could have the effect of making her a poor widow instead of a rich one?
But she was young and she could not regret the loss of a fortune. She was still mourning for Edward whom she had loved, if not passionately, with devotion and gratitude.
She was delighted when Papa arrived to take her back to Brambridge.
Mary Smythe was glad to have her daughter at home, but she did deplore what she called her lack of worldliness. Edward had been ready to sign his will and what had stopped him was Maria ... the chief beneficiary!
'My goodness!' cried Mary. 'What irony! A fortune handed to you and you calmly say, "Later, please. Let us ride first." Really, Maria!'
'Oh, Mamma, how was I to know ...?'
'No, no, my dearest, of course you did not. But I think you should try and take a slightly more practical view in future/
'Mamma, it is over. Dear Edward is dead and I am not rich, though I have enough. I must be content with that.'
Mary Smythe sighed. Her daughter grew more beautiful every day. Would a young widow have as much chance of finding a husband as an unmarried girl? She was not sure, for the widow was very little better off than the young girl had been.
Maria stayed at her parents' house for some months and then decided to take a cottage nearby on Colden Common, which was not a bad idea. 'It makes her status clear/ said Mary to Walter, 'and after a year of mourning there is no reason why Maria should not go into society again. She will then be under twenty which, Walter, you must admit is very young. And I begin to think that our Maria is beautiful enough to do without a dowry/
'No one is beautiful enough for that, Mary.'
'You are a cynic, Walter. Maria married Edward did she not? She would have been rich but for her own folly ... well, hardly that—heedlessness. But I doubt not that she has now learned that financial affairs should be settled at the earliest possible moment—and that is a very valuable lesson learned.'
'At the price of a fortune, yes.'
'Perhaps my brother will help again. He was very useful before. But Maria must have her year to mourn poor Edward. Then we shall see.'
So Maria settled quietly in her cottage.
Henry Errington was very interested in his sister's family, having none of his own, and he made up his mind that having succeeded in finding Maria a husband once he would do so again; but like his sister and her husband he agreed that the year of mourning must first be lived through.
Maria found life in her little cottage with the one servant she could afford, suited to her mood. She thought a great deal of that short period when she had been mistress of Lulworth Castle and was sad mourning poor Edward who had loved her so devotedly and had doubtless shortened his life in trying to keep up with her youth. There had been no need. She had not wished him to.
But she was sensible enough to know that her feeling for him had been no deep-rooted emotion. She had tried to please him because she enjoyed pleasing people; and after a few months she began to find the quiet life at the cottage very much to her taste. She read a great deal; she studied politics, for she quickly realized that she was living in momentous times. The conflict with the American colonies was certainly one of vital importance; she followed the activities of Pitt— now Lord Chatham; and she thought often of affairs in France and was a little sad because the King who had presented her with a dish of sugar plums had died and on the throne was now that gauche young Dauphin and his dainty Austrian-born wife.
Well, nothing remained the same and she wondered how long she would stay in her little cottage on Colden Common. She knew that Uncle Henry had his eye on her. They would soon start matchmaking again. But at the moment there was respite, and she could enjoy it.
As her brother Walter came breathlessly into the cottage, one glance was enough to show her that something was very wrong.
'Maria,' he said, 'come home at once. Papa has been taken very ill.'
She snatched up her cloak and climbed into the trap. She had never seen Walter so serious.
'Tell me what happened/ she demanded.
'Mamma went to see what had happened to him and found him in his chair unable to move/
Through the avenue of limes they went as fast as the pony would take them and as soon as they stopped by the door Maria leaped down and ran indoors.
Her mother, white faced and silent, embraced her. The doctors were with Walter Smythe; and it did not take them long to give their verdict. He had had a stroke which had paralysed him.
Life had indeed changed in the house in Brambridge. Maria gave up the cottage and went home to console her mother, but with poor Papa an invalid who would never walk again, nothing was the same.
Uncle Henry came over and was a great consolation; he would be a father to the family, he said. Frances should remain with the Blew Nuns to complete her education, for no good could come in bringing her home; and the boys would have to be found careers, which was not easy, as being Catholics they would be debarred from the professions most suited to their position in life, such as government posts, the Bar or the Army or Navy.
Uncle Henry stayed with them for a while but Maria discovered that her uncle, although a delightful host, a man who loved to entertain and who enjoyed good food and wine, was not really suited to be the guardian of boys who were fast becoming men. The discipline imposed by their father was completely lacking and Maria had some uneasy moments contemplating their future.
It was now that she regretted her ill luck or lack of pre-
Mrs. Fitzherbert 37
science which had prevented her from seeing that the will was signed before that fatal ride. What a lot she could have done for her family if she had been the rich widow of Lulworth Castle instead of the poor one of a cottage on Colden Common!
Uncle Henry was, however, very interested in his beautiful niece and he was constantly endeavouring to see that she was not hidden from sight. One of his friends was Thomas Fitzherbert, a rich Catholic squire who had estates in Swynnerton in Staffordshire and Norbury in Derbyshire; he was some thirty years old—older than Maria, it was true, but Maria was now no inexperienced girl. Uncle Henry was right when he guessed that Tom Fitzherbert would be impressed by his niece.
'She is delightful,' he cried. 4 I am sure, Henry, that I never saw a more lovely girl.'
Uncle Henry chuckled. If Maria married Tom Fitzherbert she would have a life more suited to her than that she had had through her first marriage. Edward Weld had been very worthy, a good rich Catholic husband, but he had been somewhat old for Maria and he had really lived too quietly at Lulworth. Tom Fitzherbert knew how to live well—which was in that manner so enjoyed by Henry Errington. Maria would really have been wasted at Lulworth where comparatively little entertaining had been done.
As Henry predicted it was not long before Tom Fitzherbert was making his intentions clear; and Maria, like the good sensible girl she was, accepted him.
Maria was just turned twenty-one when she became Mrs. Fitzherbert.
Maria was quickly to discover that life with Thomas Fitzherbert had a great deal more to offer than that which she had enjoyed with Edward Weld. Now she had an energetic husband, who was as devoted to her in his way as Edward Weld had been in his. Maria was beautiful, goodnatured, poised and intelligent and Thomas Fitzherbert was certainly not disappointed in the marriage—nor was Maria.
They had plenty of money; they entertained lavishly, not
only in the country but in London where they had a house in Park Street, off Park Lane. Here politicians and members of the aristocracy came often and the conversation was witty and amusing. Maria Fitzherbert began to be known as one of the most successful hostesses in London; and how much more to Maria's taste was London life than that of the country!