Page 26 of The Viscount's Pearl
Lord Sabin, a widowed cousin of Lady Lilley’s known to them as Uncle Richard, and his daughter, Lady Andrea, joined them for Christmas and Frances found herself wishing that her parents might follow Lord Sabin’s approach regarding his daughter’s marriage. Lady Andrea had come out the previous year, but her father seemed to show no hurry to have her wed and off his hands.
“Ah, there is plenty of time,” he said indulgently, when Lady Lilley asked about Lady Andrea’s marriage prospects. “I willkeep her close to me while I can, for she will leave me soon enough and I shall miss her when she does, my last to fly the nest. The house will be quiet without her. I have no desire to pack her off to fortune-hunters or young men barely out of their nurseries, so there is no hurry to make a match.”
“Do you have someone you wish to marry?” Frances asked Lady Andrea when they were alone.
Lady Andrea shook her head. “There are a few whom I find pleasing,” she said. “But as Papa says, why hurry? He took his time choosing dear Mama and they were very happy together for many years. Why does your mother want you to marry in haste?”
Frances shrugged. “I have been out for four years, while she was married to Papa by the end of her first season. And they are happy enough together.” This was true up to a point, but even Frances would have had to acknowledge that Uncle Richard’s marriage had been a love match, while the Lilleys were no such thing – they were, as Mr Mowatt had put it, respectful to one another and there was some affection or at least contentment between them. By the dictates of theton, theirs was a successful marriage, but she wondered whether Mr Mowatt knew of what he spoke when he said he wanted only a marriage of convenience. Would it make him happy? Still, that was his concern, not hers. He was a pleasant young man, no doubt he would arrange a satisfactory marriage. He seemed clear on what he needed in a wife, which must surely help matters along. Frances had never been sure of what she wanted in a man, she had only identified what she found annoying. Which was most men, their disinterest in her shells, their incessant need to talk, their evident distaste for her blunt way of speaking or topics of conversation.
She smiled as she thought of Mr Mowatt and how shocked by her conversation or behaviour he had been on various occasions, but at least, unlike other men of her acquaintance, he hadpersevered in talking with her, which was unusual. She had grown to like their conversations, for he did not persist with false flattery as many young men she had met tended to do, instead he seemed to find her half odd, half amusing, yet worthy of his time. He had proven a quick learner regarding her shells, trying to recollect the Latin names of her finds and looking about him to find suitable items to add to her collection. It was pleasant, she admitted to herself, to have someone her age to talk with from time to time who did not always insist on boring small talk and the niceties of polite conversation. In some ways he reminded her of her friend Elizabeth Belmont, who was quietly willing to allow each person to be their true selves, to accept them as they were, a rare skill in a society that demanded all must follow the same rules and be nought but paper doll copies of one another.
She hoped perhaps to see Mr Mowatt again when they returned to London, for there would certainly be little chance of escaping to Margate once the season proper had started. This festive season would be her last respite before plunging back into the marriage mart and she was determined to make the most of it.
Laurence was welcomed home with open arms by his father and his Aunt Constance.
“Laurence! You have beaten both your sisters here, though they will be hot on your heels, I hope. It looks like snow.”
Sure enough, only a few hours passed before his two sisters Arabella and Edith arrived in their carriages, husbands in tow. They had married within a few months of one another and now were both expecting, so that all of the household fussed about them, ensuring their every comfort.
“Are we not to enjoy snowball fights, then?” asked Laurence. “It is how we used to pass our winters.”
“We shall nominate our husbands to act in our stead,” said Arabella cheerfully. “You will get thrashed, Laurence.”
“And you will stay cosy and warm and watch from the windows, I suppose?”
“Indeed. Tell your man to be ready to dress you all over again, for you will be quite soaked through by the time they are done with you.”
So it proved when Laurence and his two brothers-in-law, as well as his father, braved the snowy-swept gardens to have a vigorous snowball fight, though he put up a fine defence. Roberts only shook his head with a smile, having already prepared a hot bath and warmed clothes for Laurence to change into.
Laurence had dreaded the visit, for it was the first time he had spent Christmas with his family since his mother’s death four years previously. That following year, unable to bear the thought of celebrations without her, he had gladly taken up an invitation from a friend to spend Christmas in Scotland and each year afterwards he had found a way to celebrate the season elsewhere. But this year he had run out of excuses and had steeled himself for a Christmas lacking her warmth and sense of fun.
To his surprise, there was still her touch on the days that followed. Her portrait hung in the drawing room where they gathered each day about the fire to breakfast, to play silly games, to read alone or to each other, or to play cards. His sisters’ voices echoed her tones and the cook, Mrs Williams, took care to serve dishes he remembered from his youth, including the Maids of Honour and preserved cherries that had been his mother’s favourites. He had forgotten, in the unending whirl of social parties of one kind and another that he spent his time attending, that his family were not much given to grand balls and formal dinners, preferring to spend time alone or with closeneighbours, some of whom made their way through the snowy lanes to join in the festive cheer, sharing hearty meals and foolish games of charades or Blind Man’s Buff, causing much merriment. In the mornings and early afternoons, when the weak sun showed its face, he and his father wrapped up warm and walked about the estate with the dogs in tow, talking of everything and nothing at all.
“It is good to have you with us this year, Laurence, we have missed you.”
“I should have joined you sooner, I –”
His father patted his shoulder. “There is no need to explain, Laurence, it is a hard thing to lose a mother. We all of us miss her, but I like to think I see her in the three of you when you are together, a little bit in each of you. It comforts my heart.”
“I will join you again next year,” said Laurence. “I was afraid it would not feel like old times, but it does, even with Mother missing.”
“It is our memories of her that bring her back to us,” said his father, his voice wavering. “She loved Christmas. She was not one for travelling here there and everywhere to attend the best parties when she could stay at home and enjoy the family.”
That evening, Aunt Constance took Laurence aside. “I hope you will choose a bride soon,” she said. “Your sisters are beginning their own families. It would be a happy thing if all your children might be of an age to play together. Do you have a woman in mind?”
“Possibly, Aunt,” said Laurence. He meant Honora, of course, but for one moment he thought of Frances, how she had spoken with fondness of her nephews and nieces, had said she enjoyed time with them. Which was absurd of course, since she did not intend to marry.
“Will you tell me more about her?” she asked, smiling.
“Not just yet, Aunt,” he managed, confused by the thought of Frances appearing to him in the place of Honora.
She patted his hand. “All in God’s time, then, but I look forward to welcoming her into our family,” she said kindly. “The right woman by your side will be the making of you, Laurence.”
It was almost February by the time the roads were clear and safe enough to return to London and Laurence bid a fond farewell to his sisters, wishing them well in their confinements. He promised to return for a spring visit to his father and aunt, then travelled back to London, glad of the thick coat and furs his aunt had piled onto him, since the weather was still bitterly cold.
For the first time since he had set up in London, Laurence found that his rooms at Albany felt empty. The thought that he might continue on as he had done for the past few years for many more years to come, only with a larger finer house to be his one day, was dismal rather than exciting. He had forgotten the warmth that family brought and now that he was alone again, he felt its absence. Still, he had invitations to spare piling up on the tray in his drawing room, and elite amongst them all was the prized voucher that would gain him admittance to Almack’s, indicating him as an eligible young man in this season’s marriage mart. There would be some fun to have. But he decided he would visit home more often and keep his father company, for he had enjoyed their time together and besides, he could learn about how to manage the estate that would one day be his. His sisters, too, had been of good cheer and soon they would be delivered of their babies, making him an uncle. Perhaps he might spend time with the youngsters as they grew up. He liked the idea of being a kindly uncle to them, as Lord Barrington had so generously been to him. For now, he mustshrug off his feelings of solitude and enjoy his carefree bachelor days.
After a bumpy and chilly journey from Woodside Abbey, Frances awoke to the dripping sound of icicles melting outside her window and a rising dread inside. London’s frozen winter was slowly giving way to the first days of March, heralding the return of theton.The men made their way to Parliament, which was promptly delayed, leaving them with little to do for the next few weeks. The women, however, had much to do, for now the season would begin in earnest. All efforts made in the Little Season paled into comparison compared to the dedication that would be committed to the marriage mart for the next twelve weeks.
