Anna Jacobs (2 page)

Beatrice was thoroughly mystified. “Why should you need to keep in touch with the younger set, Aunt Marguerite?”

The Dowager ignored this, as she ignored all questions she didn’t wish to answer. “And I’m too old to do another Season, more’s the pity.” She glared at her twisted hands, then folded them in her lap and fixed a hawk-like gaze upon her niece. “So you will just have to go up to London for me.”

“Me? Go to London!”

“Yes, you, ninny! Who else is there? No men left in the family now, are there? So we’ve only got ourselves to rely on. Ah, we women are weak vessels!” She attempted to look frail and ill-used, but only succeeded in looking even more ferocious than usual.

“But Johanna lives in London. Surely your daughter would be the best person to deal with any business you wish conducted there?” Beatrice protested. They’d occasionally visited Johanna in town until the last couple of years, though they’d never gone about in society during those visits, because the Dowager said the ton was full of nobodies these days and she had better things to do than say how-de-do to farmers and shopkeepers.

The Dowager’s scowl deepened. “I shan’t trust her judgment when it comes to finding a husband for Eleanor.”

“F-finding a husband for Eleanor?”

“Stop repeatin’ what I say! Makes you sound like a sheep.” Marguerite Graceover looked down at her lap for a moment, sighed and said more temperately, “I shan’t ask Johanna to attend to this for me! Look at the sort of men she allowed her own daughters to marry! Johnny-come-latelies, both of them. A mere baronet! And the grandson of a nabob! What’s the world coming to when a descendant of the Graceovers marries a tea-merchant?”

This connection had rankled with her for several years, Beatrice knew, though in the eyes of the world, Johanna’s daughters had done well for themselves and the gentlemen in question were not only rich, but pleasant-natured and had made their wives very happy. “Though you’ll stay with Johanna when you’re in London, of course,” the Dowager added. “You’ll need her as a chaperone, and she knows everyone, whether they’re worth knowing or not.”

“But I - “

“Stop interrupting! How am I to get my tale told if you keep stopping me? I’ll write and tell Johanna what I want and to whom you’re to be introduced. Then you can do the Season and look ‘em all over for me.”

By now, Beatrice was feeling quite bewildered. “Look who over, Aunt?”

“I’ve just been tellin’ you! Young people don’t know how to listen to their elders any more! Why am I always surrounded by ditherers and half-wits? I’m talking about the younger set! The ton. Or what passes for the ton nowadays. Persons of rank, mind, not nobodies and tea-merchants! You’ll have to go and look ‘em over for me! How else are we to find a husband for Eleanor?”

“But I can’t - “

“Of course you can! I’ll give you a list of acceptable families, then you’ll only have to sort out one or two possible husbands and invite them down here to meet Eleanor. I’ll do the rest. We should be able to get the knot tied before the end of the year - if you will only bustle around a bit, that is!”

“But Aunt, really, I couldn’t possibly - “

The old face grew grim. “I’m not lettin’ the chit loose on the town without me to keep an eye on her. She’s not only pretty, she’s far too rich for her own good. And too impetuous. But innocent, of course. I’ve seen to that. Brought her up properly, at least.”

Beatrice wondered what her ladyship would say if she knew about some of the exploits which the innocent chit had been up to lately, the little excursions into the village unescorted, the flirting at social gatherings just for practice. “But surely, Aunt Marguerite, Johanna could - she could - “

The cane thumped down again. “Johanna could not! She encourages the attentions of upstarts and mushrooms! I want better breeding than that for my granddaughter.”

She bowed her head for a moment, then looked at Beatrice and for once there was no hauteur in those knowing old eyes. “Thing is, the doctor don’t think I’ll last much longer, Bea. Get a pain in my chest if I do much nowadays. There’s nothin’ he can do about it. A year at most, he thinks. M’heart’s failing.”

“Oh, Aunt, I’m so sorry!” Beatrice moved quickly across the room to kneel by her aunt’s chair and clasp her hand.

The hand squeezed hers once, patted it and was withdrawn. “I believe you mean that, for which I thank you, Bea, but I’m five and seventy, and I’ve had a good long life, so I’m not complaining.” She looked across the room into some distance only she could see. “The pity of it is that with two healthy sons I didn’t get even one grandson to carry on the name. That idiot, William Herforth, will inherit. No, he died, didn’t he? I keep forgetting. All the fault of that stupid will! How my husband came to write it, I’ll never know!” Her eyes closed for a moment, then she jerked upright. “What was I saying?”

These slight lapses of concentration were another thing which was beginning to worry Beatrice.

“You were talking about the Herforths, Aunt.”

“Yes, so I was. It’s Herforth’s son who’ll be inheriting, isn’t it? What’s the fellow’s name again?”

“Crispin.”

“Yes. Crispin! Did you ever hear such a ridiculous name? Crispin!” she repeated with awful scorn. “It’s a name for actors or dancing masters.”

“It’s only a word,” Beatrice said softly.

The Dowager’s mouth worked, as if she were swallowing something distasteful. “I swore no Herforth would set foot across the threshold till I was gone, but I’ve changed my mind, had to change my mind. I’ve invited that Crispin fellow to come and stay here for a while, because he needs to learn how to manage the estate. Got to make sure he’s up to snuff socially, as well.” Her voice trailed away again and for a moment or two she dozed, as old people will, for the anger had exhausted her.

 Beatrice went back to the sofa and sat on in silence, her thoughts in too much turmoil to go and face Eleanor yet. Once or twice she looked across at her aunt and felt tears come into her eyes. If her ladyship’s heart were indeed failing, she had good reason to be worried about Eleanor’s future. Her husband, who had died twenty years before, had left his wife lifelong use of and control over the estate, which was then to pass to the next male heir.

With two sons living when he wrote the will, he could perhaps be forgiven for expecting that one of them or their descendants would inherit, but although both had survived him, neither had lived beyond the age of thirty and neither had sired a living son, so now the estate would pass to Crispin Herforth, not Eleanor.

And there was another problem to be considered - what would happen to Beatrice herself when her aunt died? It was something she had worried about occasionally, but now it had suddenly become of immediate concern. She had no other relatives and not a penny to call her own. What was to become of her? Surely her aunt would make some sort of provision for her?

* * * *

In Hertfordshire, Crispin Herforth read the letter which had just been delivered by a groom from Satherby in growing indignation.

Sir

Since you are heir to Satherby and in view of my increasing years, I have decided that it is necessary for you to become acquainted with your future inheritance. I shall therefore expect you to make time during the next few weeks for an extended visit here.

Please advise me of the date of your arrival and do not delay in setting matters in train.

Marguerite Graceover

“I shan’t go,” he told the spaniel snoozing in front of the fire. “She refused even to receive my father when he asked to visit Satherby, so why should I go to her now?”

But as the day passed and he rode round his own much smaller estate, the Dowager’s words kept coming back to him “in view of my increasing years,” she had said. Did that mean she was ill? Dying even?

“So what?” he told his favourite mare. “I’ve never even met the woman and I don’t want to, either.”

But what if she were dying? How would he reconcile a refusal to visit her with his conscience?

Not until he was getting ready for bed did he admit the other reason for going. Satherby Abbey itself. To inherit such a place was a sacred trust. So many people depended on you for their livelihood, so many generations of the family before you had given their lives to it. You simply could not turn your back on that.

It was two weeks, however, before he bowed to the inevitable and his reply was equally terse and to the point.

Dear Lady Graceover

I thank you for your kind invitation. I am not at present at liberty to visit you, but shall hope to be free later in the year.

Crispin Herforth

He smiled as he signed it and remained in a good mood all day as he made certain arrangements. He would do this his own way. You did not walk blindly into a lion’s den. Or a lioness’s, either.

* * * *

The Dowager woke up with a start, coughed and spluttered for a moment, blinked at her niece, then reverted to her topic. “Have to settle you both, but Eleanor’s more of a worry, d’you see? She’s a considerable heiress, even if she can’t have this estate. Don’t want fortune hunters buzzin’ around. Can’t rely on a gal of her age makin’ a wise decision.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“And it’s only fair to leave you properly provided for as well, Bea.” She saw that her niece was looking embarrassed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you. I couldn’t look for a husband for you before, because I needed you to help me bring up the chit. Too old to do it all myself. Never had much patience with children, anyway. And you did a good job, as well, young as you were.”

Beatrice smiled. “That was a pleasure for me, as you know.”

“Yes. You’re a born mother. Y’should have had your own family by now. It’s my fault you haven’t. But it’s not too late to amend that.”

Beatrice flushed. “I’m nearly thirty, Aunt. Past thinking of such things.”

“Twenty-eight last month. Don’t exaggerate!” Rap! went the silver-headed cane that always stood ready by the chair. “Now! Hold your tongue and listen! I’ve fixed it all up with the lawyers and settled enough money on you to get yourself a husband of whose breeding we needn’t be ashamed.”

“I don’t care to have you buy me a husband, Aunt! I should be grateful for a small annuity, certainly, but - “

“Hoity-toity!” The Dowager’s face softened. “You’ll do as you’re told because it’s my dying wish to see you settled and because I know you’d like to have a family of your own.”

Beatrice shook her head, not wishing anyone to buy her a husband.

“Please, Beatrice! I beg of you! Please do this last thing for me!”

Never once had Beatrice heard this autocratic old termagant plead with anyone for anything. “But Aunt, I...” Her voice tailed away and she could only look beseechingly at her relative.

The sunken eyes stared at her unwinkingly. The body might be failing, but the mind inside it was still as sharp as ever. “Didn’t think to hear me plead, did you? And I didn’t think I’d have to do it, either. Just goes to show. Death is a great leveller.” She paused, then asked sharply, “What’s got into you, girl? What have I asked you to do that sticks in your gullet?”

“I don’t - I cannot like the idea of - of having a husband bought for me - someone who will only be interested in my money.”

Her ladyship cackled loudly, sounding more like an ancient parrot than a respected member of the upper classes. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

“No! It ain’t enough! What other way is there for persons like us to make a proper match? Whether you admit it or not, marriage is a business transaction. And besides,” she glared at Beatrice, angry for being made to continue pleading, “I can’t die with you on my conscience, girl! I should have found you a husband years ago.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Aunt, I just can’t like the idea!”

The old eyes narrowed in cunning and the voice grew softly persuasive. “Eleanor will need you even more once I’m gone! And you’ll be able to look after her much better if you’re a married woman, not to mention looking after yourself, too!” She clicked her tongue in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, child, a woman’s business in life is to marry, and marry as well as she can.”

“I shall need to think about it, Aunt. I can’t just - just snap up your offer straight away. I can’t!”

Her ladyship nodded. “Yes, you ought to take the time to think about something so important. It’s what I’d do myself in your place. Come here!”

When Beatrice approached her chair again, she pulled her niece’s head down toward her own and planted on the soft cheek the first and last kiss she would ever give her. “You’re a good girl, in spite of your mother. It’s the Dencey blood coming out in you, I dare say. Quality will always tell.” She patted her niece’s cheek, then pushed her away again. “Go and do your thinking, then! But send my maid in to me first. And not a word about this to Eleanor, mind! Promise.”

Beatrice’s thoughts were in a turmoil as she took refuge in her own bedchamber. When Eleanor knocked on the door and demanded admittance, she made no move to open it, simply calling out that she needed a rest.

“But Bea - “

“Go away, Eleanor. I’ll talk to you later.”

She had locked the door, so she ignored a renewed tattoo on its venerable panels and plumped down in front of the fire. One of the few indulgences she allowed herself was to sit on the rug and toast her stockinged toes. The Dowager would have been horrified at such undignified behaviour, but Beatrice had long ago found that staring into dancing flames was a good way to sort out one’s thoughts. She had needed to do that many times when she had first arrived at Satherby, a grieving and inexperienced girl of seventeen, with no understanding of her father’s world and only a lawyer’s assurance that she would find a home there.

Well, she had come to terms with many things since coming to live at Satherby, so she supposed she could come to terms with this as well. But, she decided, frowning into the embers, although she might not be able to find a husband whom she could love, as her parents had loved, she would insist on having some say as to whom she married. She couldn’t marry someone whom she didn’t both respect and like. That would be her one condition in agreeing to her ladyship’s wishes.