CHAPTER TEN #2
Their youthful loveliness was not lost on the gentleman, of middle years and lean but pleasant aspect, who had risen from a chair near his hostess and was regarding them with frank admiration.
“Come in, girls,” Mrs. Marsh said to them smilingly. “Lord Exton, may I present my niece, Miss Albright? I understand that you have already met my daughter.”
“Yes, I have had that pleasure,” the earl replied, displaying the warm smile that had won Laura’s friendship on that occasion.
She returned it with interest, curtsying, and then turned to the child who had jumped up from his place next to her mother on the sofa.
“Henry, I am so happy to see you!” she cried, beaming at the timid-looking boy.
In deference to his youthful dignity, she subdued a sudden impulse to hug him, contenting herself with seizing his hands and giving them a quick squeeze as she inquired into the state of his injured knee.
A broad smile chased away the faint anxiety in his hazel eyes when he pronounced himself completely recovered.
By this time Sophia and Lord Exton had indicated their mutual pleasure in the acquaintance and the latter said with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, “As I told your mother, Miss Marsh, Henry was extremely desirous of repairing any inadequacies in his thanks to you due to the confusion and discomfort of his injury on the —”
“Nonsense,” Laura said briskly, turning back to the child.
“Your manners were exemplary on that unfortunate occasion, Henry. You rose above your sufferings to say and do all that was becoming to a gentleman,” she added with a grin that evoked a like return from the boy and a little chuckle from his father.
“I have explained to Henry that Aubrey would be engaged with his tutor at this hour, so he must not expect to see him today —”
“Oh, no!” This time it was Sophia who interrupted Lord Exton, directing a melting look at him from her large dark eyes as she protested, “There can be no harm in just peeking into the schoolroom to greet Aubrey. I shall take Henry there myself — that is, with your permission, sir?”
It would have required a stricter parent than Lord Exton to resist Sophia at her most cajoling, Laura thought, as the beneficiary of her charm glanced to his hostess for guidance.
“Of course you may, Sophia,” her aunt replied.
“Just a minute or two, then, Henry,” his father cautioned.
“I am Sophia, Aubrey’s sister,” Sophia said, holding out her hand to a bemused Henry who bounced off the sofa and allowed himself to be led away without a backward glance.
Laura, watching the pair depart, mused that age did not seem to be a consideration in the reaction of the male of the species to her cousin’s bright charm.
To a man — or boy — they all displayed a uniform eagerness to do her bidding.
She brought her attention back to the drawing room as Lord Exton’s smooth baritone reached her ears.
“That was very kind of Miss Albright.”
“Yes, Sophie is a sweet girl,” Mrs. Marsh agreed.
“Have you and your cousin embarked upon your social careers since last we met, Miss Marsh?”
“Not yet,” Laura admitted, responding to the smile in the hazel eyes that were an older edition of his son’s. “Our first evening party is in two days. My godmother, Lady Bentley, is holding a card party.”
“Are you a dévotée of card games, Miss Marsh?”
Ignoring her parent’s choked-off laugh, Laura retained her composure, saying primly, “No, alas, sir, I am the merest neophyte — indeed, worse than that, for I have never played any card games in my life until this past week. Mama and Sophie and even Aubrey had undertaken to instruct me in simple games like commerce and silver loo, but — to put it delicately — they are not sanguine about my level of skill at this point.”
“You mean your level of interest, my love,” Mrs. Marsh corrected, pursing her lips in reproof.
“Well, do not despair, Miss Marsh. In all likelihood there will be others who prefer conversation to cards, and most likely of all is that there will be more than one young man present who will be anxious to take over your instruction in the pastime.”
Laura could not repress a smile in response to the twinkle in his eyes, but she said doubtfully, “Does my godmother know any young men, Mama, seeing that she is childless herself?”
“Is not Lady Bentley the former Helena Standish who made her come-out with you, Annabelle?” Lord Exton interposed before Mrs. Marsh could address her daughter’s query.
Laura sat back, content to efface herself as she listened intently to the ensuing dialogue between the once forcibly parted couple.
Lord Exton’s use of her mother’s given name had not escaped her notice, and during the next few minutes she had cause to marvel at the seeming ease with which they had bridged a gap of decades.
She could detect no trace of self-consciousness in the manner or voice of either party as they recalled several amusing incidents from that long-ago period.
She could have kicked herself for not remaining in the saloon with her mother after the dancing lesson this morning.
Surely there must have been some outward sign on the countenance of one or both at the instant of beholding the object of once-cherished feelings, some indication of the momentous nature of the event!
Even as she regretted having missed the defining moment that might have told her whether the love this pair had once shared remained capable of reanimation, another part of Laura’s intellect acknowledged the propriety, the rightness of that moment’s belonging to the former lovers alone.
If the ease with which they were conversing was not simply the exercise of social skills developed over the years, then at the very least, friendship and pleasure in each other’s company had survived time and distance.
Lord Exton disclosed the circumstances of the untimely deaths of an uncle and two male cousins that had propelled him into the title and estates now in his possession.
Under Annabelle’s sympathetic encouragement, he went on to describe his marriage to a second cousin, a shy and gentle girl whose always-delicate health had worsened after the birth of their son into invalidism that defied all medical efforts, culminating in her death when Henry was seven.
The boy had been devoted to his mother, and the earl admitted to feelings of helplessness in trying to make up to his son for such a devastating loss.
Unobtrusively studying the speaker, Laura could not help contrasting Lord Exton’s careworn countenance with her uncle’s habitual brisk air of smug complacence. This could be erased quickly by petty annoyance, but not, in her admittedly short experience of him, by discernible sadness or grief.
As if sensing what his remarks might have brought to mind, Lord Exton halted, saying with a rueful twist to his mouth, “I do not mean to imply that my concerns are unique. Both you and Laura, and your brother’s family too, have had to cope with the same problems of grief and loss in the recent past.”
“Yes, but everyone’s makeup is different,” Mrs. Marsh said thoughtfully.
“Aubrey is a robust, independent-minded youngster who may not share Henry’s sensibilities with regard to close personal attachments.
I am persuaded that his situation too, being part of a busy household and engaged regularly with a tutor who guides his education, is more conducive to recovering a happier outlook. ”
“Yes, recent events have forcibly brought home to me just how empty Henry’s days have been of late.
I must hold myself grievously at fault for letting matters come to such a pass.
I should have engaged an interim tutor at once when his had to leave us, but Henry fell ill with influenza about that time and his slow recovery has been a cause of considerable concern until just lately.
I believe I have found someone to tutor him now, but it was meeting Aubrey and Miss Marsh that has been of significant benefit already.
Henry has become a different child since that day. ”
“I am so glad,” Laura said softly.
The subject of their conversation returned with Sophia at that moment, and his air of alert interest gave credence to his father’s hopeful pronouncement.
Glancing to Lord Exton, Laura was caught by his expression of deep affection as he gazed at his son, who was telling Mrs. Marsh how Aubrey had showed him everything in the schoolroom.
The transient thought, unbidden and powerful, that she had never seen that look on her own father’s face when looking at her, caused her breath to snag painfully at the back of her throat.
She wrenched her eyes away from Lord Exton, staring down at her clasped hands in her lap while she practised breathing until she had achieved a normal rhythm again.
The visitors took their leave after a few moments of general conversation in an atmosphere marked by a high degree of cordiality, considering that most were near strangers.
As the door closed behind the earl and his son, Sophia turned to her aunt, saying impulsively, “One would suppose you and Lord Exton to be old friends, Aunt Annabelle, the way you got on so well together.”
“Well, that’s just it, Sophie; it turns out that Mama and Lord Exton were friends back before her marriage — but he was not Lord Exton then, nor expected to be, so of course she did not recognise the name.”
“How marvellous for you, aunt! Now there will be someone else to talk with at parties, and if you’ve already found one old friend in town, there are most likely others who will remember you too. I thought Lord Exton was a most amiable gentleman, did not you, Laura?”
Laura agreed wholeheartedly, happy to see that Sophia’s pleasure in her aunt’s good fortune was quite sincere and not merely uttered from a general desire to please.
Mrs. Marsh remarked cheerfully that the unanimity of this sentiment was a source of delight to her, and glided from the room with that innate grace her daughter still hoped to emulate in time.
Despite her pious resolve to respect her mother’s privacy with regard to the fateful meeting with her erstwhile sweetheart, Laura’s veiled glance followed her every movement that day, searching in vain for some sign — an inner radiance or, contrarily, a lowering of her mother’s spirits that might denote disappointment.
Annabelle, however, went about her daily activities with her customary tranquility and that air of affectionate interest in the girls’ concerns that characterised her demeanour.
If anyone’s state of mind could be described as heightened or altered, that person was Laura, whose frustrated curiosity finally triumphed over good intentions when she went to her mother’s room to say goodnight.
“Mama, did you … did you find Lord Exton much changed?” she blurted.
Her eyes never blinked, but the hand holding the hairbrush stilled momentarily as Mrs. Marsh considered the question.
“No,” she said after the briefest of pauses.
“Allowing for the natural effects of the passage of time, I found him very … familiar. The only thing that seemed … odd,” she added, resuming the slow brush strokes and speaking as if more to herself than Laura, “was to see him as a parent. That aspect was entirely new.”
“Lord Exton seemed like a wonderful father to me.”
Mrs. Marsh smiled at her daughter’s eager assertion. “An affectionate one certainly, and small wonder, for Henry is a very appealing child, but one feels for their situation.”
“Yes. Henry has lost his mother and Lord Exton feels helpless to ease his grieving, which makes him perhaps more to be pitied than the child.”
“Your tender heart does you credit, my love.” Mrs. Marsh put down her brush and took up the nightcap lying on the table top.
“As in all things, time will work its healing magic. And, speaking of time, it is more than time we were in our beds, for we have an especially full day tomorrow.” As she spoke, Mrs. Marsh tied the strings of her nightcap and rose from the dressing table.
Laura received her dismissal with assumed grace, wishing her parent a smiling goodnight.
She returned to her bedchamber but not immediately to sleep.
Her over-active brain persisted in reprocessing all her impressions of Lord Exton’s call and the recent exchange with her mother.
She kept her journal entry brief and factual but was incapable of editing her thoughts — or perhaps her imagination, she admitted in some exasperation as she neared the threshold of sleep.
On the positive side, the event she’d been anticipating had passed off smoothly and, yes, happily.
She could predict with some confidence that Lord Exton would become an integral part of their circle this spring and hoped that a renewed attachment would flourish between her mother and the man she had loved as a girl.
Nothing she’d seen or heard from her parent thus far was of a nature to provide active nourishment for this little mustard seed of hope, but she did not yet despair that it had fallen on barren ground.
Her constitution was too impatient, that was the whole problem.
“And you call yourself a farmer,” she muttered, turning her pillow over in search of a cooler spot for her heated cheek.
As a farmer, she knew that time was every bit as vital as water and sunshine in predicting a good crop; one simply could not rush nature.
Her intellect accepted this maxim, but she drifted off to sleep devising improbable schemes that would throw her mother and Lord Exton together under circumstances guaranteed to nurture any latent romantic feelings they might secretly harbour.