Chapter Five #2
“Was Lord Chester very shocked to hear Lady Beatrix mention such a book?” Mr. Penny asked.
“I am not sure what could shock that fellow,” Mr. Feldstaffer said.
“His parents have seemed to have got past the faux pas. They heard Lady Beatrix play that evening and now they have sent an invitation to a musical evening where she can further showcase her skill. Or rather, they have pressed Lord Chester to send it, as he wrote the invitation himself.”
“Indeed, that is another layer to the problem,” Mr. Wilburn said. “The match between Lady Beatrix and Lord Chester has been so long hoped for. It seems both sets of parents remain enthusiastic. And yet, what we know about the gentleman…”
“If one goes so far as to call him a gentleman,” Mr. Browning said.
“And what occurred at Almack’s, Mr. Feldstaffer?” Harkinson asked. “There are conflicting reports about it. I’ve heard the dowager was to blame, and Lord Chester was to blame, and even Lady Beatrix being to blame by somehow offending Lord Chester.”
“As if Lord Chester would ever be fanning himself over anything,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “As far as I know it, the dowager had his name put down as he was presumably on his way. Then, his horse presumably threw a shoe.”
“You suppose he was delayed by the actress he consorts with?” Mr. Wilburn asked.
Mr. Feldstaffer nodded. “Miss Annie Wister. Apparently she has recently played Desdemona on Drury Lane. I am certain she was the cause of Lord Chester failing to turn up in time.”
“Poor Lady Beatrix,” Mr. Penny said, shaking his head. “The lady must have been devastated.”
“Not as devastated as Miss Sprite,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “You would think it was the governess sitting out the third.”
“The point, gentlemen,” Mr. Wilburn said, “is what are we to do in regards to properly settling Lady Beatrix? The settling of the lords and ladies of our houses has always been, and will always be, our raison d’etre.”
“If we think of properly settling,” Mr. Browning said, “that cannot include Lord Chester.”
“I am sorry to say I must agree,” Mr. Penny said.
Of course, this had weighed on Mr. Feldstaffer’s mind.
To promote the match between Lady Beatrix and Lord Chester would be throwing a lamb to a wolf.
He was not sure what to do about the earl and countesses’ determination to see the match come off.
They were so deluded about that gentleman.
All they really knew about him came from his own mother, who was also deluded about him.
“Aside from Lord Chester, is there any other promising gentleman waiting in the wings, Mr. Feldstaffer?”
“All I know so far is that Lord Monroe has sent flowers, daisies. As well, I did overhear Miss Sprite directing Lady Beatrix to stop talking about Lord Harrelston.”
“Lord Monroe is in such financial straits that I imagine he picked the daisies out of somebody’s garden,” Mr. Harkinson said.
“That does not necessarily rule him out though,” Mr. Wilburn said. “Many gentlemen find themselves in straits and Lady Beatrix’s dowry is enough to pull him out of it.”
“And gamble it away in short order,” Mr. Harkinson said.
“But what of Lord Harrelston,” Mr. Penny said. “By all reports, he is a very fine gentleman.”
“Irreproachable,” Mr. Wilburn said.
“I have heard from a cousin in that house that he spent some pleasant weeks in his sister’s house, observing marital felicity,” Mr. Rennington said. “It is said that he now wishes the same for himself.”
“Then we seem to have a direction,” Mr. Browning said. “All that must be done is to drive Lord Chester out and Lord Harrelston in. The only question unanswered is how to accomplish it.”
An hour later, and after much debate, they settled on their plan.
Mr. Harkinson was delighted. Mr. Rennington used a napkin to fan himself.
Mr. Wilburn was grave. Mr. Browning was even more grave.
Mr. Penny smiled weakly, like he was hoping for the best, which was very typical of that head-in-the-clouds gentleman.
Personally, Mr. Feldstaffer felt their plan would fail in as yet unknown but spectacularly awful ways. It was complicated and full of risk. He might find himself unemployed. Or perhaps arrested.
“Take heart, gentlemen,” Mr. Wilburn said. “When the cricket match hangs in the balance, the batman must go for the sixes.”
Mr. Feldstaffer stared at him. As far as he was concerned, when the cricket match hung in the balance he congratulated himself that he’d not wagered on the outcome. Going for the sixes rarely worked out.
When an individual, or a cricket team for that matter, hung by a thread, somebody always came along with a pair of scissors to sever that thread.
He did not expect success, he never did. However, an effort must be made to save Lady Beatrix from Lord Chester. It would not be enough to tell the countess and the earl what Lord Chester was. They’d never believe it after years of holding him up as a superior gentleman.
They must see it for themselves, even if The League caused an unmitigated disaster to show it to them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lord Chester felt like an enemy in his own house.
His grandmother did not for a minute believe that his horse had thrown a shoe on the way to Almack’s.
He’d seen the lady charge down the mews and assumed she spoke to the stablemaster to confirm it.
She also knew about Annie Wister. How had the old bat come upon that information?
It had probably come in one of those endless piles of letters she received. It seemed every old woman in England was linked to every other one through letters full of tattled tales.
His mother and father had been deeply concerned when they discovered the circumstances at Almack’s, though so far the dowager had not mentioned her ideas that he’d been with Annie.
Rather, the viscountess came up with a plan to host a musical evening where Lady Beatrix could show off her playing.
He’d been forced to write out her invitation himself, as they imagined that would flatter her.
He could not care less what would flatter her. It would be an interminable evening.
He’d seen Monroe and heard about the daisies that had been sent. He dearly hoped Lady Beatrix would be far more flattered over that than an invitation to play the pianoforte.
As for Annie, he had finally soothed her constant complaints about having to move out of the house by spinning a story that he was working on getting his relations to pack up and go home.
As soon as they did, Annie could move back in.
He had at least bought himself some time.
It had been necessary. Every time she got drunk, which was most days, she claimed she should be introduced to the viscount and viscountess.
They would be shocked at first, but they would grow to love her.
She would point out that she was determined to be kind to them in their old age.
Lord Chester thought it was well that Annie had other charms, as a thinking mind was not one of them. But then, he’d not begun to pay her bills because she was a modern-day Aristotle.
This evening was Lady Thurston’s poetical tableau.
He went most years, as there was little more amusing than Lady Thurston airing her laundry publicly, in the most absurd manner possible.
Last year had been a corker. Lady Thurston had brought in a coffin for her tableau and went on and on about a funeral for a marriage.
Unbeknownst to her, Lord Thurston had been hiding inside the coffin, leapt out of it, and had a few things to say for himself before leaving his lady on the stage, speechless.
He did not expect this evening to be as amusing. Both his parents and the dowager were going too. And this time, he’d been forbidden to ride his horse. He would be stuck in a carriage with the three of them.
He'd been told it was another opportunity to impress Lady Beatrix. He planned on doing nothing of the sort and hoped that Monroe came with plenty of compliments in his pocket that he was ready to dole out to the lady. The faster he could get her looking in another direction the better.
If he could accomplish it, his relations might very well pack up and go home. They preferred it there and if Lady Beatrix engaged herself, there would be no reason to stay. Perhaps Annie really could move back in.
If he could accomplish it. He must accomplish it. He wanted his old life back, full of fun and far away from the dowager.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn could not ignore that he’d been thinking of Lady Beatrix since he’d sat at table with her at Almack’s.
He could not remember the last time he’d had a conversation with a lady that had been so full of ease and fun.
They had traded stories from their misspent youths and he felt he’d got a glimpse into her world.
He could not even say how they’d got on the subject, they’d just seemed to fall into it.
He told her about Sloth, the dog who would not hunt. She’d told him about running away from home with her sister.
Corbyn was approving of her early aspirations to be a tinker. It was daring and original. Miss Sprite might have tried to drill the independence out of her, but it had not worked entirely.
It occurred to him that Lady Beatrix might have left a story like that out of her conversation. She might have pretended at perfection, demure and well-mannered, all her life.
He suspected Miss Sprite, despite heroic efforts, was the reason she had not.
A dragon of a governess often shielded her charges to such a degree that they failed to pick up a false front of any sort, good or bad.
How could they? Lady Beatrix and her sister had not been exposed to the world.
They had not seen feminine wiles deployed.
Miss Sprite would not use wiles any more than she would fly to the moon.