Lady John (17 page)

“Excellent. Do you know, Livvy, this has made me feel quite
gay; I may take a glass of wine with my food!”

Once the Duchess of Tylmath sorted out the various
narratives and asides which made up the tale of Menwin’s betrothal to Jane
Casserley and his understanding with Olivia, she professed herself a member of
their plotting and, what is more, volunteered the services of her children—always
excepting the Duke himself. Olivia and Menwin, fully conscious of what an
absurd, if not scandalous tale they told, were rather taken aback by the
Duchess’s immediate capitulation.

“Ma’am, I made certain we would have to cajole and wheedle
shamelessly; you have quite taken the wind from my sails,” Olivia protested.

“My dear child, save your cajolery. It may be needed. But as
for me, when did I ever balk at a bit of scheming? I shall enjoy myself
enormously. Now, the two of you sit down here with me. This will take a deal of
planning and thought.”

They had found the Duchess in her private sitting room. Now,
with the footmen warned that the Duchess would receive no other callers, they
had the privacy to talk.

“’Tis an interesting puzzle,” the Duchess sighed. “We shall
have to find a gentleman who will suit both Miss Casserley and her mother, and
who will not be balked by her small fortune or stiff manner. Right there we
narrow the field considerably. Matthew, have you any notion of what sort of man
appeals to the girl? I know what sort appeals to her mamma: Claire Whelke looks
for money and a coronet. Now, would it not be famous if we could locate a duke
or an earl—no offense meant, Matthew, but you will understand that an earl in
the hand, as it were, would impress Lady Whelke far more than a mere viscount
with expectations.”

Menwin blinked. “No offense taken, ma’am.”

Olivia stared at her mother-at-law with fascination.

“You may laugh at me now, children, but I shall find a
husband for your Miss Casserley, and then you will be forced to thank me!”

“I shan’t even wait for the event, ma’am,” Olivia assured
her warmly. “I have every faith in you—if faith one can have in such a
scandalous enterprise as ours! Only tell me how I may assist you.”

The Duchess beamed upon the younger woman and opened her
mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a brief knock and the entrance of
Tylmath.

“I beg your pardon, Mamma. I had no idea you were
entertaining. Menwin. Sister.” The Duke aimed a cold bow somewhere between the
two of them.

“Did you wish to speak to me, Julian?” The Duchess prodded.

“It can wait until you are at leisure, madam,” he said
sulkily. “I have no wish to bore your visitors with our affairs.”

“Very well, dear. I shall send to you when I am free.”

Tylmath bowed again. “Thank you, ma’am. Menwin. Sister.”

The Duchess eyed her son’s retreating back with a sour
expression. “How did I ever come to have such a stick of a son!”

“I cannot tell you, your Grace, but I know that my mamma
would be eternally grateful if he would find himself another flirt! I vow I
think the poor woman like to blush herself to death sometime in his company.”

It had been said teasingly, but the Duchess’s head swiveled
sharply round.

“The very thing!” she exclaimed.

“Ma’am, you cannot be thinking—” Menwin began.

“Cannot I? And it will serve excellently, too! Think how
many hearts we shall be gratifying! Yours, Livvy, and yours, Matthew. And
Claire Whelke’s, and your mamma’s, Livvy, and—why, perhaps even Miss Casserley
and Julian will have reason to thank me!”

“But can we be certain that Tylmath or Miss Casserley
will
like it?”

“As for Julian, well, the girl’s handsome, ain’t she? And
fair, if I recall. Julian had ever a weakness for fair women. For the rest, I
imagine it will not displease him to have a handsome, impeccable sort of wife.
And this Miss Casserley sounds the sort of female who will suit Julian’s
nonsensical notions of what is due his dignity. Now, Matthew, were you not
about to tell us what sort of man Miss Casserley favors?”

Menwin looked perplexed. “I honestly have no idea, your
Grace. After all, I was selected for her. She seems to prize a well-informed
mind above all things, or at least she ranks that as the chiefest virtue a man
can possess. I don’t think, however, that—she much admires humor or
originality.”

“Then Julian is perfect for her!” the Duchess crowed. “Well,
perhaps he is not so very well informed on all counts, but he has a great many
facts at his disposal.”

“Miss Casserley is also somewhat—well, Methodistical in her
leanings. I misdoubt she would go so far as to abstain from dancing, but she
has the peculiar sort of virtue which will dance, or sing, and find nothing
reprehensible in that, so long as no enjoyment is gained in the process. She
has often told me that it is the duty of all who command a
place
in the world to alleviate the sufferings of
their fellow men.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Olivia asked mildly.

“Of course not, only my fiancée’s plans to alleviate
suffering seem to consist of providing a copy of the
Bible, The Vindication of the Rights of Women,
and
a moral pamphlet entitled
An Authentic Account of
the Last Moments of that Great and Good Man John Wesley
to every
cottager family in England, regardless of whether the people can read or no. I
collect that the citizenry is to learn to read through propinquity with such
powerful works.”

Unruffled, the Duchess asked why those books, specifically,
had been chosen.

“They appear to be my fiancée’s favorites, ma’am.”

“O dear.” The Duchess fretted. “I suppose we must ensure
that the topic stays on those subjects which Julian best likes to prose upon.
What we had best to do first is invite the Whelkes to dine, Matthew, and beg
that they bring Miss Jane and her fiancé. And I think I shall ask my
dear
daughter-at-law and her mamma as well.”

“Do you think Tylmath will not stray to my mother, ma’am?”

“Olivia, I like your mamma very well, but I cannot believe
that, faced with a handsome blonde of two-and-twenty, even Julian will prefer
the charms of a woman two-and-forty! So, I shall send you away, and tomorrow
you will receive cards in form for, when? Say Thursday next? Good. Run along,
children. And do you see Glessock on the way out, Olivia, will you desire her
to send for Julian for me?”

Olivia promised to do so, kissed the perfumed cheek
presented to her, and she and Menwin took their leave. It was only when they
had attained the street and were walking along toward Queen Anne’s Street that
some measure of sanity returned.

“Matthew, do you realize what we are doing?”

Menwin looked at her, puzzled. “Doing?”

“It is bad enough that my mother is supporting us in this
madcap business, but we have just enlisted all the Temperers as well! You know
that Miss Casserley may not take to Tylmath at all, and then we shall be back
where we were! God knows, with respect to the Duchess, there’s little enough
reason for any of this to work. And if our plotting were to become known to the
world—”

“I know, darling. A dreadful group of hereandthereians we
would all look. But there is no reason why it should become known, and even
beyond that,” Menwin gave a light pat to the hand tucked in his arm, “should it
all out and we be disgraced for it, you will have to marry me, and we will
consolidate our ignominy together.”

Olivia drew her hand away. “That is all very well, Matthew.
But will you marry my mother, and the Duchess, and very likely all the other
Temperers as well?”

“I draw the line at Kit,” Menwin teased. Then, seeing her
look of exasperation, “Livvy, dear one, this is not such a serious business as
you are making of it. If worse comes to worse and Miss Casserley simply will not
fall in love with Tylmath or some other obliging gentleman, I shall simply cry
off, and we will make economies if we must. What is troubling you?”

Olivia looked up in time to save her flounces from
destruction by a crossing sweep escaping from the path of a perch phaeton
driven by a loudly dressed female.

“I feel,” she said at last, “as if I were stealing you away
from Miss Casserley, and even the fact that you do not love her, and you think
she has no warm affection for you, does not make me feel less horrible about
the matter.”

Menwin reached and drew her hand to his arm again. “Would it
be the better thing if I married Jane Casserley and she was miserable and I was
miserable and you—I hope—were miserable? You have the prior claim on my heart,
love, and if it hadn’t been for—”

“John. I know.”

“Every sentiment Miss Casserley has expressed to me on the
subject of our marriage has been one of dutiful acquiescence. She might not
like Tylmath better than me, but I doubt she will like him less. You are not a
shameless mantrap or a deep-dyed hussy, you know.”

“I wish I could convince my heart of that,” Olivia sighed
ruefully. “Well, if I must conspire I
shall
conspire.
Still, I have an ill-divining star...”

“Astrology or Shakespeare?” Menwin teased. The look he
shared with her did much to assuage her conscience.

o0o

Upon schedule, the Whelkes, Menwin, and Lady John and Mrs.
Martingale received their cards for a dinner at Tylmath House. When next Lord
Menwin chanced to meet Lady John Temperer and her mother, while driving in the
Park, he mentioned that the Whelke household had been pleased to accept the
invitation.

“I’m almost afraid of Thursday,” Olivia confided to her
mother as she watched Menwin ride on down the path.

“Piffle,” Mrs. Martingale scoffed, which was the end of
that.

Thursday, regardless of Olivia’s fears upon the subject,
came round in course, and Kit Temperer was dispatched to Queen Anne’s Street to
fetch the ladies to Tylmath House. Mrs. Martingale had taken particular pains
to dress in the most dowagerly fashion possible, in purple satin, a color that
became her ill, and a most unbecomingly elderly cap.

“Much, much too brown, Mamma,” Olivia teased her.

“Do you think so?” Mrs. Martingale worried.

“Mrs. Martingale, I can assure you that my brother Tylmath
has no sense of subtlety at all: you will completely convince him.” Lord Kit
bowed formally over Mrs. Martingale’s hand, then paid Olivia a similar
courtesy. “You, Sister, do not look in the least widowish.”

“I suppose not,” Olivia admitted, looking down at the dress
of deep yellow jaconet, much ruffled, and picked out in a peach-colored lace. “But
then, your brother never spares more than a glance for me.”

“Which only proves, as I have said before, that Julian has
no sense at all.” Kit offered each lady an arm with ebullient gallantry, and
took them out to the carriage.

The Duchess had outdone herself at the dinner.

It seemed to Olivia that twice as many footmen as usual
waited at the table; that everything about the meal was hedged about with
formality of an overwhelming kind; and that there was twice as much food on the
Duchess’s normally lavish table as ever she had seen before. Lady Whelke, for
one, seemed entirely in her element, and Olivia watched with wicked enjoyment
as the Duchess played the vulgar hostess to her vulgar guest. The choruses of “Lahs”
and “I vows” which issued from these two ladies were very nearly the undoing of
Lady Bette, who was forced once to hide her mirth in a fit of raucous coughing.

“How many of your family are involved in this charade?”
Olivia had hissed at Bette when she arrived. Lady Whelke was being charmed by
the Duchess; Lord Whelke, a plump, cheerfully unspeaking man, seemed quite
content to watch the spectacle his wife was providing. Lady Susannah had
captured Miss Casserley and was listening with an expression of ferocious
seriousness to something that lady had to say, while Lord Kit, coming up
behind, seemed to be intent upon steering Tylmath toward the ladies.

“Well, Julian isn’t of course. But Kit and I are, and Sue,
naturally. My only qualm is what will happen to our comfortable life if Julian
does marry The Icicle!”

Miss Casserley, unaware that she had been apostrophized in
this fashion, had obviously inquired as to the newcomers; Susannah was
beckoning to Olivia. She went forward and was formally introduced to her rival.

“You are Tylmath’s sister-at-law, I collect?” Miss Casserley’s
voice was cool, clear, and even. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?” For a few minutes the three
women, with Lady Bette observing from a safe distance, exchanged polite
commonplaces. At last, as Olivia felt that she could take no more, she looked
up to see Quincy Haikestill, Robert Guiles, and Lord Stoke in the doorway.
Excusing herself to say good evening to these old friends, Olivia made her
escape, and was gratefully spared the ordeal of speaking to Mr. Haikestill by
the footman’s announcement of dinner.

Now, at table, sitting where the Duchess had placed them,
Olivia found herself at Menwin’s left, with Lord Christopher at her other side.
Tylmath, at the head of the table, had Lady Whelke at his left, visibly
gratified by the distinction, and the woman’s daughter at his right. Miss
Casserley seemed unmoved by this distinction, and as happy to converse with Mr.
Haikestill, at her left, as with Tylmath; the Duke, however, was happy to pay
his attention to the younger woman, if only to escape from her mother’s
importunities. From where she sat, at the far end of the table from Tylmath,
Olivia could watch the drama unfold and hear the Duchess’s
sotto voce
commentary; the Duchess had placed
herself at Menwin’s left. The others were spread around the table in a
haphazard fashion which Olivia suspected was not haphazard at all, but quite
Machiavellian.

“This is to be a family dinner, nothing in the least formal,”
the Duchess announced smilingly. Tylmath, leaning away from Lady Whelke’s
enthusiastic flutter, gave his mother a look of singular reproach which she was
pleased to ignore. Miss Casserley did not seem to be responding in any
extraordinary fashion to Tylmath’s proximity, and Olivia wondered again if the
whole of their plotting was not poorly conceived. Miss Casserley addressed
herself to her meal in a sensible fashion, as if her purpose in attending the
dinner had been to eat a good meal; she, Quincy Haikestill, the Duchess, and
Lady Whelke were the only people at table who seemed unconfused by the
profusion of dishes set before them: her Grace never felt any food too much;
Lady Whelke never thought any show of consequence too great for her dignity;
and Mr. Haikestill and Miss Casserley, deep in a discussion of the London slums,
paid no attention at all to what they ate.