A Regency Scandal Read online

  As Neville expected, his father directed him to lead Miss Cottesford into the dance. Inwardly rebellious but outwardly complaisant, he approached her to make his request.

  She accepted with a somewhat shy little smile, which softened her expression, giving her a fleeting attractiveness which her face lacked in repose. They took their places in the set and moved down the dance. Whenever they came together, he addressed a few commonplace remarks to her, which she answered with a lively intelligence they certainly did not merit. He was a little surprised to find her conversation so easy and natural; judging from her appearance, he had expected her to be a dull, uninteresting companion.

  Maria was experiencing surprise on her own part, but this was not due to anything in the Viscount’s behaviour, which was precisely what she had expected it to be. Her surprise sprang from the sudden quick leap of her pulse as he took her hand, a reaction so new to her that she was hard put to it to answer him in her usual way when he addressed her.

  The Viscount, however, though finding his partner less boring than he had feared, was far from being reconciled to dancing with her when there were so many more attractive young ladies present; and it was with relief that he made his bow at the conclusion of the dance, secure in the knowledge that convention would not permit of his dancing with her again for some time, whatever his father might wish him to do. He at once set about finding himself a partner more to his taste, while Miss Cottesford returned to sit beside her Mama.

  “Did you find your partner agreeable, my dear?” asked Lady Cottesford, with a complacent smile.

  “Why, certainly, Mama.” Maria’s cool, matter-of-fact tone somewhat affronted her mother.

  “I am sure you must have done, for he is without doubt one of the most handsome gentlemen in the room. Not to mention his air and address, which are beyond reproach.”

  Maria’s eyes followed the Viscount as he threaded his way through the crowd in search of a fresh partner. She had no intention of allowing her mother to see exactly what kind of impression he had made upon her; for it had swept over her so suddenly that she was still shaken by it. She was a young lady of high intelligence and strong common sense, and therefore mistrusted such a wild surge of emotion. She suppressed it now as best she could, forcing herself to reply in the same noncommittal tones.

  “Yes, indeed, Mama.”

  “And what did you talk of?” asked Lady Cottesford, reluctant to abandon the subject without securing a more promising reaction from her daughter.

  “Oh, the usual topics.”

  “I must say, Maria,” her mother said plaintively, “it is very difficult to gain any notion of your conversation from that remark.”

  “I beg your pardon. Mama. Did you want a detailed account? Well, then, as far as I recollect, our conversation went something like this. First of all, Viscount Shaldon asked me if I liked dancing; to which I replied that in general I did, unless I happened to be so unfortunate as to get a partner who trod on my toes. To which he replied—”

  “Maria! Sometimes your sense of humour may be misunderstood, you know. You may have offended him. Possibly he thought your remark was a reflection on his own performance. Really, my love, was that wise?”

  Maria wrinkled her long nose. “Wise? I should think it a waste of time to weigh every platitude one is obliged to utter in a ballroom. At any rate, he seemed not at all put out. He replied that he hoped not to impair my enjoyment on this occasion by any clumsiness of his, and I assured him that I thought it most unlikely. After that, he asked if you and Papa intended to take me to London this season. I replied no; then he said Town pleasures were much overrated in his view, and what did I think? I said I usually enjoyed whatever I happened to be doing at any particular time and wherever I chanced to be. He said I was fortunate in my disposition and I—”

  “No!” interrupted Lady Cottesford, pleased. “Did he really say that? How very flattering, my love!”

  “Not really,” said Maria, reflecting. “He’s a gentleman of most accomplished address, as you remarked yourself, Mama, and I’m sure he was merely doing the polite. But do you truly wish to know more of this very commonplace conversation?”

  Whatever Lady Cottesford might have replied to this, she was to hear nothing more; for at that moment her husband approached them, accompanied by a group of other guests who were closely acquainted with the Cottesfords. Two of the young ladies were Maria’s particular friends, and at once the three started a lively conversation of their own, which was presently broken into by the younger gentlemen in the party insisting that they should all join the set that was forming on the floor.

  Maria’s partner was Mr. George Tilling, husband of her friend Amelia, who had been married to him for nearly two years. He was a rather grave gentleman in his late twenties, with a square-cut face which gave him a solid, reliable look that did not belie his character. At one time Lady Cottesford had entertained some hopes that he might offer for Maria. The two had frequently been together in company with a group of other neighbouring young people, and Mr. Tilling had seemed then to show a preference for Maria, though not to a degree which could lead to definite expectations. But Amelia Edwardes had returned to the country after a successful season in London, and her blonde beauty had quite cast her friend Maria into the shade.

  “The worst of it is, she doesn’t even seem to mind,” Lady Cottesford had complained to her husband at the time. “She’s just as fond of Amelia as ever she was, and entertains no feelings of ill-usage as far as George Tilling is concerned. She treats him exactly as she always did.”

  “Well, if that don’t tell you there was nothing in it, m’dear, dashed if I know what would! What would you have — the poor girl eating her heart out for him? Luckily, it’s no such thing; and Maria’s got too much good sense to nurse a grudge against a female who’s carried off a young fellow she never wanted for herself.”

  “That’s just the trouble — she has too much good sense altogether! I can’t think where she gets it from, but she’s positively bookish. And you know as well as I do, my love, that the way to a man’s heart is not through his intellect. Most men had by far rather have a pretty, appealing, somewhat helpless little creature—”

  “Like you were, eh, when I married you?” he chuckled and tapped her cheek playfully. “Don’t worry, Kate, our Maria will find someone in her own good time — and a dashed lucky fellow he’ll be, in my opinion!”

  But that had been two years ago, Lady Cottesford reflected as she watched her daughter dancing; and in spite of the advantages of two London Seasons, Maria at almost one and twenty had still not succeeded in finding this fortunate man whom her father was confident would eventually appear. It had been most heartening that Viscount Shaldon should have asked her to dance so early in the proceedings. Surely that might reasonably suggest a degree of partiality? The anxious mother shook her head sadly; Maria’s comments on her partner had been far from encouraging.

  Had she been privileged to understand her daughter better, she would have felt more sanguine. Maria danced with George Tilling and talked with him in her accustomed easy style; but now and then her eyes would stray to the Viscount, noticing his lithe, graceful movements and the charm of his smile as he chatted to his partner. And not for the first time in her life, but more strongly now than ever before, she found herself wishing that she might have been possessed of the dainty features, limpid blue eyes and silken gold curls of that undeniably attractive young woman.

  As for Neville, he contrived to find himself a succession of agreeable partners as the evening wore on, disregarding his parent’s occasional signals to take Miss Cottesford out a second time. He was confident that he could escape the Earl’s recriminations by claiming that it was his duty as a host to dance with as many of their female guests as possible. The fact that there were not dances enough for him to partner any but the youngest and prettiest among the ladies could be trusted to guard him from any reproach on this head. He knew quite well, however, that
he would have no chance of escaping Maria Cottesford as a supper partner, so he dutifully presented himself at her side when the time arrived.

  Maria was almost too surprised at first to feel the gratification which such a compliment deserved. There were several families present of equal consequence with the Cottesfords, with nubile daughters who had certainly appeared to please the Viscount while the dancing was in progress. There seemed no particular reason why he should single her out from the rest. A raised eyebrow here and there indicated that this thought had occurred to some of the other guests, too, and that they were ready to draw their own conclusions from it. Maria cared nothing for this. She was far too modest about her own claims to attention to allow herself to believe that the Viscount’s choice was anything but arbitrary; all she knew was that for a precious hour or so he would be at her side.

  But Lady Cottesford was elated. She took particular pains to be extremely charming to the young lady of the golden curls and wide blue eyes who had earlier seemed to appeal so strongly to Viscount Shaldon, telling herself that her previous thoughts about this girl had been uncharitable, to say the least. The poor creature was not, after all, a designing female; or, if she was, her designs had come to nothing. And what else mattered? In the present circumstances, one could surely afford to be magnanimous.

  The Earl, too, was pleased. Tomorrow or the next day he would ride over and see Cottesford to give him a hint of what was in the wind. Unlikely that there would be any objections in that quarter, but it might be as well to make the whole business clear from the start. Unless Sir William wanted to get his daughter off his hands quickly, there seemed no reason for an early marriage. He reflected that Neville would be the better for another year over his head, in fact. There was still too much of the boy about him for the Earl’s liking. He confided some of his thoughts to his wife in an undertone; and she listened attentively, agreeing with all that he said, as she was accustomed to do. She had almost lost the habit of thinking for herself, and most of her natural emotions had long since been suppressed. But somewhere just below the level of her consciousness, a faint feeling stirred of pity for Maria Cottesford.

  CHAPTER II

  The cottage at Rye was a modest dwelling in one of the little town’s cobbled streets. The front door gave directly on to a small parlour, comfortably but simply furnished; at the back was an even smaller room out of which a door led to a combined kitchen and scullery looking out onto a patch of garden kept bright with flowers. The staircase was concealed behind a door in the parlour and gave access to two bedrooms, from one of which a shorter flight of stairs led to a pair of tiny attic rooms. Everywhere neatness and order prevailed; for the lady who owned the residence was the widow of a Naval officer and liked everything to be “shipshape and Bristol fashion” in the style of her late husband.

  In such a simple setting, Dorinda Lathom shone like a jewel. Seventeen years of age, lithe and lissome, with pale gold hair and soft cheeks of pink and white, she delighted her mother’s eyes whenever they chanced to rest on her during their quiet evenings together. Until a few months ago, the delight had been untinged by any feelings of misgiving; but now an uneasy frown sometimes settled on Mrs. Lathom’s brow as she surveyed her young daughter.

  It had all started one showery day in March, when for once Dorinda had gone out unaccompanied to buy some embroidery silk from a shop only a short distance away. As a rule, Mrs. Lathom was punctilious in attending her daughter everywhere, but on this occasion she had been busy with some baking. A girl of fourteen came in daily to help with the housework, but Mrs. Lathom did most of the cooking herself, rarely entrusting it to Dorinda’s less experienced hands.

  She had just removed her pies and cakes from the oven and the house was filled with the appetising aroma from them, when a loud, urgent knock sounded on the street door. Hastily closing the oven and wiping her hands on a cloth, she went with quick steps through into the parlour to answer it. She opened the door to see a young gentleman standing there with Dorinda clinging to his arm, although modestly, for support.

  Mrs. Lathom started, staring helplessly for a moment. Then she saw that Dorinda’s cheeks were quite white and quickly put her arm around the girl, drawing her gently into the room and depositing her on the sofa.

  “What on earth has happened?” she asked anxiously, bending over Dorinda. “Are you hurt, dearest? Speak, for heaven’s sake!”

  Dorinda shook her head weakly, but it was the gentleman, still standing on the threshold, who answered for her.

  “I think the young lady’s not seriously hurt, madam, but she has had a shock. She slipped and fell on the wet cobblestones — most regrettable — I fear my fault, in a way. My horse lost its footing and swerved towards her, and the young lady made a hasty movement to avoid the animal. There had just been a shower and the cobbles were wet — I blame myself very much for not controlling the horse more speedily, but it did not touch her, assure you, ma’am.”

  Dorinda had by now recovered her breath and was able to say that she was quite all right, but only a little shaken up by her fall. Mrs. Lathom turned to the gentleman.

  “Well, sir, I think perhaps you’d better come inside,” she said, by now satisfied that there was nothing seriously wrong with her daughter. “It’s starting to rain again, and there’s no sense in your standing there getting wet through.”

  The gentleman removed his hat and entered. He had to duck his head to do so, and Mrs. Lathom now had time to notice that he was not only tall but well-favoured, with rich auburn hair. She guessed that he could not be much above twenty years of age; both his bearing and well fashioned attire suggested that he was of the Quality. She invited him to be seated while she fetched a cordial for Dorinda. Having administered this, she listened to further details of the mishap until she had the satisfaction of seeing the colour return to Dorinda’s cheeks.

  “Shall I fetch a doctor to your daughter, madam?” asked the young gentleman, solicitously. “If you will be good enough to direct me — I’m a stranger to these parts and was just taking a look at the old town. Dear me, it’s all most unfortunate, and I blame myself very much.”

  Both ladies disclaimed the need for this, Dorinda blushing a little at having to put herself forward.

  “Then if there is nothing I can do, ma’am,” said the gentleman, rising, “I will relieve you of my presence. Perhaps you’ll permit me to call tomorrow morning to enquire after your daughter’s health?”

  His civility and easy charm had by now quite mellowed Mrs. Lathom, who felt prompted to offer him some refreshment. He accepted readily, and soon they were sitting over tea and a heaped dish of the freshly baked cakes, chatting amicably together. They exchanged names; he told them his was Stratton, and that he was at present staying with friends in the neighbourhood of Tenterden.

  “Being at a loose end today, I rode out in this direction,” he said. “And if I may say so, ma’am, although it was an unfortunate beginning, I am very happy to have had this opportunity of making your acquaintance.”

  He bowed as he spoke, and when he finally rose to go he left behind him a most favourable impression.

  He called again the next day, as he had promised, and was graciously received. Dorinda was quite recovered; indeed, her mother thought the girl looked more lovely than ever, with a new bloom in her cheeks.

  After that, he called on them frequently during a period of several weeks, until his knock upon the door became familiar to them. They were pleased to have a visitor, for so far they had made no acquaintance in the town, having been settled there little more than a year. The inhabitants of most small towns take their time about welcoming newcomers into the community; but this reluctance was more marked at Rye, where there were those with secrets to keep from the Customs Men.

  Mrs. Lathom was glad to have the even tenor of the domestic round enlivened by male company. She missed having a man about the house. The late Captain had in the natural course of his profession frequently been absent from
home, but his return had always been eagerly awaited by his family. He had seemed to bring with him the fresh, invigorating atmosphere of the sea, stirring everyone and everything around him into activity. Among the many reasons she had for mourning him, this vitality still constituted a major loss. To be sure, young Mr. Stratton was not in the least like Captain Lathom in this respect. He lacked the decisive air which had always marked the Captain as a man of action. But although he talked surprisingly little of his own home background or his interests and pursuits, he gave a welcome change to the direction of their thoughts, which inevitably were centred mostly on domestic affairs.

  As for Dorinda, she blossomed out in his company. At first, she had been very shy and retiring, leaving most of the conversation to her mother; but gradually she became more at ease with him. At times, when Mrs. Lathom had to leave the two young people alone together in the parlour for a few moments while she prepared some refreshment in the kitchen, she would smile as she heard Dorinda’s light laugh coming through the open door.

  And then one day, three weeks or so after the accident which had first brought him to their door, he announced that he was returning to his own home on the following day.

  “I’ve prolonged my visit to my friends beyond what was originally intended,” he said, looking downcast, “and so must now return. I cannot tell you how greatly I shall miss our meetings. I trust, ma’am,” with a look of appeal in Mrs. Lathom’s direction, “that whenever I chance to be in this neighbourhood again, I may perhaps hope to find the same welcome here which has afforded me so much pleasure?”

  Mrs. Lathom hastened to assure him that they would always be delighted to see him at any time. “Is there any likelihood of your returning in the near future?” she concluded. “Is your own home far from here?”

  He hesitated before replying. “I live in Oxfordshire,” he said at last. “As for my future plans, they do depend to some extent on my father’s wishes.” He sighed, then brightened. “But depend upon it, ma’am, that if it rests in my power to come this way again, I shall most certainly present myself here at the earliest possible moment. After what you have been kind enough to say, I shall feel no hesitation.”