Hugo went off to London, the two younger ones had become even closer. Hester defended Lowell whenever one of his mad escapades had drawn his parents’ wrath down on his head. And when Hester had come back from London in disgrace Lowell had been her chief support.

They were almost at the house before Hester said finally, “I’m sorry, Lowell. Seeing Dungarran again reminded me of London. It’s wrong to allow myself to be so affected after all these years. I apologise.”

“There’s no need for that. But since you mention London…What did you mean when you told him you weren’t going there this year? Has Mama given in?”

“Not yet. But I’m still hoping.”

“I doubt she’ll change her mind. And if she did, Papa would still have to be convinced. They seem set on giving you another Season, Hes.”

“It’s absurd!” said Hester forcefully. “There’s only one reason for taking an unmarried daughter to London for the Season. And since I neither need nor want a husband, the whole exercise will be a waste of money—money the estate can ill afford!”

Lowell put a consoling hand on her arm. “You might manage to persuade them—but if you don’t, things will be different, you’ll see. For a start, I’ll be there!”

“Oh, that will make all the difference! If I had known the great Lowell Perceval was going to be in London this spring, I would never have argued with Mama. Not for a moment.”

“Hester!”

She smiled at him affectionately. “I hope you’ll have better things to do in London, Lowell, my love, than escort a spinster sister to dances she doesn’t wish to attend, or soirées she’d rather die than be seen at! That would be no fun at all, not for you and not for me. No, we can only hope that I am able to change Mama’s mind before April comes.”

Meanwhile Robert Dungarran was on the road to London. The weather remained inclement and it was proving a most unpleasant journey. Jolted and tossed as the chaise slipped on the ice and snow, and progress was reduced to walking pace, he had plenty of time to consider. The trip had altogether proved a disappointment. Hunting in the mist, rain and snow of Leicestershire had been dismal, and the society there even less attractive. His trip to Northampton had been a waste of time—he had learned nothing from the Receiving Office. However, it wasn’t a matter of great importance, he could put it out of his mind. What was more annoying was the meeting with Hester Perceval…How strange that he hadn’t recognised her! When he had first seen her coming round the corner with her cousins she had seemed a different creature altogether. Laughing, animated, capable. It had taken a minute or two to remember what a bore she had been—and the devilishly awkward circumstances of their last meeting…Still, if what she had said about not coming to town for the Season was right, he wouldn’t have to see her again…How did Hugo, the most polished of men, and a damned amusing companion, come to have such a dull stick for a sister? Dungarran settled back more comfortably against the squabs and composed himself for sleep…

But sleep eluded him. Memories of Hester Perceval flitted about his mind like ghosts. She was very young, of course, about seventeen. Straight from school. Hugo hadn’t wanted her to come to London so early, but the parents had insisted. When was it? 1805—the year of Trafalgar? No, Trafalgar had been the year before. It was 1806…

She had been so quiet at first, a watcher, an observer, with no conversation. They had all wondered what the devil her school had been about. Hugo had said proudly that she was a prize pupil, but the girl hadn’t the slightest notion of how to behave in company. She had none of the usual female accomplishments, not even an elementary knowledge of dancing. Out of sympathy for Hugo he had done his best to teach her that, at least. None of the others had volunteered and Hugo had been desperate. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t all that bad. She could be amusing on occasion, and she picked things up quite quickly. You didn’t have to tell her anything twice…Except when she refused to listen. He shook his head. She’d been a prize pupil, all right! Before long she had revealed herself as a prize, pigheaded, obstinate little know-all. She was finished after that, of course…

He shifted and made himself more comfortable. They would surely reach Dunstable soon, and then there would be only another day of this nightmare journey. He closed his eyes…

But the memories refused to go away…He hadn’t been there when Hugo Perceval’s little sister suddenly turned herself into some sort of crusader, bent on reforming the world. Trouble at Portsmouth had kept him out of the capital for a week or two. But when he got back, poor Lady Perceval was distraught, and Hugo was furious.

To begin with everyone was astonished at her impertinence. He grinned as he recalled Lady Scarsdale’s outrage,

“Do you know, Robert, that…that chit of a girl had the effrontery to ask about the mill in Matlock! I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what goes on up there, we only visit Derbyshire once or twice a year, and what Arkwright does with his mill is surely his own business. But this…this snip of seventeen—I don’t know why I call her a snip, for she’s taller than I am—this pole of a girl had the audacity to suggest that I ought to know how he treats his workers! What on earth is Lady Perceval thinking of, letting such a turniphead loose in society?”

Most of the younger members of the Ton, including himself, just laughed at Hester Perceval—it was impossible to take her seriously. Out of friendship for Hugo, and a sneaking sympathy for the girl, he had done his best to guide her into less stormy waters, but even he had given up in despair. She was bent on her own downfall, stubbornly refusing to listen to hints or even plain speaking. In the end most of the world simply avoided her company. And then had come the Great Scandal, and London had seen her no more.

Shouts and cries made him aware that they had drawn up before the Sugar Loaf in Dunstable. At last! He got out and stretched himself. He would order a decent meal in a private parlour, have a good night’s rest and be in Curzon Street well before dark tomorrow.

The first two of these were accomplished successfully, and Robert Dungarran set off the next day in a better mood. His comfortable home with its self-contained bachelor existence was within reach. But to his annoyance he was unable to rid his mind of the events which had led to Hester Perceval’s banishment in 1806…

Society was bored, amused, offended by Miss Perceval, but in the end they had all been deeply shocked by the events at the Sutherlands’ ball. He smiled cynically. The gossip hadn’t done Canford any good, either, but he deserved what he had got. He should have known better than to complain to the world about a ruined coat after pressing his attentions on an unwilling girl less than a third his age. The man was dead now, but he had been no credit to himself or anyone else. But what, Robert Dungarran wondered, what would society have said if they had known what happened in the Duchess of Sutherland’s library after the episode with Canford? No one did. No one but Hester Perceval and himself. Thinking back, he had perhaps been harsh with the girl, but encouraging her would have been even more unkind. He shifted uncomfortably, the scene six years before vivid in his mind’s eye.

When Dungarran had arrived at the door of the library Canford had practically knocked him over as he stormed out, swearing vengeance. The noble earl was in a sorry state, his cravat, shirt and velvet coat soaked in wine. Apparently the girl had emptied a glass of the best Bordeaux over him. It looked more like the contents of a decanter. Inside the library he was met with a scene to send any young man of fashion running for cover. Hugo, who was usually calm in all circumstances, had lost his temper spectacularly. Hester, standing in the middle of the room, her bodice torn, and her hair halfway down her back, had been reduced by his words to hysterics. The situation was clearly desperate. When Hugo saw his friend standing in the door he had pleaded, “Robert, would you take care of this sister of mine? I’ll send my mother to her as soon as I can, but she can’t leave the room in the state she’s in, and I must go after Canford straight away to see what can be done to avoid a scandal.”

With the greatest possible reluctance, Robert, observing the state of both Percevals, had to agree. It was vital that Canford’s tirade should be stemmed before too many people heard it, and the girl could not be left alone. Hugo hurried out and he and Hester were left in the room.

“Miss Perceval—”

Hester was now calm enough to speak between her sobs. “It’s all your fault!” she shouted. “I would never have gone with that…that monster if you had been kinder.”

“Miss Perceval, let me fetch you something to calm you. I’m sorry—”

“I won’t listen to your excuses! You all laughed at me, I heard you tonight with your friends! All laughing at me! You’re no better than a fashion plate, a pasteboard figure without heart or mind! God might have given you brains, but lack of use has caused them to…to wither away! Don’t speak to me! I don’t want to hear your excuses!”

Robert Dungarran bowed. “I was not aware that I had done anything to excuse. But I won’t say another word, if that is what you wish.”

“Look at you!” she went on stormily. “Elegantly empty! You don’t care whose heart you break! Making me fall in love with you—”

“Oh no!” This was too much, even for a man of Robert Dungarran’s equable temperament. “That cannot be so. I have never given you the slightest reason to—”

“Of course you did! Why else would you spend so long teaching me to dance, taking me for drives, saying how pretty I looked, when I know very well I am not at all pretty? You are all the same, all of you. Just like Lord Canford—” She was working herself up into hysteria again. Robert had done the only thing possible. He had slapped her, not particularly gently. Eyes wide with shock, she had stared at him.

“You…you monster!” she stuttered. “To hit a lady…”

“A lady!” he said derisively. “You! Listen to me, Miss Perceval! You are as close to being a lady as I am to being the Great Cham of China! You are, in fact, an obstinate, conceited, ignorant child. My sympathies, such as they are, are with Hugo. How he came to have such a fool of a sister I cannot imagine. I am sorry the conversation you overheard tonight distressed you, but I would not retract one word from its message. You would do well to persuade your mother to take you away from London to somewhere where you can learn manners and sense in decent obscurity. And now, if you don’t mind, I shall guard the door outside until your mother arrives.”

The chaise was passing Hyde Park. He was nearly home, thank God. It was as well. Remembering what he had said to Hester Perceval all those years ago was not a pleasant exercise. The girl had been an appalling nuisance, but he shouldn’t have been quite so hard on her. He got out and stretched. Bates, his butler and steward in Curzon Street, was already outside the house, organising the footmen, paying off the chaise and generally being his usual supremely efficient self. It was time to forget Hester Perceval. With any luck he needn’t meet her again.