“Yet they have only to look to their own family to see the error of their premise. What of Mr. Lewis deCourcy? He is wealthy and unmarried and as amiable and contented a gentleman as I have ever met.”
“Perhaps the example of Sir Reginald’s marriage persuaded his brother that a good character, an honorable occupation, and the pleasure of never having to give an account of himself to anyone were all the domestic comfort he wished for.”
“And yet,” said Frederica gravely, “a gentleman may seek comfort as readily with vice as with virtue, if he is never called to account for himself.”
“Not every gentleman can enjoy such liberty,” declared a masculine voice. “I must account to Mother for my vices and virtues as rigorously as a cook must account for the spoons.”
Sir James Martin had come up behind them. He stepped between the two ladies and offered an arm to each.
“And what account will you give my aunt for your time at Langford, cousin?” asked Frederica. “I have not seen you attend to anything like business since you arrived.”
“Nonsense, my dear Freddie. I have killed three dozen birds and danced as many dances, and I have read the newspaper every morning and played at billiards in the afternoon and at cards every night. I have admired Miss Claudia’s new spencer and Miss Lucy’s fashion plates and Lady Hamilton’s pug and Mrs. Manwaring’s geraniums. I have written letters to both my mother and my tailor every day. I do not think there is a gentleman at Langford who has been half so industrious.”
“Then perhaps you ought to go back to Ealing Park, where you might recover from your exertions,” declared Lady Vernon.
“I will go today, if you will both come with me.”
“It would please me very much to see my Aunt Martin,” Lady Vernon replied. “But the master of Ealing Park is the sort of deceitful, giddy person that I do not like at all.”
“And what do you say to that, Freddie?” inquired her cousin.
“I do not think that you are deceitful.”
“There!” Sir James laughed. “If a young lady of such sound and analytical mind cannot think me deceitful, then her mother must be mistaken. What is your opinion, Freddie?”
Frederica reflected upon the question. “In science, if our conclusions do not prove true, we must go back to the premise.”
“Very sound! So what is the foundation of your mother’s dis pleasure?”
“I can think of nothing that you have done to offend my mother. I am sure that the great kindness you have shown us both places us greatly in your debt.”
“And what is your reply to that?” Sir James asked Lady Vernon.
“That it is the very notion of indebtedness that offends me” was his cousin’s reply.
“I think that ‘indebtedness’ is a term for business or to be used among strangers,” observed Sir James. “Surely among relations there is only generosity and regard.”
“You did not regard my instructions concerning Vernon Castle. I had asked for advice and assistance, not for alms. I am grateful that it was not more generally known that you were the purchaser,” she added.
“It would have been very ungenerous indeed to have Sir Frederick exposed as the object of his relations’ charity.”
“You asked for assistance in finding a purchaser, which is precisely what I did. You did not ask that you approve the purchaser—you and Sir Frederick gave me leave to manage all. Come, my dear cousin, we must not quarrel. Give me your opinion, Freddie, for you are a very sensible girl. Was I wrong to buy Vernon Castle? If you tell me that I have done wrong, I will beg forgiveness.”
Frederica pondered his question. “I think that you deliberately withheld information from my mother that she ought to have had.”
“There!” Lady Vernon declared.
“But,” her daughter added, “my cousin’s motives were for the best, and he acted out of generosity, so as not to let dear Vernon Castle go to strangers. If he has offended you, I think he ought to have been forgiven.”
“A very sound answer,” Sir James replied. “What goodness and compassion! Can you have acquired it without any encouragement from your parents? Surely something must be attributed to maternal influence.”
Lady Vernon found herself smiling and realized that she had believed that she ought to be angry with her cousin after all sensation of anger had gone. She had never been able to remain cross with him for very long. His liveliness, good humor, and wit were the sort that might test one’s patience but never provoke a permanent ill will.
“Come, Susan, sit down on this bench here in the sun—you are far too pale. Freddie, walk to the greenhouse and let me talk to your mother alone. Then I will come join you and cut one of the roses for you on purpose to vex the Misses Hamilton.”
“It is wrong to encourage discord, cousin.”
“It is worse to encourage hope.”
Frederica gave him a reproving smile and left them alone.
“It is good to see her smile,” Sir James remarked.
“She has had little enough to smile about.”
“Do you still mean to send her off to school?”
“Frederica can have no better opportunity to acquaint herself with the advantages and manners of London,” Lady Vernon replied. “She has seen too little of the world.”
“Perhaps she is all the better for it.” After a moment’s reflection, Sir James added, “Susan, I do ask you to forgive me and offer you Vernon Castle if you like. The Edwardses are very genteel, unimaginative folk who did not move a chair nor trim a hedge—it will all be as you remember it. They depart after the Christmas season. It can be yours on the first of January.”
“I do not wish to be as far from Freddie as Staffordshire. Not every mother can be like my Aunt, who looks to the first of the year when she can send you off to London and enjoy Derbyshire in peace and quiet.”
“Too much peace and quiet will dull the mind—think what Mother would be if she had no troublesome son to whet her better nature and to sharpen her wits upon! She might have sunk to an Eliza Manwaring or a Lady Hamilton. Every mother should have such a son, do you not agree?”
“We all have our share of maternal pride, cousin. I think as well of my daughter as any mother does of her son—I wish for nothing more, except perhaps some assurance that it will be in her power to attract a husband of consequence.”
“How can you say so when everyone whispers that she is being sent to London in order to be finished for me?”
“You may laugh as much as you like, but I cannot afford to be diverted where Freddie’s future is concerned.”
“I will not laugh, I cannot laugh, if you cannot afford to share my mirth. Come, Susan—we are not good at keeping secrets from one another—what allowance will you have for your diversion?”
“Per annum?” she returned with a renewal of spirit. “I think that it will be something more than you paid for the new mantelpiece at Cavendish Square and considerably less than the annual bill from your tailor. Now, do not look grim, cousin, and do not think of making us the object of your charity once more. We will not want for a roof over our heads.”
“I do not like that it is Manwaring’s roof,” replied he. “I like it even less than I did when I left you at Churchill. Manwaring’s attentions have made you the object of some very unpleasant talk—the gentlemen, of course, can say nothing offensive in my presence, but the ladies do not have to be so circumspect. They may cast as many winks and allusions as they like and have no fear of a calling-out.”
“I am not wounded, cousin. Lady Hamilton’s wit makes for a dull weapon.”
“She is not to be taken lightly, Susan. Her connection with the deCourcy family means that everything she sees here will find its way to Mrs. Charles Vernon.”
“I am convinced that Mrs. Vernon cannot dislike me more than she does already. I am grateful to Lady Hamilton for giving her niece some foundation for her aversion. I would not want to be hated for nothing.”