We were introduced to Sir Reginald, and he is not the fearsome object that I expected to find. In his person, he gives every appearance of having been a very commanding figure when in health, but illness has made him frail—this decline, however, appears to be reversing, as he has been able to take some exercise and to dine with the family, which I understand has not been his custom.
His manners are formal and old-fashioned but without any condescension. His welcome to Maria and me did not make me feel such an intruder as Lady deCourcy has—she does not want anybody but her daughter and the children, but if the weather is fine enough for walking, we will not be in her way.
Be assured, my dear Mother, that even if all were as it should be, were my aunt affectionate and her mother’s welcome effusive, I could never be happy if I had not left you in the very capable and obliging hands of my Aunt Martin and Miss Wilson.
Please give my love to both, and write to me as often as you can.
Your affectionate daughter,
Frederica Vernon
chapter forty-seven
Reginald called at Portland Place immediately upon his arrival in town and was admitted to the drawing room, where Lady Vernon reclined upon a sofa, wrapped in shawls and with an open book on her lap. She extended her hand to him, and he bowed and gave her Miss Vernon’s letter, urging her not to delay the pleasure of reading it on his account.
Reginald studied Lady Vernon while she read her letter. She was pale and her movements languid. He recalled some remarks of his mother’s about influenza and inquired after her health as she folded the letter.
“I am quite well. I hope that you left Sir Reginald and Lady deCourcy and Catherine in good health.”
“I did, though I cannot say that I left them entirely tranquil,” he replied. “I can no longer allow them to hope that I will ever address my cousin—they might have been spared a great deal of anxiety if I had been frank from the first.”
“I am very glad that you were frank with them at last.” Lady Vernon smiled.
“And my frankness with you? You may have cause to resent my advice regarding Mr. Manwaring.”
“Indeed, I have no cause. Manwaring’s marriage is the sort that ought to be a caution to everybody against marrying for the wrong motives. Our mutual acquaintance and Miss Manwaring’s friendship with Frederica must give him some claim upon my hospitality, but I assure you, I will not have my character at the mercy of a man whose conduct has been so inconstant.”
Lady Martin, having heard that Reginald deCourcy was in the house, immediately came away from her writing desk to greet him. “How did you travel? Did these terrible rains make the roads very dirty? And what of my dear niece—how does she fare at Parklands? Is she in good looks? The country air will always bring out the best in looks.”
“Miss Vernon’s beauty is of that superior type that makes improvement unnecessary and injury impossible.”
“Ah, and if she had only been presented, she would have been universally admired. Did I tell you,” she added, addressing her niece, “that Lord Whitby called yesterday? I am certain that I did. And he asked most particularly after my niece and seemed quite downcast when he learned that she had gone to Kent. Such a handsome, good-humored man,” she added, turning to Reginald once more.
Lady Vernon repressed a smile and a shake of her head, as her aunt continued, “I told him that he must not hope to meet with Frederica again for a fortnight at least.”
“A fortnight?” cried Reginald. “I am certain that Catherine said Miss Vernon was to be with her for three or four weeks.”
“Ah, then I must be mistaken. A person of my age never makes much distinction between two weeks or three. It is only of importance to young people and to those in love.”
Reginald had no opportunity to reply, as the door was thrown open and Mrs. Johnson entered the room. The spell of heavy rains had kept Lady Vernon and her aunt from being troubled by many callers, but Mrs. Johnson would not be put off by dirty weather. The distinction of being received by Lady Martin and collecting a few scraps of gossip to scatter through London was one that not even the ruin of six inches of hem could suppress.
She was delighted to meet Reginald again, particularly at Portland Place—it supported her conviction that the young man meant to make Lady Vernon an offer of marriage, and this was confirmed by Lady Vernon’s pale and languid appearance, which must be the result of waiting for him to speak.
“Are you settled in town for the season, sir?” inquired Mrs. Johnson.
“I cannot say. There is an interest that brings me to London and another that may call me back to Kent.”
“Well, you have got to that time of life when everybody will want a share of your company, and it will be difficult to know how to please them and do your duty to your parents as well.”
“Indeed,” observed Lady Martin, “I tell my son that he must not concern himself with duty—he may keep away from me as long as he likes without ever offending me or thinking me neglected. There will be time enough to settle when you marry. Then your friends and relations may come to you, and I can only hope that the occasion will see such an improvement in Sir Reginald that you will be obliged to find a property of your own when you settle.”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” chimed in Mrs. Johnson. “For entails can be very awkward arrangements.”
“I think the purpose of an entail is an excellent one,” replied Reginald.
“Yes,” Lady Vernon observed, “but the purpose is not always borne out in practice. Not every heir can administer the property entrusted to him, and when an inheritance is neglected or driven into debt, I think that family feeling must suffer.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed her aunt. “And only think of all the daughters and wives who are cast adrift when property goes from one hand to another. What is to be done with them ought to be laid out in the entail as well. And where do you go now?” she inquired as Reginald rose to take his leave. “To your club, I expect—which is it, White’s? Clubs are very treacherous places when the weather is so wet. It keeps the members too long at wagering and cards. Many a fortune has been lost at a comfortable club on a rainy day, and that is even harder on the wives and daughters, as it brings disgrace upon them as well as poverty.”
“That is one advantage of an entail.” Reginald smiled. “I cannot lose Parklands Manor at cards.”
“A gentleman of property will see that as an advantage,” replied Lady Vernon gravely as she extended her hand, “because he will always be left with something to fall back upon, but a woman whose livelihood is in the custody of a gamester must always tremble when a reckless husband or brother goes to his club.”
“Oh, yes!” declared Mrs. Johnson. “If Mr. Johnson were affable enough to sit down to cards, he might have lost Eliza Manwaring’s fortune, as it was all left in his charge. You are left better off than Eliza,” she said to her friend, “for one brother will not breach the trust of another, but friendship often does not survive a lifetime, much less beyond it.”
Lady Vernon was grateful for Mrs. Johnson’s useful vulgarity, as it often caused her to put forth ideas that a more genteel person would be loath to express. At her allusion to Charles Vernon, Reginald became very sober and, soon after, took his leave.
“How very handsome of him to visit you so immediately upon his coming from Kent!” declared Mrs. Johnson when he was gone. “Such extraordinary attention cannot be without motive!”