There are few events in the social calendar, Gentle Reader, that are as fruitful for purveyors of the finest gossip than any entertainment organised by the Countess of Renshaw. We wait with fevered anticipation for tonight’s scandalous titbits, and will have reliable ears posted everywhere to be sure nothing salacious escapes us...
Whispers from Behind the Fan
July 1814
Five days later, and Hope was in the highest of dudgeons thanks to the useless fichu which adamantly refused to stay put, no matter how much she stuffed the edges into her neckline. As much as she hated to make Charity right about anything, she was starting to realise the red gown she had hastily donned for the Renshaws’ Summer Ball on the spur of the moment, was altogether the wrong sort of gown to adapt. The tightly fitted bodice, which sat daringly off her shoulders, was too low and the delicate watered silk was just too slippery.
Yet as much as she knew the frothy addition she had added really didn’t suit the austere cut of the garment, exactly as her maid had said, giving up on it was giving her palpitations. Because apparently Faith’s infamous scarlet gown, as her youngest sibling had dubbed it owing to it being the very dress that she had first twirled breathless with the man who went on to be her husband, which had looked so bold and elegant on her slimmer sister, was doomed to be an outrageous scandal on her.
From her hiding place behind a potted palm, she stared down at the good four inches of robust cleavage standing much too proud out of the top of it, and cursed herself for being so stupid as to don the dratted thing in the first place.
She was going to wring her meddling sister’s neck for suggesting it and their maid Lily for promptly having it pressed and laid out on her bed to tempt her.
Instead of feeling bold and beautiful for Luke tonight to give him a dazzling lasting memory of her before she left him for a month, and feeling confident about her new status as an official author under contract to the best publishing house in the land, she was now severely doubting her flawed logic. As well as feeling hideously self-conscious because she had left herself wide open to the predatory stares of the very gentlemen she abhorred while the one she had specifically worn it to entice was nowhere to be found.
The last she had seen of Luke, he had been twirling breathless with Charity who had purposely commandeered him almost as soon as he had stepped foot in the ballroom. It was obvious she had grabbed him simply to goad her, knowing full well Hope never danced as a point of principle. Which left Hope to fend off Lord Harlington and then Lord Ealing in quick succession before her wretched fichu had given up the ghost and deserted her too.
She was about to attempt one last try at repairing it, when she spotted Luke’s mother hurtling towards the French doors, her face quite ashen and her eyes wild, yet no sign of the ever-present Clowance anywhere.
Fearing for her, and mindful that Luke was concerned that she was throwing herself too quickly back into society on his behalf than she could cope with, Hope hurried out of the French doors behind her. This early in the evening, the torchlit terrace was still empty, but Maria had made a dash for the dark lawn beyond and was several yards down the path when she called her.
‘Maria! Is everything all right?’
The older woman stopped short but didn’t turn around immediately, seemingly doing her level best to calm herself before she did. ‘I thought I might take a turn around the garden. I needed some fresh air. It is so warm in there.’ Tiny beads of perspiration dewed her upper lip as she smiled and there was an agitation about her which Hope had not seen in the three weeks she had been in the capital.
‘I am not surprised. It is such a crush. I swear half of London is currently crammed in that small ballroom. I wouldn’t mind a turn about the garden myself if you would appreciate the company?’
Maria hesitated as she fought for composure, then nodded. ‘Your company would be nice...thank you.’
They set off deeper into the garden at a more sedate pace, Maria taking measured, slow breaths as she did so and Hope pretending not to notice to spare the woman her dignity. After several minutes, she was visibly calmer and back to her normal colour.
‘I am assuming my son has confided in you all my troubles?’
She schooled her features to not give him away. ‘Troubles?’
‘Oh, come now, my dear, I know that he has told you because my son is quite besotted with you and he is as honest as the day is long. He would consider himself disingenuous in pursuing his affections if he concealed the sorry truth from you, and quite rightly too. If you are marching headlong into marriage, which I can plainly see you both are, it is only fair you know what you are walking into. If he hasn’t, I will.’ Dark eyes, so like her son’s, dared her to deny it. ‘For you have a right to know, even though I would rather nobody ever knew the terrible truth at all and it shames me to have to admit to it.’
‘He mentioned you had been ill.’
‘I was more than ill, Hope. I was mad. Twice apparently. Though I am certain one of those was not entirely of my own doing, so I try to be kind to myself about that one.’ Maria was staring intently, carefully watching Hope’s reaction and obviously dreading it at the same time. ‘Though I am not any longer, thank the lord. At least I do not feel mad. I suppose that could be more delusion on my part than actuality, as heaven only knows I have been prone to delusions a time or two, but I don’t think it is. At least it doesn’t feel like it is.’ She shrugged and smiled without humour. ‘This little episode of panic notwithstanding, of course, which I hope you will not judge me for.’
‘You need feel no shame nor fear nor judgement from me.’
‘But I do, Hope. I fear your pity, because I would hate for you to view me as a lesser, more feeble person because of my past and because sometimes certain situations temporarily overwhelm me.’
Maria squared her shoulders bravely, humbling Hope with her honesty and her trust. ‘But it is temporary. I become overanxious occasionally, especially in confined or unfamiliar places as I did just then—but it passes, as you can see.’
‘I can see, and to be brutally honest with you, Maria, had Luke not confided in me, I would never have guessed you had been ill. He led me to believe you were much more fragile than you are.’
‘That is because he is unnecessarily, and dare I say it, annoyingly overprotective and terrified I will lose my wits again. He sees every little panic as evidence of my inevitable decline, the wretch, so I try to hide it from him. Hence I am here and not in there, as he will frogmarch me home and wrap me in a blanket, and treat me like an invalid again.’
‘He is annoyingly overprotective.’ Which as irritating traits went wasn’t so terrible.
‘And you won’t tell him you saw me in a state?’
‘I can think of no earthly reason why he needs to know.’
Maria smiled. ‘Thank you. It’ll only send him into a panic when even my physician says that there is a stark difference between occasional anxiety and certifiable insanity.’
‘A crowded ballroom can be daunting at the best of times, especially if you are not used to it or fear the judgement of others.’
‘Alas much as I fear them judging me, it is Luke I would prefer to protect. I should hate for my past to taint his future or make his new life here any more difficult than it needs to be. I so wish I could stop him worrying about me having a relapse as I have absolutely no intention of having another one again.’
Hope reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘From what Luke has told me, you wouldn’t have had a relapse if his callous brother hadn’t had you committed in the first place. He said you were quite well when they took you away and had been for years.’
Maria’s smile was filled with regret. ‘I was well. I am glad he remembered that...’ She stared down at her hands. ‘We do not tend to talk about it...at least not as openly as you and I are talking about it now. I know that he worries about my mental state and any mention of it distresses him because he felt so impotent about it all when they took me away. And I never bring it up because I hate seeing him distressed. It’s silly really, I suppose, as one cannot erase the past, but I so wish I could properly apologise to him for it. I feel it sits between us—the great unsaid—always hovering in the air but never cleared.’
Hope squeezed her arm. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. You were the victim of Cassius. He is entirely to blame.’
‘For Mill House and what happened there, yes. Undoubtedly. I know without a shadow of a doubt that dreadful place drove me mad, and on purpose too. But when after Luke liberated me from that cesspit and worked his fingers to the bone getting me the very best care and treatments to make me well again, I came to understand what had sent me mad in the first place and I wish I could apologise to him for it all in a way that doesn’t make him feel responsible for that too.’ Tears were swimming in her eyes now. ‘For I blamed him for it for years and was a dreadful mother to him as a result.’
‘Why would you blame Luke for what happened?’
Maria stared at her feet. ‘Because it was having him that sent me mad, Hope. Insanity of childbirth my physician calls it...’ Her expression turned wistful. ‘I was so looking forward to becoming a mother. Of having something to love and nurture but...’ She roughly dabbed her tears away with the corner of her shawl. ‘The moment I had my baby I lost my mind. There was no joy, none of the overwhelming love and instant bond I was promised by every woman who had experienced childbirth. Only a deep seated and toxic sadness which ate away at my brain and as a result of it, I neglected to love my sweet, kind and innocent boy for years, allowing the servants to bring him up while I wallowed in my own pit of despair and leaving him to run wild.’
‘You weren’t well, Maria.’ And her heart bled for them both. ‘Luke doesn’t blame you for any of that, and I doubt he even realises you felt those things.’
‘That is because Luke has always been a rescuer at heart who flatly refuses to accept the fact that he cannot change things. He’ll work tirelessly until he has found a way around the problem, or over it or under it, and he’ll eventually fix it because he cannot bear to see anyone distressed.’
‘He is a good man.’ One who, ironically, filled her pessimistic heart with hope.
‘He was still very young when he found a way to fix me which all my husband’s expensive physicians failed to find. Somebody, and it shames me that I have no idea who, taught him to read, and he started reading to me. Book after book after book until all those pages built a bridge between us and dragged me back. He did that again when he rescued me from Mill House too.’
‘He never told me that.’
Maria sighed as she smiled. ‘He loves you.’ As much as that warmed her, Hope had no idea how to respond to that, and settled for a slightly dismissive shrug because it didn’t feel right discussing those things with his mother when they hadn’t talked about it first. ‘It isn’t catching you know...my madness...in case that is why you are reticent about committing to him.’
Hope paused and blinked, shocked that the woman would even say such a thing. ‘The notion hadn’t even crossed my mind.’
‘I am relieved to hear it and confess I have been working on that long speech to explain it all to you in case my condition was the thing which was holding you back.’ Maria threaded her arm through hers. ‘But if it isn’t that, then what is it? As I confess I cannot fathom why you are both so keen to pretend you are not head over heels for one another when any fool with eyes in their head can plainly see that you are. Your mother and I are baffled by it.’
And there Hope had misguidedly thought she had been hiding her true feelings so well from her nearest and dearest. Clearly not if Maria and her mother had discussed it, doubtless over one of their many daily cups of tea. ‘She hasn’t mentioned it.’ Which now she considered it, was a trifle odd as her dear mama had been trying to get Hope to find herself a nice gentleman for years and Charity had not been subtle.
‘We agreed not to, my dear, as your mother said any interference would likely make you dig your stubborn heels in further and Luke flatly refuses to talk about it either, even though he is not usually so backwards about coming forward. To be frank, all this tight-lipped secrecy is most unlike him when he is normally one for jumping in with both feet once he has made up his mind.’
Hope stared at her hands while she weighed up how to answer such an obviously pointed and probing question, then decided that after Maria’s stark honesty about her illness, she owed her the same. ‘It is my fault... I have never been good with trusting men. So many of them have proved to be such predictable disappointments, I am wary of jumping in with both feet now in case...’
‘My son disappoints you too?’
She nodded. ‘I suppose you think that is unfair of me.’
Maria stared at her levelly. ‘I know it is unfair of you as he has done nothing to deserve it.’ She smiled to soften the admonishment. ‘But I understand more than anyone how hard it can be to trust, especially if your trust has been shattered by others. However, if I might be annoyingly philosophical and wise for a moment, I would ask you to look at it all another way. A way my physician helped me to separate my fears from reality. Instead of standing still, paralysed by fear and waiting for the worst to happen, try striding forward to embrace it. You’ll have no control over it otherwise.’ Then she slanted her a knowing glance. ‘And, let’s face it, Hope, you’ll never stride anywhere if you remain rooted to your balcony, staring at him longingly across those pesky railings while he stares longingly back at you.’
Her smile confirmed that their secret courtship, which Hope had been at great pains to keep private, wasn’t the least bit private at all. ‘Do you love him?’
Yes. So completely it petrifies me.
‘I might.’
‘Are you going to marry him?’
‘He hasn’t asked.’
‘He will.’ Then Maria grinned a lopsided grin exactly like her son’s. ‘As I doubt the three dozen rose bushes he’s already ordered to be planted at Tregally this month are for me. All yellow—quite a specific order don’t you think? When I can assure you, he has never taken the slightest interest in gardening before.’