Lady Winnafree Is Indiscreet

23

Lady Winnafree Is Indiscreet

    “He has only been here for three weeks!” said Pansy crossly.

    Portia Winnafree returned calmly: “Three weeks can be a long time in a woman’s life, my dear.”

    Pansy pouted. After a moment she said: “She was sitting on the sofa with him yesterday when I got home, and—and she was kissing him!”

    “Yes. Well, they are in love, Pansy.”

    After a moment Pansy admitted sulkily: “I suppose so. And Henry says that even her sister Alfreda kisses Lord Harpingdon, and she is a very proper lady.”

    “Of course, my dear.”

    “Only how can she?” cried Pansy loudly. “She does not even know him!”

    Portia Fairbrother Winnafree was trying to cast her mind back to that time when she had been the harum-scarum little seventeen-year-old running about her papa’s grounds with her hair down her back and her skirts pinned up, damming the stream and flooding his roses. It was not easy: for a long time now she had been the spoilt Lady Winnafree, her every whim indulged, clad from the skin out in laces and the finest muslins and silks, and, if the doating Sir Chauncey had had his way entirely, fed on a diet of naught but chocolates, candied violets, and champagne! And perhaps more significantly, over that period she had more than made the discovery that one could also play games with gentlemen who admired one: games that were even more delightful than puddling about in one’s papa’s garden...

    She eventually did not produce any comfortable platitude. Instead she said slowly: “I think that Nature makes us poor mortals that way, Pansy. Is it perhaps because, if we did get to know our intended partners in life really thoroughly, we would never consent to continue the race?”

    Pansy’s jaw dropped: she goggled at her.

    Wynn Fairbrother’s sister said placidly: “Well?”

    All at once Pansy saw not the frills and the laces and the curls, but the real woman inside them. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Do they not say that Nature is blind?”

    “I have not a Classical education; but Cupid is certainly depicted with his eyes bound, is he not?” replied Portia calmly.

    Pansy nodded. “It’s frightening,” she said in a low voice.

    “To an onlooker: yes. But not to those directly involved. The which is no doubt part of the blinding process.”

    Pansy licked her lips. “It is... so cruel!” she discovered.

    “In the abstract, yes, I would certainly agree. As Shakespeare puts it: ‘Like flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: they kill us for their sport.’ And in fact in many real instances it is also cruel: for the onlooker can see so clearly that the two poor fools involved will never suit: do you not think?

    Pansy nodded violently.

    “Yes. But in the case of your sister and Richard Amory, I do not think so at all. I think they are perfectly suited. He is clearly a very nice man indeed.” –Portia was aware that in slightly different company she might have said: “A lovely man,” and in very different company she might have said a lot more, much of it a good deal cruder. She looked mildly at Pansy and waited.

    After a moment Pansy said: “Yes. But he is dreadfully dull, Lady Winnafree!’

    Portia smiled a little. “In many ways, yes. His mind is not particularly original . Though I think it is quite unusually fair.” She cocked her head on one side with a little gesture that was typical of her and said: “No?”

    Wondering why she did not feel irritated to death by these tricks of pretty Portia Winnafree’s, which were the sorts of thing that had most maddened her in the sillier girls at Miss Blake’s, Pansy replied slowly: “Yes. I thought his attitude to our masquerade at Miss Blake’s was extremely fair, though I suppose he may have been prejudiced by his feelings for Delphie. On the other hand his brother, though he was far more flippant about it, was really much more shocked.”

    “Yes. Bobby Amory’s is a conventional personality.”

    Pansy nodded.

    “And Noël?”

    “I think he was horrified,” admitted Pansy.

    “Mm, I tend to agree, though he has not said very much to me—well, he has been hurt, poor dear boy.”

    “Don’t,” said Pansy in a stifled voice. “I really can’t fall in love with him. And—and he doesn’t want to, now.”

    Portia leaned over and touched her hand gently. “I realise that, my dear. It was one of those purely physical attractions, I think. It was lucky you both discovered that your temperaments would not suit.”

    “Yes.” Abruptly Pansy burst into tears.

    Portia immediately got up and resettled herself on beside her on the sofa, putting her warm, plump arm round her.

    After a while Pansy sobbed: “Every time I—see—him—”

    “Yes, my love?”

    Pansy sniffed hard. “I don’t even love him! I know I don’t love him!” she said angrily. “So why do I keep wondering what it would be like to kiss him, every time I see him?”

    Portia had thought it had been something like that. “Merely because he is a very attractive man who admires you, my dear. Natural curiosity.”

    After a moment Pansy said: “When you say natural, do you mean—?”

    “Mm. That naughty blind little god again. Eros?” said Lady Winnafree, wrinkling her little straight nose.

    “Yes: I see,” said Professor Ogilvie’s daughter hoarsely. “One may feel... that; and not truly love the other person, then.”

    “Oh, yes, indeed, my dear: very much so! It is only the very lucky ones, like your delightful Delphie and her Richard, who find the other sort of passion.”

    “I see,” said Pansy on a grim note.

    Lady Winnafree hesitated a moment, and then said lightly: “Harley Quayle -Sturt is also a terribly attractive male creature, is he not?”

    “You know everything, don’t you?” said Pansy dazedly.

    “Only everything about men and women!” replied Portia with a gurgle.

    “Yes,” said Pansy in awe. “I think you do.”

    “Well, it is my subject, just as the lower primates are Wynn’s,” she said serenely.

    After a moment Pansy went into a helpless choking fit. The tears were still not far below the surface: nevertheless this was a great improvement, and Lady Winnafree beamed upon her.

    “There now!” she said, patting her hand with her own little plump beringed one.

    ... “I see,” said Mrs Parker slowly, not very many weeks after that. The weather was markedly cooler, the leaves had started to change, and Mrs Parker had decided that it was time to do something about both Ogilvie girls. Though recognizing—once she had determined that Colonel Amory was suitable, of course—that there was now very little anyone would need to do about Delphie. “Thank you for being so frank with me, Lady Winnafree.”

    Portia smiled nicely. Of course she had not been nearly so frank with Mrs Parker on the subject of that proper lady’s two nieces and their current emotions as she would have been with another type of woman—or with a man; but then, she was aware that she had not needed to be: Mrs Parker had understood her perfectly. After a moment she asked cautiously: “Has Pansy said anything to you about Lady Jane and Commander Carey, dear ma’am?” –Lady Jane was now with the Winnafrees, but fortunately she had gone for a stroll, so the two ladies were able to enjoy their chat in comfort.

    “Not a word!” cried Mrs Parker, throwing up her hands. “We have had to rely entirely on Delphie for news. Well, Henry has written, of course, but she is almost as much of a child as Pansy! And then, once Colonel Amory arrived— I will not say Delphie’s letters became incoherent, exactly, but—”

    “Of course,” said Portia, smiling. “Well, I am afraid I cannot tell you very much more than you already know. Lady Sarah seemed sure that her sister does affect the Commander.”—Mrs Parker nodded: she had not seen Lady Sarah, for she had already left the district in order to spend some time with the Quayle-Sturts. But Delphie had written that Sarah was sure of the thing.—“And since Jane has been well and has come to stay with me, he has called… Let me see. Four days out of the seven, every week, and sometimes more! And it is more than a step from Guillyford Bay, as you know. Even though he frequently comes in his beautiful boat!” she ended with a laugh.

    Mrs Parker nodded: she had now been apprised by Lady Winnafree of the whole of Lady Jane’s plight—well, nearly the whole, leaving out such matters as flat-bottomed boats. “Pansy had determined, you know, that Lady Jane should be her companion. And it seemed that she herself wished for it, although I would not have said that for a lady of her position in Society it would be an entirely suitable situation. But now... Well, of course she may be independent, if she chooses, with her papa paying her an allowance.” She paused.

    “If it is the papa that is paying it,” said Lady Winnafree drily.

    “Well, quite!” cried Mrs Parker. “Er... I suppose you do not know precisely what took place at Chypsley between Sir Chauncey and the Commander and Lady Jane’s papa, Lady Winnafree?”

    It was Portia’s turn to throw up her hands. “I? My dear ma’am: these men!” she said in despair. “There is some conspiracy there, I am quite sure, for Chauncey is being quite obdurately silent on the subject!”

    Nodding, Mrs Parker replied: “Delphie wrote that Commander Carey was also strangely reticent about it. Well, he made it clear that Lord Hubbel had agreed to advance his daughter a small allowance, and that those who had helped her need fear no repercussions, but that was all.”

    Portia narrowed her eyes. “Yes. At first I thought Chauncey might have offered to be responsible for the allowance—for you know what these dear, silly men are when they feel sorry for a lady, dear Mrs Parker! I taxed Chauncey with it, and of course he denied it. So then I asked his man of business,”—here Mrs Parker’s jaw sagged but Portia pretended she had noticed nothing—“and he swore it was nothing of the sort. Which did appear to be the truth, for I can tell when he is lying, he has one of those very fair skins, and the poor fellow can never hide his blushes!” she gurgled. “So there are, I think, two possibilities left. The first is that it is Commander Carey himself who is paying Lady Jane’s allowance. But when I put it to Chauncey he looked genuinely astounded. –After all, one knows one’s own husband!” she said with a laugh.

    “Oh, indeed! I can always tell when Simeon—” Mrs Parker broke off. “Yes,” she said feebly.

    “Of course,” agreed Portia calmly. “So in all likelihood we can discount that theory. And in any case I think the Commander is too proper and too conventional to offer such a thing, even though his heart might prompt him to it—no?” She held her head on one side and smiled at her. “The second possibility is that Lord Hubbel has agreed to pay the allowance conditionally. And I think the condition must be that the Commander marries her, do you not agree?”

    “Well—er—” Mrs Parker floundered.

    “She was in his house for so long, you see. Of course there was nothing in it, they are a pair of innocents; but the old mother is quite gaga, a fact of which the whole neighbourhood is certainly aware.”

    “Yes,” said Mrs Parker weakly.

    “So, don’t you think I am right?” Portia held her head on one side again. “The horrid old Earl has said he will pay the allowance and countenance poor Jane’s not returning home, only on condition that she very speedily receives an offer from Commander Carey!”

    “Would he make such a condition?” said Mrs Parker numbly.

    “Oh, from everything I have heard it would be typical of the man! And most certainly of his wife! –Have you heard the story of how, back at the time when she was throwing the poor girl at the Duke of York, she allowed Prinny to take her into his horrid conservatory?”

    “No,” said Mrs Parker numbly. “I was under the impression that His Royal Highness the Prince Regent and his brother were—er—not on the best of terms?”

    “Yes! That is what makes the whole thing just that much more ridiculous!” she gurgled. “Well, it was like this—” She told her the story in great detail.

    Mrs Parker at first pretended to herself that she did not wish to listen: but pretty soon lapsed from this lofty moral stance, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The two ladies laughed so much, indeed, at the conclusion of the narrative, that they did not hear the front door of the Winnafrees’ hired house in Brighton quietly closing.

    Lady Jane had come home early from her walk that day, for the wind was stronger than she had supposed. And then, she had designed to embroider a pair of slippers for dear Sir Chauncey and, having found just the shade of silk to match the crimson in the pattern, was desirous of returning home to continue with the work. She had been about to go into the sitting-room, but had paused, hearing her own name. She had never eavesdropped before in her life, neither her upbringing nor her inclinations having encouraged her to, and could not have said what made her remain rooted to the spot, listening. Unless perhaps it had been the coupling of Commander Carey’s name with hers. For Jane had now, as was plain to all her well wishers, fallen utterly into love with Commander Carey.

    Wynn Fairbrother could have warned Lady Jane, had it occurred to him that there was a need to do so, that his sister’s tongue could be damned indiscreet, and to ignore most of what she said. In especial because, as she refused to read anything but the lightest of novels, she had nothing very much but gossip and speculation with which to occupy her mind. –As Pansy’s recent experience of Lady Winnafree had indicated, this judgement was somewhat harsh, but then, Dr Fairbrother’s intellectual standards were of the highest.

    Lady Jane did not pause to reflect that possibly the theory about the allowance was only in Portia’s imagination; or, if it were not, that it still did not indicate that the Commander did not truly care for her. She was conscious of only two points: firstly, that he was sacrificing himself for her sake; and secondly, that if she permitted him to offer, she would be hurting dear little Pansy, to whom she owed everything, quite dreadfully. For it had not escaped the gentle Lady Jane’s notice that Pansy, though she had tried to smile and be pleasant, had been terribly jealous of her presence in the Commander’s house. Lady Jane was past thinking coherently or she perhaps would have realized that even if the Commander truly cared for Pansy he would never make her an offer: in the first place, there was the large age gap between them, and in the second, there was Pansy’s unexpected fortune, which the Commander, who was not a rich man, must necessarily see as a barrier between them.

    Her first impulse was to run upstairs. throw herself on her exceedingly comfortable bed, and cry her eyes out. But she did not do this. She went and sat in the bookroom for a few moments—rather fortunately missing Portia Winnafree’s version of the episode with His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, the memory of which still made the gentle lady turn pale and tremble—and then, having gathered her forces and decided what she must do, she went quietly outdoors again.

    “Lawks, a carriage and pair,” said Mary with interest, peering from the sitting-room window.

    Mrs Carey threw a cushion.

    “It ain’t a bonnet, Mistress,” lied Mary easily. “Just you sit up to the fire nice and quiet, now.”

    °If it be Mrs Vicar, you may show her the door immediate, Mary. For the woman had the impertinence to tell me to my face that my Barnabas was not good enough for her sister’s eldest girl. And he is the best boy in the world, and I am sure a Carey is good enough for anyone! But in any case I am determined he shall not offer for that chit, for at eighteen he is by far too young to be contemplating an engagement! And bring me pen and paper, my dear, I shall pen a note to poor Cousin Bethel directly.”

    “Yes, Mistress,” said Mary obediently. “—Lawks!” she said herself, rushing from the room.

    “Miss Jane!” she gasped, flinging the door wide. “What be you a doin’ here? And all by yourself!”

    Lady Jane blushed a little, but replied with quiet dignity: “Good afternoon, Mary. I need to see your master on urgent business. Is he in?”

    Mary bobbed. “No, Miss. He’s gone out to fetch a donkey, Miss Jane—I should say, me Lady!” she gasped.

    If she had expected Lady Jane to say there was no need to bother with the title she was disappointed. Nor did Lady Jane ask about the donkey.

    “Then l shall come in and wait for him. Do you have Tom Peach still, or should I send the carriage to the village?”

    “Um—well, we does have him, Miss—me Lady! Only he ain’t of much use.”

    “I think the driver will be able to tell him what to do. Or perhaps William Chubb is around the place?”

    “No, me Lady. He’s a-gone with the Commander, acos his shoulder, it were bad, today. It be the wind, you see. And he said William Chubb could drive the trap.”

    “I see. May I come in?”

    “I beg your pardon, Miss—Lady Jane! Please to step in! Um, Mistress be a-settin’ in the front room, only she won’t likely reckernise you, acos she’s been a-talking of when General Carey, he were but a lad, and I think she don’t know what year it be.”

    “I see. And has she been quite well, apart from that, Mary?”

    “Oh, aye. She’s in fine fettle,” said Mary glumly.

    “Well, that is good news,” said Lady Jane, smiling kindly at her. “I shall sit in the morning-room, then.”

    As usual the morning-room was not very warm, for the Commander never used it and his mother was rarely down in the mornings. Mary scurried to light the fire. She wished to remark on the pallor of Lady Jane’s cheeks and to ask her about her own health, but somehow, didn’t quite dare.

    ... “Well, drat!” cried Cook, looking at the scarce-touched tray.

    “She’s ate a bit of the cake,” said little Betsy glumly.

    Cook snorted.

    “She never touched them cheese-cakes, and I said as how they was fresh made,” said Mary sadly.

    “No. Well, there be somethin’ wrong, all right. That Lady Whatsername can’t of a-thrown ’er out of the house, can she?”

    “What for?” said Mary blankly.

    “Um—well, I dunno, Mary! P’raps she found out the ladies come down the river like common folks.”

    The Commander’s devoted servants looked at one another blankly.

    “Would that do it?” ventured Betsy in a squeak.

    Mary had been going to say the same thing. She now rubbished Betsy’s opinion briskly, pointing out that you never knew with gentry, and adding fiercely that Lady Jane might have a home with them forever!

    After a considerable pause, Cook said on a dry note: “Aye. Only why don’t he up an’ offer her one?”

    The Commander’s devoted servants looked at one another blankly once more.

    Cook sniffed. “Too early, for gentry?”

    It being not altogether clear to which opinion she herself inclined, nobody dared either to agree or disagree with this proposition.

    The Commander was a trifle surprised, when the panting Mary threw open his blue-painted front door to him, that she did not immediately gasp out an enquiry after  the donkey, the which was just visible in the gathering dusk, being led round to the back regions by William Chubb.

    “We got it, Mary. It is a poor little thing, in very bad condition, as we had heard. But William is confident he can get it back into condition.”

    “Aye, Master. Master, Lady Jane be here!” she gasped.

    “What?” said the Commander, an arrested look on his face.

    “She come in a coach and pair all by herself!” said Mary in tones of huge disapproval mingled with huge meaning.

    The Commander frowned. “I see. I am glad she did not venture forth in this chilly weather in the Winnafrees’ barouche. –Pray take my hat, if you please.”

    At about this point it dawned on the sturdy Mary that the frown was largely for her own attitude, not on account of Lady Jane’s turning up unannounced and unescorted on a single gentleman’s doorstep. She gulped, and relieved him of his hat. “Yes, sir! She’s in the morning room with a nice fire going, sir.”

    “Thank you. And how is Mrs Carey?” The Commander unbuttoned his greatcoat, one-handed.

    “Pretty quiet, Commander, sir.”

    “That is good. –Will you help me, please Mary?”

    Mary turned crimson, gasped: “Yessir!” and scrambled to help him off with the coat. Commander Carey saw there were tears in her eyes. He did not remark upon this or say anything about his shoulder, but merely said: “Thank you. Please see that William Chubb has a warm drink taken out to him directly: the journey home was chilly. And I will have a glass or negus, and I think Cook may send one in for Lady Jane, also.”

    Mary looked at him doubtfully, but said: “Yes, sir.” And did not venture anything at all about Tom Peach’s and the Brighton coach driver’s between them having eaten up all of the cheese-cakes. As had been her intention.

    Lady Jane was sitting by the fire. She looked round calmly as Commander Carey came in, but did not speak.

    “How are you, Lady Jane?” he asked, coming over to the hearth.

    “I am very well, thank you,” she said faintly.

    He could see that she was very pale, but he had seen her but three days since and she had been perfectly cheerful, So whatever the trouble was—and he was in no doubt there was some trouble—it could not have been of long duration,

    “Has Mary looked after you properly, my dear?”

    “Yes, thank you,” said Lady Jane, blushing fierily.

    “Good.” The Commander leaned his good elbow upon the mantel and unconsciously sighed a little.

    “How are you, Commander?” she asked with some difficulty. “I understand the windy weather does not agree with you?”

    “What? –Oh,” he said with a rueful twist of the lips. “Well, I suppose we all of us find it a bit of a trial, do we not?”

    “Indeed. Sir Chauncey was complaining of it only this morning. And he, of course, is used to a sea gale.”

    “Of course. He is quite well, I hope? And Lady Winnafree?”

    “Yes, indeed, they are both keeping very well. Though they are a little tired of Brighton and l am afraid have delayed so long only for my sake. They are both looking forward to removing to their home.”

    The Commander nodded, and waited, but she did not say anything further. So he said: “Is that it? Have you come to say goodbye?”

    She blushed. “Not precisely. I shall not accompany them.”

    “What? Surely you do not intend—” The Commander broke off as Mary came in with the negus. He continued in a quieter tone, after she had served them, bobbed, and gone: “Surely you do not intend returning to Miss Pansy’s cottage?”

    “No. Pansy will accompany Lady Winnafree to her home.”

    “I see. And yourself? Will you join your sister?”

    “Not Sarah, no. Pamela wishes me to come to her. That is my married sister with the little boy, who lives in—”

    “Richmond: I remember, you told me. I think his name is Bobby?”

    Lady Jane blushed. “Yes.”

    The Commander was still standing by the hearth. He sipped his negus slowly. looking down at her bent head. “I see. But I think I had the impression that you do not care for your brother-in-law?”

    “He—he is not an unpleasant man. Just very—very... hearty,” she finished weakly.

    “Don’t go.”

    She looked up and said bravely: “I have very little alternative, as you must surely be aware, sir. Lady Winnafree has invited me to accompany them, but I—I feel I have already imposed too much.”

    “I can understand that.” The Commander hesitated. “You do have an alternative,” he said in a low voice.

    Lady Jane looked him in the eye. “I think not.”

    “Yes,” he said, swallowing. “Surely you must know what my feelings—”

    “Pray do not,” she said quietly, holding up a hand.

    The Commander could see the hand was trembling slightly. He frowned. “I think you cannot be aware of what I wish to say to you.”

    “Yes. I know everything,” she said in a stifled voice.

    He looked at her uncertainly. “I beg your pardon?”

    “I know everything,” said Lady Jane, holding up her head and again looking bravely into his face. “And I cannot allow you to make any further sacrifices for my sake, sir. So please do not say another word.”

    “What is all this?” he said in amazement. “I have not made sacrifices! Oh: good gad, you mean the donkey? But I always intended extending the stable-block at some point, and in any case it will not take up very much room at all. And the cart will fit in beside the trap, William Chubb assures me there is room.”

    Lady Jane stared at him.

    “Mary has been gossiping, has she not?” he said grimly. He paused. “But I have not explained my intentions— I suppose they guessed,” he said in exasperation, running his hand through his short iron-grey hair. “It is impossible to have anything like a private life in this house!”

    “Sir, your servants all love you,” she said faintly.

    “Mm. Well, they have guessed aright, in this instance!” said the Commander with a mad laugh. “It is for you!”

    Lady Jane stared at him.

    “But I had no notion of—of— I had meant to tell you myself, of course!” he said, striding away from the fireplace in his exasperation. “I cannot apologize enough!”

    “Sir, I— You are very good, but... What would I do with a donkey?” she faltered.

    The Commander ceased his pacing, biting his lip. “Oh,” he said with a foolish smile. “Well, my very dear Lady Jane, you would drive it in its cart, and I am surprized that my ubiquitous Mary Potter did not explain that point to you!”

    “But my brother-in-law will never allow me to have a donkey!” she gasped.

    The Commander came back to the hearth. “That seems to square with what you have let drop about that gentleman. Why precisely do you intend going to his house?”

    “I have said!” she cried, almost at the end of her tether.

    “You have said a certain amount of nonsense, certainly.”

    Lady Jane took a deep breath. “I— Sir, whatever promises my Papa may have forced you into making, I wish you to understand that it was with neither my knowledge nor my consent, and I absolve you of them!”

    The Commander, for he was not, of course, at all a stupid man, had begun to realize some time back that some such notion must lie behind her unexpected visit; though just at first he had had a dreadful suspicion that she had come to say there was another man.

    “Oh, ho!” he said. “And who has been putting this nonsense into your head, my dear?” He rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t sound like young Mr Middy.”

    “Yes, and that is another thing!” she cried.

    “No,” said the Commander very firmly indeed, going down on one knee beside her chair. “That is most definitely not another thing, my sweetest Jane.”

    “Do not,” she whispered through trembling lips.

    He took her hand. “If I were twenty years younger I might have let myself fall in love with Pansy, I will not deny it. But even with that twenty years removed, it would be the wrong thing for both of us, for I am sure we would chafe each other unbearably.”

    “No!” she cried painfully. “She loves you very much!”

    Leith Carey bit his lip. “Possibly she does,” he said evenly. “Or she thinks she does, which at that age is very much the same thing. But she will grow out of it. And even had I never met you, I would never have dreamed of making her an offer.”

    “I cannot make her unhappy,” she said faintly.

    The Commander dropped a kiss on her palm. “Rubbish,” he said briskly.

    “What?” she gasped.

    “I said Rubbish. You are talking nonsense, my dear: you are becoming overwrought. Pansy is but a child. I own I would like to have her for my daughter, but she is not even that to me, is she? She is about to embark on a completely new life, and all her doings at Guillyford Bay will rapidly seem very little and faraway to her, believe me. So you had better say at once you will marry me, and put poor Mary and Cook—not to mention William Chubb, who has been chewing his nails over it these past two months—out of their misery!”

    Lady Jane just gaped at him.

    The Commander pressed his face into her palm. “I love you,” he said in a stifled voice. “Don’t for God’s sake refuse, for the sake of some damned shibboleth or—or so-called finer feeling.”

    Back in the days before she had discovered the growing feeling between Commander Carey and Lady Jane, Pansy had told the gentle lady about the Commander’s and Miss Blake’s relationship. Her soft hazel eyes filled with tears and she said shakily: “No.”

    “Was that a No, you will not marry me, or a No, you won’t refuse?” he said into her hand.

    “I— Oh, dear!” she cried. “Are you sure?”

    At that he looked up with a smile. “Very sure.”

    She swallowed. “Did you—did you really buy the donkey for me?”

    “Aye,” he said with a rueful twinkle in his one blue eye. “I am like that, y’know. It ain’t takin’ things for granted: but I plan ahead. Nelson would do that for all his battles, which is why he was such a successful command— I’m sorry, I’m wandering!” he said with a little laugh. “I had this picture in my head, you see, my dear, of you in a pink cotton dress—think it had flowers on it, too—and a straw bonnet with a pink ribbon, tooling down to the village in a little blue cart behind a little grey donkey. You told me once you loved the creatures,” he said, making a face.

    “Yes!” said Lady Jane, nodding her head violently.

    “Was that a Yes, you love donkeys—the creature brays maddeningly, by the way—or a Yes, you will marry me?” he asked with a grin.

    “Both, I think!” she gulped.

    At that the Commander laughed, knelt up and pulled her into his arms and kissed her so fiercely that her bonnet became quite crushed.

    “Oh!” gasped Lady Jane, goggling at him, as he released her at last. “That was— When the horrid Prince Regent kissed me, it was not at all like that!”

    “WHAT?” shouted Commander Carey at the top of his voice, turning purple.

    —In the kitchen little Betsy gasped, and dropped a dish with a crash. The Commander’s devoted servants looked at one another fearfully.

    “I mean it was horrid, when he did it!“ gasped Lady Jane.

    “I should damn’ well think so!”

    “He is so fat and—and nasty,” she gulped. “And terribly scented.”

    “Aye, I am sure he is. And what the Devil— Never mind,” he said hastily. “We have the rest of our lives for you to tell me what horrid gentlemen of exalted rank have attempted to kiss you.”

    “None! I mean, just him!” she gasped.

    “Ssh,” said the Commander, taking her hand and pressing his lips into her palm again. After quite some time he looked up and said with a distinctly naughty twinkle in his one blue eye: “I am not fat, I think?”

    “No!” she gasped. “You are—” She gulped, turned scarlet, and could not utter.

    “Well,” said Commander Carey with a faint laugh, “that seems to be all right, then! Come along, kiss me again. I feel you need more practice at it if you have only ever kissed His Royal Highness the Prince Regent of England besides my humble self.”

    “Silly,” said Lady Jane faintly. She bent down a little to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

    The Commander winced sharply, and gasped.

    “Oh!” she cried. “Your poor shoulder! I’m so sorry, Commander!”

    “Don’t regard it: it’s nothing. Plays me up in the dashed wind, as Mary seems to have told you. Come here, my love—”

    “No,” said Lady Jane firmly, sitting up very straight. “I think you had best take your jacket off and let me have a look at it.”

    He went very red. “No—”

    “Yes. And if it is as painful as all that,” she said firmly, “I shall rub some liniment into it. Get up, Commander Carey.”

    Concealing a grin. Commander Carey got to his feet.

    Lady Jane rose and rang the bell. “Let me help you off with your coat.”

    “Mary Potter will be shocked out of her seven wits,” he warned.

    “In the first place,” said Lady Jane calmly, coming up to him and grasping the collar of his coat: “she has not, as I think we are both aware, quite seven wits in any case.”—Leith Carey choked.—“And in the second place, I do not care. Come along.”

    When Mary panted in the Commander was sitting on a footstool with his waistcoat undone, his neckcloth off and, shocking to relate, his shirt half off his bad shoulder. Lady Jane, her bonnet discarded. was bending over him inspecting the shoulder, which was hideously puckered with red and purple scars. Very evidently healed scars, but nevertheless not a pleasant sight.

    Mary herself had not been privileged to see the shoulder: she gasped, and was turned to stone.

    “There you are, Mary,” said Lady Jane, smiling at her. “I wish to rub some liniment into this shoulder for your master: is there any in the house?”

    “William Chubb said as he ought to have some this morning, only he wouldn’t !et him, Miss. –Me Lady,” she corrected herself faintly, goggling.

    “Yes, so he was telling me. Perhaps you had best send William Chubb here.”

    “Y— I know where it is, my Lady!” she said eagerly.

    “I am sure. But if it is William Chubb who is generally in charge of the shoulder, I had best speak to him and see what he has been doing to it.”

    “Yes, me Lady. –Don’t it look awful?” she breathed.

    The Commander was not unaware that the sight of injury or disfigurement would cause those of limited education or not quite seven wits or both to act as if the owner of these defects had become instantly deaf and infantile. He swallowed a sigh and said: “It is, however, quite healed. Send William in directly, Mary, and fetch the liniment, please. And tell Cook that Lady Jane will not be staying for dinner, as I intend to escort her back to Brighton directly she has finished seeing to my shoulder.”

    “Oh. Yes, Master,” she said sadly.

    In her absence the Commander took a deep breath. “I’ll get rid of her, if you like,” he said grimly.

    “No! Good gracious, it would break her faithful heart!”

    He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe. But don’t you find her very hard to take?”

    “Not hard to take, no. She is not altogether easy to deal with, I admit. But that is because she cares so much for you and yours,” she said, smiling at him.

    “Mm.” The Commander seized her hand and pressed it to his lips.

    After quite some time she said in a faraway voice: “Don’t, Commander.”

    “Don’t call me Commander, makes you sound like a damn’ sub-lieutenant,” he said into her palm.

    “Mr Carey?” she said doubtfully.

    “No! Hell, that took me back!” he said, looking up and laughing. “Call me Leith,” he said kissing the palm again, and then beginning to kiss each finger.”

    “No. I—it is most improper,” she whispered.

    “Only to the fusty-minded, surely?”

    “Not that. Kuh-kissing my hand, so, when you are sitting there in your shirt-sleeves!” she gulped.

    The Commander went on kissing her fingers. “I’m mighty glad to hear you find it so,” he said conversationally.

    After a moment Lady Jane’s ears went very red and she snatched her hand away. “Oh! You are entirely naughty!” she gasped.

    The Commander grinned. “Did you not expect me to be?”

    “I—I did not know what to expect. I—I do not know very much about gentlemen,” she faltered.

    “No. Never mind: I am quite willing to teach you,” he said sedately.

    Lady Jane rolled her lips very tightly together.

    “I shall not be shocked if you laugh. But will you be shocked if I say I had best take this shirt off altogether?” he said, beginning to ease himself out of the waistcoat. “Otherwise it will be ruined: William’s liniment is a powerful brew.” He gave a grunt of pain, but got the waistcoat off.

     Lady Jane did not interfere until it was off; then she said, putting a gentle hand on his good shoulder: “How can we best manage the shirt?”

    “Uh—usually just bend forward and William pulls it off me,” he muttered.

    “Good. Bend forward, then.”

    Commander Carey bent forward and Lady Jane Claveringham pulled the shirt off him.

    “You will think I am a hopeless crock,” he said on a grim note. “And I have not even broached the subject of Mamma, though I most certainly meant to.”

    “I don’t mind her,” said Lady Jane mildly. “And most of the time she accepts me, I think.”

    “Yes. But I don’t think she’d accept any woman as my wife.”

    “That would not surprize me. But what can she do, other than throw things and scream?”

    “Uh—well... She has not become violent towards any person, but...” He told her about the episode with the laurel bushes and the sabre.

    “I see. We had best hire her a permanent nurse,” she said calmly.

    “Er—yes.”

    “I shall have quite a large settlement on my marriage,” she added calmly.

    “My dear—!”

    “One must be practical about these things.”

    The Commander looked at her with a funny little smile. “‘One must be practical about these things, Leith,’” he corrected.

    Lady Jane repeated shyly: “One must be practical about these things, Leith,” and then was apparently overcome by the sight of him sitting there half-naked. Her hands went to her cheeks and she turned away from him.

    The Commander got up and, coming up behind her, put a hand on each shoulder. “Say now if you find me repulsive,” he said harshly, “and we will forget the whole thing.”

    “No!” she said with a strangled laugh. “How can you be so silly!”

    “Oh,” he said, smiling a little. “I see.” He leaned his face into her neck, and softly kissed her ear.

    At this the properly brought-up Lady Jane Claveringham shuddered deliciously all over and said very faintly: “Oh, Leith!”

    Commander Carey closed his eye, pulled her very tightly back against his naked chest, and sighed deeply.

    Perhaps it was as well that when the door opened it was only to admit William Chubb. Who had told Mary she was a downright silly hen and to be about her business and put that there bottle back, what did she think the Commander was, for the Lord’s sake, a ruddy ’orse? Not evincing any signs of remorse when the overwrought Mary burst into loud sobs.

    Lady Jane jumped and opened her eyes with a gasp as the slow countryman’s voice said with great approval: “That be more like it. Not to say, about time.”

    The Commander smiled. “As you see, my good William. You must be the first to congratulate us.”

    Some two hours later, when the door of the Winnafrees’ hired house in Brighthelmstone-on-sea was opened by an impassive footman, Lady Winnafree herself appeared behind him in the lighted hall and exclaimed, the moment she set eyes on the pair: “Oh! So he has asked you at last, my dear! How wonderful! Congratulations to you both!”

    The utterance was so entirely well-meaning and so very evidently completely sincere that both Commander Carey and Lady Jane were enabled easily to overlook the fact that—like so many of Portia’s utterances—it was also completely indiscreet.

    Lady Jane never did learn whether there had been a plot between her papa and the man who speedily became her husband. Indeed, the whole thing appeared to have been entirely erased from her memory. And certainly Leith Carey took care never to remind her of the point. Very possibly Miss Pansy Ogilvie would have found such treatment odiously patronising—but then, as more than one of their well-wishers remarked, Lady Jane was a very different kettle of fish from Pansy. And it was just as well there was that thirty-year age difference between Pansy and the Commander, or they might both have been tempted into an alliance they would have regretted.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/08/interlude-with-bells-and-lilacs.html