Talk of the Ton. Mary Nichols
natives and later on the ill-fated voyage with Captain Bligh when he had been cast adrift with him in an open boat when the crew mutinied. That feat had made sure the captain’s name went down in history, though David Nelson lost all his specimens.
‘You’ll have to marry a rich husband and then perhaps he will take you.’
‘I’d rather go with you.’
‘Then you will have a long wait. It takes a great deal of blunt and that’s something I haven’t got. I need a rich sponsor who will pay for everything, and where I am going to find one of those I do not know.’
‘Then why talk about it?’
‘I can dream, can’t I?’
‘Yes, and so can I.’
He looked closely at her. She was unaware how beautiful she was with hair the colour of a glossy ripe chestnut and brown eyes set in a classically oval face. She had a small straight nose and a determined chin and he loved her. Not that he could ever tell her that; she was far and away above him and he, the son of the estate steward, did not aspire to such dizzy heights, for all the freedom his father was allowed in running the Harley domain. ‘Is that all you dream of? Don’t you think of things like come-outs and balls and being courted by all the young eligibles in town?’
‘Mama is always talking about giving me a Season,’ she said.
‘I have contrived to delay it until now, but Livvy turned seventeen last month and she says she will bring us both out together and I suppose I will have to agree for Livvy’s sake. According to Mama, it is not the thing for the younger sister to marry before the elder, everyone will think there is something wrong with me.’
‘So there is if you are averse to balls and tea parties and being sought after by all the beaux of the ton.’
‘I want to do something practical, something I’ll be famous for. The woman who discovered a new plant, hitherto unknown to man.’
‘Pigs might fly!’
‘That’s what you dream of and I know you mean to try and make it come true.’
‘I’m a man.’
There was no answer to that and she stood up and brushed crumbs of soil from her breeches. ‘I must go. My uncle James is coming on a visit and I have to change.’
‘The Duke of Belfont,’ he murmured. ‘I should think he’d have a fit if he could see you now.’
She laughed and hurried out of the building and along the path that led back to the house.
It was all very well to dress eccentrically in the confines of the grounds around Beechgrove—breeches and a shirt were far the most practical attire for gardening—but she knew that it was hardly the apparel for a nineteen-year-old brought up in polite society. Her mother had long since given up remonstrating with her, asking only that she never appeared in public thus dressed and certainly not before her uncle, the Duke of Belfont. Uncle James never forgot his rank and took his role as guardian very seriously. To Beth and her sister he was a stern disciplinarian, though Mama said that was only his way and he wanted to do his best for his nieces. And today he was coming to make the arrangements for that dreaded come-out.
‘Harri, can that be Elizabeth?’ James was standing in the back parlour of Beechgrove, which looked out on the terrace from which steps led to well-manicured lawns and flower beds bright with the yellow of daffodils and the amber of gilly flowers. Beyond that, though it was hidden by a shrubbery, he knew there was a walled kitchen garden and a row of greenhouses and outhouses. It was from that direction the figure on the path had come.
Harriet left the tea tray over which she had been presiding to come and stand beside him. ‘Yes, I am afraid it is.’
‘Good God!’ He watched as Beth strode down the path, head thrown back, arms swinging; if it were not for her feminine curves, he would have taken her for a boy.
‘She likes to help in the garden and that is by far the most practical mode of dress. She is decently covered and can move about without snagging her garments on thorns and suchlike. We should be for ever mending if—’
He turned towards her. ‘Are you telling me you allow it?’
‘Yes, so long as she stays in the garden and we have no guests.’
‘Then it is as well I am here. The sooner she is installed at Belfont House and taught how a young lady should dress and behave the better.’
‘James, she knows perfectly well how to dress and behave. You are being unkind to her.’
‘And how do you suppose a prospective husband would react if he could see her now?’
‘But there is no one here, certainly not a prospective husband.’
He sighed and returned to his seat. ‘Oh, Harri, why did you not marry again? You would never have had this trouble if there had been a man in the house.’
‘I am not having trouble, James. You are making a mountain out of a molehill. And I did not wish to marry again. And as for a man, why would I want one of those, when I have you?’
He laughed suddenly; it lightened his rather stern features and made him look more like the boy she had grown up with, before he had unexpectedly been forced to take on the role of Duke and head of the family. ‘And what about Olivia? Is she dressed like the potboy?’
‘No. She has gone riding dressed in her green habit.’ She smiled. ‘Very decorous it is too.’
He accepted a cup of tea from her. ‘Then what about bringing them to Belfont House for the Season? You used to come every year before I married Sophie.’
‘You needed me to act as your hostess, but, now you have Sophie, you don’t.’
‘Come as our guests. Sophie will enjoy your company and we can give the girls a Season to remember.’
‘Thank you, James. Let’s put it to the girls over dinner.’
Put it to the girls, he mused, as if they would be allowed to veto the suggestion. He decided not to comment.
When the two girls appeared at the dining table, they were dressed decorously. Beth’s gown was in deep rose-pink silk with a boat-shaped neck, which emphasised her smooth shoulders and long neck. The waistline, in its natural place, was encircled by a wide ribbon. Her hair had been brushed and coiled on top of her head. Livvy was in a blue gown that almost exactly mirrored the colour of her eyes. It was trimmed with quantities of matching lace. They curtsied to their uncle. ‘Good evening, Uncle,’ they said together.
He bowed slightly. ‘Elizabeth. Olivia.’
‘Oh, we are in for a scolding,’ Livvy said, as they took their places at the table and the maids moved forward to serve them. ‘His Grace is being formal.’
In spite of himself, James laughed. ‘Not at all, but you are both young ladies now and must be treated as such.’
‘Does that mean we are to be given more freedom?’ Beth asked.
‘What can you mean, more freedom?’ he queried. ‘You are not confined, are you? You may come and go within reason. I go so far as to say you are allowed far more licence that most young ladies in your position.’
Beth realised that he had seen her coming back to the house, in spite of the care she had taken to come in by the kitchen door and take the back stairs to her room. It probably meant her mother had been scolded about it and she was sorry for that. How she hated the unnatural manners of society, which dictated how she should behave. If she had been a boy…She smiled to herself; she would be Sir Something-or-other Harley, baronet and master of Beechgrove.
It was a large solid house, built a century before in rich red brick. She loved it, she loved everything about it, its nooks and crannies, the huge kitchens, the gleaming windows, the mix of old and new furniture,