Amelia admired Saunton’s green coat and cream pantaloons moulded to his tall, supple figure. His black hair still thick and glossy, he looked no less handsome than on the last occasion they met. The one on which he wore his splendid hussar uniform and she refused to marry him.
Saunton bowed. “Miss Carstairs, my sincere condolences upon the sad loss of your grandmother.”
His presence entangled her like a fly struggling in a spider’s web.
The earl raised an eyebrow. She should thank him for his commiseration but overpowered by his presence could not speak.
“We meet again by your grandmother’s contrivance,” he declared his face impassive.
Amelia sank onto an overstuffed chair. “Please be seated, my lord.”
Saunton remained upright. Amelia wished he would sit instead of gazing down at her. Several long drawn out moments followed until she forced herself to speak again. “I cannot understand why Grandmamma made you my guardian.”
The earl’s frown deepened, his slanted eyebrows drew towards each other. Amelia shrank back in her chair.
“Mrs Bettismore did not inform you of her decision before her demise?”
Demise! Another dreadful word applied to her grandmother. “No, she did not hint at it. Leigh, Grandmamma’s… I mean my secretary informed me she appointed you.”
His chin thrust forward. “I daresay you would prefer me to go to the devil.”
“N…no, it would be unchristian.”
“You are charitable.” A glint in his dark eyes hinted at his amusement over her confusion. “Even if you don’t wish me to go to hell, you are not at ease with me. Allow me to reassure you. I did not want to have a ward, but since I have no choice in the matter, I promise not to be a harsh guardian. I shall say no more now. After Mrs Bettismore’s funeral, there will be much to discuss.”
At his mention of her grandmother’s internment tears filled her eyes.
“Indeed, Miss Carstairs, I do offer you my most sincere condolences,” Saunton said, his voice gentle. “The church exhorts us to resign ourselves to death, but it is difficult to accept that of someone dear to us. Yet, the first King Charles said, before he laid his head on the block, I go from a corruptible world to an incorruptible one. We must hope those words apply to Mrs Bettismore.”
Amelia dabbed her tears away with her linen handkerchief with a black border, grateful to him for seeming to understand her sentiments. “Thank you, my lord.”
“In view of our close connection you may call me Saunton.”
“Grandmamma would have disapproved.”
“Since she is no longer here to offer her opinion we may ignore it,” the earl said his voice still gentle.
“I love my grandmother very much. I cannot imagine my life without her. What shall I do?” Fearful she gazed into the unfathomable depths of the earl’s eyes.
He studied her face until she looked away from hm. “What do you want to do?”
She shook her head, unable to consider the time ahead in which she would not be cocooned by Grandmamma although, at times, she had endured pain inflicted on her while she emerged from the chrysalis of childhood. Her grandmother punished her even minor faults with the cane and rarely praised her. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you have time to decide on the direction your future will take. In the meantime, I have chosen a lady to be your companion.”
Amelia winced. Without doubt an elderly dragon who will spout fire and brimstone in response to the smallest fault.
Saunton smiled. “Don’t look so alarmed. I think you will like her. Do you remember Mrs Tarrant?”
She shuddered. Yes, I remember her. I cannot forget either her or her odious younger sister. The ten-year-old arranged funerals for her dolls. She said one of them would look like me when she pretended it died. The impertinent girl even declared: If God gathers you to His bosom you might look like the doll on its bier.
“Miss Carstairs?”
Saunton’s voice recalled her from the memory.
“Yes.”
“I asked you if you remember Mrs Tarrant.”
“I do. She is well-known in polite society.”
“Mrs Tarrant married before she either entered polite society or was presented at court. My friend, Major Tarrant, engaged Mrs Deane, his distant relative, to chaperone her. I discussed your situation with Mrs Tarrant and-”
“You spoke of me to her?” she interrupted. A spurt of indignation animated her for the first time since Grandmamma’s soul left her body.
“Is there any reason why I should not have consulted Mrs Tarrant about your welfare?”
Her resentment flared. “What advice could she give you concerning me? She conversed with a filthy urchin in the street outside the theatre! Word claimed she later provided for the brat and its equally dirty father.”
Saunton frowned, his disapproval of her answer obvious. “A destitute former soldier, who served under Mrs Tarrant’s late father, is a better description. I admire her kind heart, but the man and his daughter’s unfortunate situation have nothing to do with my decision. The lady, who will be your companion is Mrs Deane, a widow with entry to the best circles you are accustomed to.”
Amelia remembered the definite twinkle in her grandmother’s eyes when she commented on gentlemen. My child, always remember they expect ladies to treat them like gods. When we defer or pretend to defer to them life is agreeable.
She checked any sign of her anger. “You are my guardian, so I daresay you know what is best for me.”
Until this calamity, if she tried to avoid any faults that would anger Grandmamma, she enjoyed a privileged, pleasant life. She feared if she did not submit to Saunton’s decisions on her behalf, her future would be disagreeable.
Saunton’s dark eyes narrowed. “I hope you mean, in your own words, you believe I know what is best for you, but I doubt it.”
Amelia tensed. She must choose her words with care. Previous experience had taught her the earl could not be easily fooled. Saunton promised he would not be a harsh guardian but it seemed he would ride roughshod over her. What else could she anticipate from her former betrothed, who had expected her to give up every elegance in life to share his hardships while he served in the army? Of course, she refused. The idea of sharing a tent with him, whatever the weather and other austerities, had been insupportable. Afraid of the future, she could not look at him.
“Your chaperone will arrive tomorrow. I shall attend Mrs Bettismore’s committal to the grave at night. Mrs Deane will support you.”
Amelia sighed with relief. Thank God, only men attended funerals. She gazed at the tips of Saunton’s glossy Hessian boots, too nervous of him to say she would prefer Blythe to sustain her.
Yates opened the door. “Mr and Mrs Babbacombe,” he announced.
“My poor child,” Mrs Babbacombe gushed.
Saunton glanced at the lady. He turned around. With his back to the visitors he rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, Miss Carstairs, I must leave. There are matters to discuss with Mr Leigh. I shall return tomorrow afternoon, by which time Mrs Deane should have arrived.”
* * *
Saunton walked into the secretary’s well-appointed office with a large mahogany desk, and bookshelves filled with ledgers and rolls of paper tied with string.
Mr Leigh stood and bowed.
“Leigh?”
“At your service, my lord.”
Saunton approved of the gentleman’s well-ordered grey hair, dark brown coat, with a black armband around the right sleeve to indicate his previous employer’s death, and beige pantaloons.
“Be seated Leigh.”
Saunton sat on a chair opposite the desk. Even in this room the late Mrs Bettismore’s taste prevailed. Torn between amusement and disdain he surveyed wallpaper of a brighter hue than a lovebird’s plumage and brass fittings polished until they shone. Bright green curtains hung at the window. Through it he observed a large garden enclosed by a high brick wall, and divided by gravel paths, and smooth lawns edged with shrubs.
“Leigh, I assume you are familiar with all of Mrs Bettismore’s business?”
The gentleman nodded. “So far as I am aware of.”
“Your help will be invaluable. For now, I merely came to inform you I have engaged a lady called Mrs Deane to chaperone Miss Carstairs. She will be paid quarterly. Miss Carstairs will meet the cost of any clothes and other items necessary for Mrs Deane’s position.”
“I shall add her name to the ledger, instruct Yates to allocate her a bedchamber and –” Leigh looked at him questioningly, “a parlour and a dressing room.”
“Good. Tomorrow afternoon, I shall return to introduce Mrs Deane to Miss Carstairs.” He stood. “Good day, to you Leigh.”
Back at The Golden Lion, Saunton went to his private parlour. He seized a decanter and poured himself a glass of brandy. Good God! Since he received the news he had been appointed Amelia Carstairs’ guardian, he drank more brandy during the day than before.
Glass in hand, he sank onto a chair appreciative of his affectionate family. He pitied Miss Carstairs who seemed to have no blood relatives. Why did her father and his family refuse to acknowledge her?
Saunton sipped the brandy. When he first arrived at Miss Carstairs’ house, he dreaded being confronted with a female watering pot. Instead, despite Miss Carstairs’ pale complexion and reddened eyes with dark circles under them, her control of her sensibilities impressed him.
A memory of his ward, two years ago, dressed in a white silk ball gown trimmed with artificial daisies, formed in his mind’s eye. He compared her former radiance with the slender figure swathed in black. Who would not sympathise with the beauty’s loss?
Saunton despised the disgust with which she spoke of Georgianne’s first protégés, the penniless soldier and his daughter. He tapped his fingers against the empty glass. Maybe he should not be surprised by his ward’s lack of compassion. Mrs Bettismore once owned coal mines, where even women and very young children worked in appalling conditions, ones he intended to speak against in The House. Moreover, at the time of her death, she owned a cotton mill in Lancashire in which the workers toiled for long hours for which they earned little. Another matter to speak against?
Either Miss Carstairs reaction towards the impoverished girl and her father arose from her own cold heart, ignorance, or from Mrs Bettismore’s lack of compassion for the poor. He would not know until he became better acquainted with his ward. But, did he want to?
Saunton sighed. Until Miss Carstairs either married or reached the age of thirty, when she would gain control of her inheritance, he must do his duty by her. He hoped she would wed soon. The horrid realisation that he must ensure she did not fall prey to unsuitable suitors struck him with the full force of a gale.
* * *
Unable to sleep, Amelia rang for Blythe to light a candle. Hand over her mouth to conceal a yawn, Blythe touched the wick to the embers in the fireplace. “Do you need anything else, Miss?” She placed the candlestick on a table.
“No, you may go.”
Alone in the light that cast long shadows, Amelia got out of bed. She picked up the candlestick and went to her dressing room. From the false bottom in a wooden box she removed a small brass key. Aware her grandmother would have disapproved she tip-toed across the floor to her escritoire and turned the key in the lock of the central drawer. She fumbled for the knob which, when turned, opened a secret compartment. Holding her breath, she removed oval miniatures of her parents painted on ivory rimmed with narrow gold frames.
Long ago, Grandmamma threw the portraits away. Blythe saved them and gave them to her on her sixteenth birthday.
“Although I’ve served Madam for so long, if she knew I’d kept these for you she’d dismiss me without a reference,” Blythe said. “Please don’t tell her I have given them to you, Miss.”
“I promise not to.” Overcome with gratitude, for she knew so little about her parents, Amelia had allowed herself to hug a servant. However, she never managed to persuade the dresser to discuss either her parents or her father’s relations, and Grandmamma never spoke of them.
Would it be disloyal to her grandmother, who had not wished her to know anything about Mamma and Papa, to question Blythe again?
She turned her mother’s portrait over. With the tip of her finger she traced the outline of a swirl of her mother’s fair hair beneath the glass. Hair almost the same shade as her own.
Amelia kissed her mother and father’s painted faces. From Mamma she also inherited large blue eyes, well-defined arched eyebrows and an oval face. At least she was far better off than foundlings and the wretched child and her father whom Mrs Tarrant provided for.
Grandmother taught her God, in His infinite wisdom, placed lower classes of people in different positions, which they must accept without complaint. Grateful to The Lord for putting her in Grandmamma’s care, Amelia whispered, “Goodnight, Mamma. Goodnight Papa. One day, we will meet in heaven.”
Amelia returned the miniatures and the key to their hiding places. With slow footsteps, she returned to her bed. If only she could wake in the morning to the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She wanted her to return from the dead. Furthermore, she did not want the unknown Mrs Deane to chaperone her. Saunton should not have engaged the woman for the sake of propriety without consulting her.
* * *
On the afternoon before the funeral, seated on a chair in the purple drawing room crowded with ladies and gentlemen, who called to pay their respects, Amelia watched Saunton cross the floor with a plump lady of medium height, presumably the paid chaperone. With her round face, walnut-brown hair, good-natured expression and unostentatious olive-green morning gown, she did not look like a dragon; nevertheless, Amelia frowned.
When they reached her, she stood and curtsied to the earl. He acknowledged the courtesy with a slight bow. “Miss Carstairs, may I present Mrs Deane?”
Aware of the low buzz of conversation instigated by an earl’s arrival, Amelia gazed at the female the earl forced on her.
Saunton did not wait for her to respond. “Miss Carstairs, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Mrs Deane your chaperone. Mrs Deane, my ward Miss Carstairs.”
“You are welcome, ma’am,” Amelia forced herself to say. The voices faded, a dozen or more pairs of eyes focussed on her.
“Miss Carstairs is fortunate to have such a handsome guardian,” remarked a very young lady, recently out of the schoolroom.
“Hush!” scolded her flustered mamma.
Well-aware of the interest and gossip, which would arise from Saunton’s public acknowledgement she was his ward, Amelia crushed her handkerchief in her hand.
The unfortunate parents of the indiscreet girl took their leave. As they left the room her other visitors murmured more condolences.
Amelia lowered herself onto her chair. The unpleasant odour of perspiration from some of the callers’ bodies and clothes assailed her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose. Too many of them ignored Beau Brummel’s advice to wear fresh linen every day. Grandmamma had agreed with it. She also believed in John Wesley’s statement cleanliness is next to godliness. Showers, for their use and two others for the servants, were installed in each of her houses.
“Yates.”
“Miss Carstairs?”
“Ask a footman to open a window,” she ordered in spite of the brisk breeze blowing along the promenade. She faced Saunton and Mrs Deane. “Please be seated.”
Her guardian inclined his head towards her. “I must say adieu. I shall leave you and Mrs Deane to become acquainted.”
Amelia quashed her unspoken plea for Saunton to stay for a little longer.
“Ladies.” A bow, brisk footsteps then the door closed behind him.
About to leave the room, Amelia spoke to Mrs Deane. “Please wait here until my housekeeper comes to show you to your rooms.”