Chapter 23

Trouble at St. James’s Street

On the third day of Caroline’s recuperation a carriage rolled in front of the house and set its lethargic inhabitants abustle. A curricle had followed closely from which a gentleman scrambled down and hurried to the carriage’s door. He was of average height and sturdy build, and his square face, although not distinguishably handsome, was pleasant in its unremarkable way. There was a somber light in his hazel eyes but the wide mouth seemed inclined to tilt at its corners. He appeared to be a gentleman well into his thirties, and judging from his drab greatcoat, the plain cut of his blue coat and his unpolished top boots, a gentleman with no fashionable inclination at all.

Mrs Winscott bestowed him a fond smile as he helped her alight from the vehicle. A tender expression warmed his eyes as Sophie came down next, and his hand lingered a little longer in hers. “We are very much obliged to you, Mr Clayton,” she said. “I hope you’ll call on us soon? That is, after you’ve settled whatever business you have in town of course.”

“Be sure I will, Miss Winscott,” he replied, his voice incredibly soft for a man of his bulk. He turned to Mrs Winscott and begged his leave of them.

“But will you not take some refreshments inside, sir? I know you had very little of that luncheon we ate, and it’s a thirsty work to be an escort I daresay!”

“Not at all, ma’am. I fear I must go now for my aunt is expecting me,” Mr Clayton informed them regrettably. The front door burst open and Miss Moore emerged from it followed by two lackeys. “Mrs Winscott! Dear Miss Sophie! At last, you’ve come home! I hope you had a comfortable journey, ma’am? I declare it’s practically sweltering today and we haven’t a drop of rain since I don’t know when — ” Her eyes was momentarily diverted by the sight of a new face. “So you had an escort!” she exclaimed inconsequentially.

Mrs Winscott introduced her to the young gentleman. When Miss Moore began to talk to him about the people she knew in Somerset, Mr Clayton, too good-natured to interrupt the old lady’s reminiscences, was delayed further by them until Miss Sophie broke into their conversation, reminding him politely of his own pressing engagement. Sending her a grateful look, Mr Clayton murmured his farewell and was off.

“My, what a soft-spoken boy, to be sure!” Miss Moore commented.

They entered the house, and when Mrs Winscott inquired of her niece, the duenna’s lively countenance sobered. She informed them in anxious voice that poor Miss Caro had caught a fever four days ago, but assured them that she was now on the mend. This instantly sent the two relatives into a pucker, and rushed upstairs to Caroline’s bedchamber while she followed, her disjointed account of her charge’s illness was drowned by pounding footsteps. When they entered, a somewhat pasty looking Caroline, propped up with many pillows in her bed, met their anxious eyes.

“My poor niece!” cried the matron, throwing herself to the bed and giving her a motherly embrace. “Poor lamb, but you look very pale and a little thin. Now I’m very certain I’ll receive an earful scold from my dear brother this time! How are you feeling, dear?”

“I’m getting better dear aunt so you need not worry so. Miss Moore has taken good care of me,” smiled the patient. “I’m happy you’ve returned home. It was all very quiet when there were only the two of us here. How was your mama-in-law, ma’am?”

“In a fine fettle now, thank heavens! Has the town air been too much for you, my dear? I know you enjoy a customary good health and are rarely sick. I daresay it’s the heat. Since the Season is drawing to a close, I’ve a good mind that we all shall repair to the country, or Brighton! Which one will you like, Caro?”

Caroline replied in a hollow voice that she’d benefit greatly from the country air. Neither of the choices appealed to her at the moment though. The thought that the Season would soon be over had cast a damper on her sanguine mood. How the days gone by and she’d not yet accomplished anything for herself in the past two months. She might return for the Little Season of course, but she put little faith in receiving a brilliant offer of marriage.

Papa would understand, and would only give her hand a consoling pat despite the shocking expenses he’d by now incurred for her sojourn in town. She would marry for love, not for position or wealth; if she couldn’t achieve the former, then she was doomed to spinsterhood. Caroline reflected on this for a moment. No, not spinsterhood exactly, for she wouldn’t want to be like Miss Moore, spending the rest of her life looking after someone who was not her own blood. How monotonous and dreadfully sad would that be. Perhaps she would marry a country squire after all, and live and raise a brood in the country. There would be no grand balls or soirees or theaters, but those she could very well dispense with. Yes, just a tranquil life in the country, surrounded by simpler people who lived simpler lives… She felt her head nod, and she was soon lulled to sleep by her aunt.

Later that night, as her maid collected the remnants of her barely-touched dinner, Sophie’s golden head stuck out from the door. Caroline noticed for the first time the healthy colour on her cheeks and the bright glow on that angelic blue eyes. One would have inferred that a sojourn in Bath had done her a worldly good after all.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Sophie inquired and draw a chair near the bed.

“Well, to tell you the truth I am itching for a walk now. It feels as though I’ve been abed for a long time instead of four days,” she confided and eyed her lovely cousin speculatively. “How was Bath, Sophie?”

Sophie arranged the skirt of her dress and said nonchalantly: “Oh, very good, I daresay. I had a lovely time and met lovely people.”

“But you don’t like Bath,” she pointed out. “Unless there is something about these lovely people — oh, Sophie, never say you’ve another beau?”

Blushing, her cousin smiled shyly. “You are very acute, aren’t you? Very well, I admit that I have. In fact, he escorted us home.” Caroline, brimming with curiosity, demanded to tell her all about her beau. “His name is Mr Desmund Clayton, and he lives in Somerset,” Sophie began. “We met in the Upper Rooms, at that particular time when he escorted his sister to a ball. I was not dancing, you see, and I was just standing at the edge of the ballroom when he — er, came behind and mistook me for someone he knew, and then began to talk to me.”

“Mistook you for someone — ?”

“Yes, I knew you’d find that funny, but how the poor man blushed when I turned to him! I declare he was fairly frozen with embarrassment!” she grinned. “So he begged pardon, and rushed away as though I were a plague. Well, that was our first meeting. The next day we met again and this time it was in the Pump Room. I was accompanying my infirm aunt and when he approached us and greeted her I was surprise to know that he was a little acquainted with my Papa’s family. Aunt Agatha introduced us, then we just fell into a conversation and soon — became friends, I think.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “What’s he like? Is he handsome?”

“He’s personable… gentle… and prefers to stay in the country I’d say. Perhaps it’s because he’s the son of a squire — ”

“Oh!”

“What is it, Caro?”

“N-nothing!” she gasped, struggling to keep her countenance straight. “Do go on, please.”

Sophie looked at her under knitted brows, but only continued in her portrayal of Mr Clayton through which Caroline romantically pictured out a gentle Apollo who loved to roam the lush valleys of countryside on his steed. “I don’t know him very well, of course, only that I— I wish you’d meet him soon, to see for yourself!” Sophie added shyly. “He is not a grand gentleman like any one in my acquaintance, but I know you’ll like him!”

“I’m sure I will, if he’s a friend of yours,” Caroline agreed, but stared at her askance. “Do you want me to?”

“Indeed, my dear, and Mama already likes him, too.”

For a while there was a troubled look in those green eyes. “Sophie, you don’t — love him already, do you?”

“No, no! How can you — well, I daresay I like him but— ” she stammered, blushing furiously. “Oh, Caro! What if I am? I mean, I scarcely know my own heart!” she cried. “But when I am with him, I feel it to be the most natural thing in the world! Have you ever felt like that with a man, my dear? It’s a wonderfully strange feeling, I tell you.”

She thought she did, but nonetheless disclaimed. “But don’t you think it too early to give much thought about what you feel for him, Sophie? I mean you know each other scarcely a fortnight!”

“You’re right, of course,” she sighed and smiled ruefully. “Am I being such a goose, Caro? Just because there’s someone who has finally — well, caught my attention that my mind’s often thrown topsy-turvy for no reason at all!”

Oh dear! “If it comes to that, a beautiful goose, certainly,” replied Miss Davis archly. At length she gave an account of her activities in the past several days, of her shoppings and her drives in the parks, especially of that lovely drive to Richmond with Lord Stokeford. She also shared that daunting incident of her swooning at Lady Ainsley’s ball, but omitted the part in the balcony. They laughed it off together, and Caroline realized with some relief that she was beginning to move on from that shocking and unprecedented experience. Sophie was equally eager to share her own time in Bath, in which occasion the name of Mr Clayton was mentioned a couple of times.

Upon getting wind of Sophie’s return to town Cedric immediately paid a visit to Bruton Street, in one hand a lovely posy for the sick. But as it happened, the sick had already recovered completely, and had only in fact returned from her morning walk when he came across her at the front steps of the house. Caroline pinned a bright smile as he presented the flowers, but not even the sight of them could pacify the raging emotions in her breast. For she had, after all, met Lord Stokeford in the Park.

Caroline wondered forlornly at how, the last time they were there, they’d been very friendly and open to each other; their encounter earlier had been a stark contrast. The Earl had been very civil to her, but at least his manner was a little warmer than he’d assumed several days ago. She’d returned his lordship’s greeting with less enthusiasm than was wont. There had been an air of restraint, the awkwardness which made apparent by the fact that they’d avoided each other’s eyes. It had been but a brief encounter of course, but with so disturbing an effect as to turn her legs into jellies, and overset her unruffled mind afterwards.

She and Cedric entered the house together, and both halted in surprise when they saw a stranger sitting across Miss Winscott in the drawing room. Introductions ensued, after which Caroline stifled a gasp of incredulity. ‘Not a grand gentleman’ seemed a monstrous understatement to describe Mr Desmund Clayton, for the severe cut of his fawn coat, the unbecoming green shade of his striped waistcoat, in addition to the fact that he wore riding breeches and boots instead of trousers and slightly heeled shoes, were enough for one with a discerning eye for fashion to stigmatize that the gentleman could not dress at all. At length she nearly burst out giggling when Cedric, himself looking very fine as fivepence, leaned and grumbled into her ear: “Egad, whatever has happened to Sophie?”

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Miss Davis. Miss Sophie always talks about you,” said Mr Clayton a little diffidently, surprising her yet again with his soft voice. “Your first visit in town, is it, ma’am?”

“Yes — oh, yes. Are you often in London, Mr Clayton?”

“No, I rarely come down. If I do, it is mostly for visiting my relatives, or on an errand for my father. I’m not, as you will say, a man of the town,” he gave them his self-depreciating smile which Caroline found rather charming.

Cedric, who didn’t found anything charming about Mr Clayton, and who’d silently criticized him as a soft-spoken, regular bore, put in airily: “So which is it this time?”

Mr Clayton blinked at him, apparently not comprehending the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr Milborne only meant that — er, he’s asking if you’ve come to town to visit your aunt or on your father’s errand,” interposed Caroline hastily, forbearing herself from stamping one little foot on Mr Milborne’s shoe. “Are you staying for long?”

“Merely a few days, Miss Davis. I came to visit my aunt and attend to some, ah, other matters,” he glanced with soft, meaningful gaze at Sophie which made that damsel blush.

“Oh, capital! It will never do for you to stay long here, y’know,” Cedric said blithely, but upon receiving a dark, sidelong look from Caroline he added for clarification: “Well, what I mean is, it’s almost summer, and London’s deuced uncomfortable during summer months.”

Miss Moore, who had remained silent over her embroidery, now entered the conversation by corroborating this statement, and unwittingly trapped the hapless Mr Milborne into her unceasing talk about the merits of every watering place she knew of. Caroline’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth at Cedric’s barely stifled dismay, but it seemed that she only shared the jest to herself. Her cousin and Mr Clayton, thanks to Miss Moore’s interruption, had already engaged in a tête-à-tête, and unconscious of the other occupants for the moment. As she surreptitiously observed them, the smile died in her lips. She marveled at how her cousin could have fallen in love (for in love she definitely was!) with such unassuming and restful gentleman. He was not a dasher, not even handsome, and certainly not on a par with the rest of Sophie’s male admirers. If there was anything in his endowments to recommend him, it was only a pair of earnest hazel green eyes that gazed with quiet adoration at the beautiful lady.

“What do you think of him, Caro? Isn’t he just delightful?” asked Miss Winscott of her cousin a little while later as they partook of luncheon.

Delightful wasn’t the word Caroline would have used, but she nonetheless nodded her assent. “He is agreeable and — kind, I think. It’s very obvious that the poor man is very smitten with you, Sophie.” And Cedric is very much put out because of it! She thought, a little amused. In fact Mr Milborne could have scarcely hid his ill-humour when he said his farewells to them, knowing that today he’d been bested by the plain Mr Desmund Clayton.

“Smitten?” Sophie echoed, toying a slice of cold him with her fork. “Do you think— well, never mind. Dear me, I think I am being silly!”

Belatedly, Caroline realized her error. Of course every one of the gentlemen who had courted her in the past was smitten with her! But for all the flatteries and vows of undying love, Sophie had seen that beyond the superficialities was a fleeting attraction to her beautiful face and nothing more, so she’d never given her heart to one of those lot. “Perhaps not smitten,” she amended, taking a bite on a peach fruit. “He positively adores you in his quiet way. It’s too early to say anything of course but no doubt he wears his heart on his sleeves merely by the way he’s looking at you! And I think I’ve never seen such expressive and earnest pair of eyes as his,” she added truthfully.

To her surprise, her cousin gave a small girlish squeak and hugged her all of a sudden. “I’m really glad you like him! Oh yes! He has such a pair of dreamy eyes, hasn’t he? So velvety, and very direct to gaze at you. I declare I could have melt before them!” she sighed happily, and the glow on her cheeks seemed to brighten her all over. It appeared that love, thought Caroline wistfully, had been very good to Sophie indeed.

For some though, particularly the Earl of Stokeford, it had been practically a thorn in the flesh. Love, as he had discovered, could wreck havoc to someone as easily as it could build one’s happiness. And havoc it did, when he’d imbibed a little too much brandy one night, thinking to drown his heart’s troubles at the bottom of the decanter, only to sustain an excruciating headache the next day and had to stay abed for the whole morning. It had proved then that for all people’s silly notion of a heart broken was an incomparable pain, the devil of a head he had was much more painful, and he did not care to repeat the experience again.

His mood, however, was deteriorating. It was felt at once by the members of his household, who foretold that his lordship’s ominous silence would be a sure prelude to something disastrous for them all, let him but see one fault in their work. “Ne’er sees him as that bosky as t’other night, sure as I stands ‘ere!” said one footman who was preparing the dining table. “And this morning I was fair quaverin’ as I handed him them letters, ’cause he looks black at me like —,” he paused for a brief demonstration and continued: “D’ye see? You marks my word, Mr Philips, wit’ that mood you jes lets his lordship as see some mite wrongs and we’ll be in big troubles, sure as I stands ‘ere!”

Mr Philips thought pragmatically that such vagaries of mood was very natural in his employer, and said in acerbic tones: “As I’m sure you will, Styles, if you keep on talking and never finishing your work when his lordship arrives.” The lackey visibly cowered, and promised to shut his gob now and finish his work.

Contrary to their forebodings, disaster came from a very unexpected quarter.

* * * * * *

Mr Milborne curbed the impulse to play another game that night at Brooks’s. He’d already lost a pretty penny at piquet an hour earlier, and what with his old man pinching him in his allowance and threatening not to send him at all the next time he learned of his debts, Cedric had no choice but to forgo his pleasures for a while. Not that his sire was ungenerous in providing for his exigencies, but then a young gentleman of the town such as himself was expected to kick some larks every now and then, and without the means he might as well rusticate in the country. But optimism was an incurable trait, and he diverted his thoughts to a more cheerful course: he knew he would come about, one way or another.

So he contented himself instead by watching his acquaintances play a game of whist at present.

“You’re not playing, Ceddie?” asked one of them.

He threw his palms up in a helpless shrug, but grinned and said: “I haven’t got a guinea left about me. Proper cleaned out, so to speak.”