The Rules of Gentility Read online

  “He told me he met an adorable woman about whom he thinks far too much,” Fanny says. “I imagine that is you.”

  “I suppose so.” For some reason this makes me feel miserable.

  “And it’s about time. He should marry.” She takes a spoonful of ice in a thoughtful way. “It will be good for him. He lacks purpose, as you doubtless know, and he should like to have more children.”

  “How is Will?” I am glad to change the subject. “He is a lovely baby.”

  “Well, of course I’d agree with you. I think he has a tooth coming in; he drools and chews at everything. Did Mr. Linsley tell you he has already bought him a cricket bat?”

  We both laugh, and I ask her about her career in the theater.

  “According to my mama I was born backstage in the Theater Royal, Dublin,” Fanny tells me. “She also said she went out straight after for the last act of Romeo and Juliet, but I do not quite believe that. I do remember sleeping in the dressing-room, as Will does, when I was little, and then playing the Indian child in Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was about three. And I have been on the stage, in Dublin first, and then in various theaters in England, ever since.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “It’s my trade.” She shrugs. “I’m no longer young. There are prettier and very ambitious women who wait to take my place on the stage. I intend to retire, or at least retire mostly, when I choose, and not when I am forced out. Besides, I wish to spend time with my son as he grows. I should like to raise him in the country, and close to his father.” She draws a watch from her reticule. “Heavens, I must go home. Philomena, this has been a pleasure indeed.”

  I insist on taking her home in the carriage, although she resists at first, saying she can take a hackney. She lives in a small house in Soho, and does not ask me in, to my disappointment, for I should like to see Will again.

  On the ride home I am not altogether happy, despite a most satisfactory shopping trip and the company of my new friend. I should so like to have confided in Fanny, and I am impressed that Mr. Linsley has not told her our engagement is false. She is astute enough, however, to know that not all is as it should be.

  I drive to Diana’s house for luncheon and find her in excellent health, although she assures me had I arrived half an hour earlier, I would have found her a miserable, sick wretch.

  “Now, tell me all about Mr. Linsley!” she cries. “How sudden it has been! When did he make the offer? Was it when you waltzed together?”

  “No, it was the next day, in the water-closet.”

  “Oh. How…” She searches for a word. “Precipitate.”

  “Indeed, yes. Oh, Di, I must tell you of the bonnet I bought today…” As I launch into a description of the splendor of the new hat she looks at me, with her brow creased.

  “…And Fanny said it would suit me above all things. She bought a…”

  “Fanny?”

  “Yes, she is a new friend.”

  “Oh.” My sister bites her lip. “Fanny who?”

  “Fanny Gibbons.”

  “Philly, she’s Mr. Linsley’s mistress. You cannot go shopping with her!”

  I toss my head, feeling daring and slightly scandalous. “We met by chance. She has excellent taste in bonnets. And I like her.”

  “Philly.” Diana takes my hand and gazes at me with sorrowful eyes. “She had a child by him. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, he’s a lovely baby. Almost as nice as James,” I add diplomatically, for I know it is more than likely that Will, when he is two, will also become a little monster. “And I think it very good of Mr. Linsley to support his child.”

  “Indeed. I wonder whether you will think so when you have your own children, and his b—d lords it over them.”

  “I…That is not fair, Di!” Not for the first time in our lives I am quite angry at my sister, but this time I cannot work out why. I shall not marry Mr. Linsley, and so how he treats his children, legitimate or otherwise, is none of my concern.

  “And what about poor Tom Darrowby?” my sister, who is in a dreadfully unpleasant mood, asks.

  “He does not know?” I had rather hoped my sister would have told him, to my shame, because otherwise that duty falls to me.

  “No, he does not. I know we agreed to keep this within our families, but he is almost like a brother to us, and you should tell him.”

  How I loathe my sister when she takes a high moral stance. It is even worse when I know she is right.

  “Very well.” I slam my dessert spoon down onto the table. “I shall tell him now.”

  I stamp upstairs to Tom’s office, in a dreadful mood. Of course I should have thought of this myself. I should not treat Tom so shabbily; he is my friend. He will be happy that I am engaged—I think. I pause outside the door. It is a low-ceilinged room, quite small, and most of the space is taken up with a large desk, at which Tom sits. He wears his spectacles, and he is surrounded by piles of paper as his pen scratches away. At his elbow stands a pewter mug and a plate of bread and cheese. As I watch, he stops, takes a draught from the mug, and then sees me and stands, tucking his spectacles into his waistcoat pocket.

  “Why, Philomena, this is a pleasant surprise! Come in, do.” He offers me a chair. “You may share my beer, if you like.”

  This is a joke between us, after I drank some of the Christmas wassail cup, and became sick when I was about ten years of age. I shake my head, no, and refuse his bread and cheese also.

  “You look very serious,” he says. “Is everything well?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, thank you. What keeps you so busy?”

  “Merely some letters for Mr. Pullen. It is nothing important, I assure you, and I’m glad to have an interruption.”

  He does indeed look pleased to see me, even after our most recent and uncomfortable encounter. I sit on his chair, and he perches on the edge of his desk, one foot swinging.

  There is no easy way to do it. “I’m engaged,” I announce.

  His foot halts in mid-swing. “I should congratulate you, Miss Wellesley-Clegg. And who is the lucky gentleman?”

  “Mr. Inigo Linsley. But we are to keep it secret.”

  He stands and walks over to the window, gazing out at the traffic below. “Indeed. I suppose his family do not know?”

  “Oh, no, no, it is nothing of the sort. The Dowager Countess and my mother, it appears, were friends at school, and they are most fond of each other. It is only that we do not wish to make an announcement until the end of the season.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m very happy,” I mumble, wishing I could tell him, anyone, of the truth of the matter.

  “And is he desperately in love with you?”

  “Of course he is. We are engaged! Don’t be obtuse, Tom.”

  “Listen, Philly, he’s ton. His family are devilish proud, he’s as poor as a church mouse and under their thumb, and of course he’s looking for an heiress to snap up.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “And it’s common knowledge he keeps a mistress, some lightskirt—”

  “She is not a lightskirt. She is very amiable—”

  “You’ve met her?” He shakes his head. “Oh, Philly, Philly, you’re in way over your head. He’s charming, a good enough fellow, but feckless and unscrupulous. He’ll squander your fortune, he’ll—”

  “Stop it, Tom!”

  “Philly,” he says quite quietly, and takes my hand. To my surprise, he draws off my glove and kisses my fingers.

  “Tom!” It is not the exciting sort of sizzle Mr. Linsley produces, but there is something there—tenderness, affection, and a sort of sadness, too, all from his lips on my fingers. “You haven’t done that since I slammed my finger in the stable door when I was eight.”

  “I know.”

  I wrench my hand back, startled by the expression on his face. “And that was your fault. If you and Robert had not scuffled in the doorway I should not have been hurt.”

  “I don’t want to s
ee you hurt again, Philly, your fingers or your heart.”

  If only it had been Tom who offered me a false engagement. But he is too true and honest a man to do such a thing, and I am ashamed again at how I deceive those I love. I am also aware that I am becoming more skilled at deception, and can only attribute it to Mr. Linsley’s influence.

  “I’d best go, Tom, Mr. Darrowby, I mean.”

  “Very well.” He bows and offers me my glove back.

  I fumble my hand into it, suddenly clumsy, and run from his office, longing to be alone, or at least away from him.

  On the way home in the carriage, I make a list of good reasons why I should not marry Mr. Linsley, even if circumstances were different, which they will never be:

  1. He is not quite tall enough.

  2. His mama is a snob, although exceedingly affable of late.

  3. Although as Mama says, men have Needs, it was wrong of him to have a child out of wedlock.

  4. He lacks direction, as Fanny says, and I do not see why marriage should change that; and what if Tom says is true, that he is feckless and wicked?

  5. He is a dreadful flirt.

  6. He looked at my bosom overmuch at the theater.

  7. He has called me a ninny.

  8. His proposal, which was not really a proposal at all, was in a most indelicate location.

  9. I become exceedingly silly and clumsy when he is near me.

  10. His kisses make me feel very peculiar indeed, and I should wish to feel only comfortable with my husband, not all hot and shivery and indecent.

  It is quite clear to me that I must find a husband as soon as possible. But before I do, I should like Mr. Linsley to kiss me one more time. A few last moments of hot shivery indecency would not be so unwelcome.

  Chapter 11

  Mr. Inigo Linsley

  I do my duty. At White’s, I let slip a rumor about Miss Wellesley-Clegg’s surprising fortune, to interest a wider field of gentlemen in her.

  I hate to do it. It will open her up to the advances of feckless fortune-hunters, but it is my job to protect her from them. Elverton, to my relief, has gone back to his estate in Staffordshire, doubtless to soothe his damaged heart in the company of his Guernsey cow. I was afraid he might spread news of the false engagement, but it is not so.

  I am concerned that Philomena suffers from not being able to confide in a soul about our arrangement. In fact, the only person in whom she can confide is me.

  In a word, she is my responsibility, as much as the upkeep of the land and the welfare of the tenants are at Weaselcopse, and I find that I quite like the idea of looking after her. I suspect she would have prattled on to Fanny last night quite happily about bonnets; I should like her to prattle to me, although not necessarily about fashion, a subject that bores me half to death. But I should like to know more of her and hear about her childhood in the subsiding Lancashire house. I want her to trust me, to tell me secrets.

  I want to tell her mine, although I have already, with great indelicacy, revealed the existence of my son and former mistress.

  I want to see her again.

  Damnation.

  My dear Miss Wellesley-Clegg,

  I should be most honored if you accompany me on horseback in Hyde Park this afternoon at four. Terrant and his lady will come with us to preserve decencies.

  I am, madam,

  your most faithful servant,

  Inigo Linsley

  Dear Mr. Linsley,

  I am greatly honored but fear I must decline as I do not keep a horse.

  Yours truly,

  Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  Dear Miss Wellesley-Clegg,

  I shall provide a suitable mount, you ninny.

  I.L.

  Dear Mr. Linsley,

  Neither do I own a riding-habit.

  P.W.C.

  Philomena,

  You run our footmen ragged. Julia is pleased to send with this note a habit she believes will fit, and says if it is a trifle too long, it is no great matter. Also boots and a hat. I believe you may own gloves and other things. If there is anything else you need, I fear you will have to do without, as I look forward to arriving shortly after you receive this letter.

  I.L.

  Miss Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  I am to ride in the Park at the most fashionable time of day! I am truly one of the ton now, and must practice looking haughty and bored. And I look forward to riding again—it feels an age since I ambled around the grounds of our house on dear old Strawberry.

  Papa is most upset to receive a letter from Robert, reporting a fissure that opened in the garden near the asparagus bed, taking with it the third gardener. Fortunately, he was not injured, as one of the kichen maids, who was with him at the time, nobly removed her petticoat to use as a rope. They both called for help and poor John was hauled out, although somehow in the excitement he had lost his breeches. How frightened they must have been!

  The main house holds steady for the moment.

  Julia’s habit fits well enough and looks most becoming after Hen stitches me into it around the bosom, warning me not to exert myself, for I will burst it. It is a dark red, which I think makes me look interesting. The boots are a little too big, but I wear two pairs of stockings.

  And I shall see Mr. Linsley again! And Julia and Terrant, of course.

  “They are here,” Mama reports, and follows behind me, lifting the skirts of the habit as though it were a train. She continues, as we proceed down the stairs and into the hall, “Now pray remember Philly you are not openly engaged so you must not show partiality in public to Mr. Linsley indeed I was quite shocked to see you and he disappeared somewhere together last night you must learn to be more discreet for people will talk and I cannot have anything upset the planning for your coming-out ball unless of course your papa has to return home if an important part of the house subsides which I fear is all too likely though I am glad the asparagus was mostly spared for it is a food I do enjoy greatly and Robert will send the first crop to us here in town my dear what do you think of a Chinese theme for the ball I do not believe it has been done yet this season I must talk to my dearest Betsy about it oh good afternoon my dear Mr. Linsley to be sure what a fine pair you and my sweet Philly make—”

  “Your servant, madam.” I see that Mr. Linsley is learning the art of intercepting Mama’s flow of words. “Good afternoon, Miss Wellesley-Clegg.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Linsley.” Naturally, I drop my gloves.

  We step back to avoid damage to our heads, remembering what happened the last time I dropped something, and we both reached for it, and our footman intervenes to pick them up and hand them to me. I put them on, foolishly trying to cram my right hand into my left glove, and hope Mr. Linsley does not notice.

  I take his arm and we go outside, where Julia and Terrant are on horseback, and a groom holds the reins of two horses.

  We exchange greetings, and I thank Julia for the loan of the habit.

  “This is Blaze,” Mr. Linsley says, slapping the neck of the one with the sidesaddle, a most pretty chestnut, who does indeed have a white blaze on its face.

  “Oh, she’s so pretty.” I stroke the horse’s glossy skin.

  He grins. “It’s a gelding, Philomena.”

  “Oh, to be sure.” I restrain myself from ducking to view the animal’s belly.

  “Give me your foot. No, the other one.” He tosses me into the air and onto the saddle. I never realized how strong he was! “I’ll shorten the stirrup leather for you.”

  I want to touch his hair as he stands next to me, his head at the level of my knee. I remember how it felt when he kissed me. I must admit it makes me feel quite peculiar as he pushes the woollen fabric of the habit aside.

  He looks up at me and grins again. Does he know what I am thinking?

  He busies himself with the stirrup leather. It does seem to take rather a long time, and I’m not sure he needs to press his shoulder so against my leg.

 
“There. That should suffice.” The wicked man slips his hand to the leg crooked around the horn of the sidesaddle and tickles me behind my knee, beneath both stockings. Oh, the shame!

  I release a strange squeaking sound and Blaze shakes his mane.

  “He’s quite fresh.” Mr. Linsley winks at me. “You’ll enjoy him.”

  “Thank you,” I say, at a loss for words.

  Blaze shifts and idles beneath me. This is nothing like dear Strawberry, who tends to sleep if she stands for any length of time. The thought strikes me that the energy and strength of this horse remind me of Mr. Linsley, which is quite indecent since I have good reason to believe him intact in all ways. Besides, I am perched on top of this large animal, and…I decide not to pursue these disturbing thoughts.

  He, meanwhile, takes the reins of the other horse and vaults into the saddle without use of the stirrups.

  “He is such a show-off,” Julia murmurs to me. “He is quite wonderfully in love with you, Philomena.”

  “I don’t…” But at that moment the groom steps away, and we all move forward, Inigo’s horse (a mare, I take note) circling and then dancing sideways as he reins her in. He looks very well indeed on horseback, and I should like to watch him, but have to concentrate on Blaze, who seems inclined to push forward ahead of the others.

  I pull him back, pleased that he obeys.

  “Is everything well between you?” Julia asks.

  “Oh, yes.” Then I realize to what she refers. “Yes, I met Mrs. Gibbons, and she is very charming. And the baby is quite delightful.”