A London Season Page 8

  “A proper young lady wouldn’t be interested in such things,” Glendale said, reduced to falling back on platitudes. “It isn’t seemly for you to concern yourself with trade.”

  “Well, they had better concern themselves with money, or all those young ladies will find themselves in the gutter,” Jane said cuttingly.

  “That’s not the point,” Glendale replied. He wasn’t sure what the point was, except that Jane seemed to prefer the company of a middle-aged bore over his own.

  Jane said nothing, merely arching a delicate eyebrow to indicate her disbelief.

  “Trading is best left to men like Mr. Whitmore. In his own way he’s worthy enough, I suppose, solidly middle-class and respectable. But he’s a merchant, and he’ll always be a merchant. His only hope is to marry a lady of the ton, and hope that her breeding will compensate for his lack.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” Jane leapt to the defense of the absent Whitmore. “He’s worked hard and made something of himself. Why Mr. Whitmore is worth a dozen of those useless dandies that the ton prizes so much.”

  Glendale privately agreed with her, and wondered what had caused him to belittle Mr. Whitmore. It wasn’t as if he held a grudge against the man.

  “Tell me, where does your income come from?” she challenged.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This,” she said, gesturing to include the curricle and his prime cattle. “Your clothes, your town house, the horses, and gambling, and whatever it is you gentlemen find to spend your blunt on.”

  He felt himself sinking deeper into a quagmire, and with difficulty controlled the urge to shake some sense into the contrary miss. “I hardly think that is any concern of yours.”

  “Isn’t it? It’s the first thing that the chaperones tell their charges. ‘Yes, dear, Lord This is quite handsome, but he hasn’t a feather to fly with,’ or ‘Pay attention to Mr. X, he may be a trifle gauche, but he has ten thousand a year, and the prospects of more.’ At least I am honest about my interest in trade.”

  Glendale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Society was, after all, a very small world. Everyone knew everyone else’s affairs as a matter of course. Some gentlemen would speculate about the size of a girl’s dowry as readily as they would about her virtue, or lack thereof. It was the way things were done, and he had never before thought to question it. But Jane accepted nothing at face value, and through her he was seeing things in a whole new light.

  The appearance of Lord Frederick put an end to the uncomfortable discussion. Freddie rode with them on their final turn around the park. His cheerfulness was impossible to resist, and soon Jane was back in charity with the world.

  Careful to avoid the touchy subjects of trade or the attentions of Mr. Whitmore, they chatted about inconsequentials as he drove towards Lady Barton’s town house. Glendale went along with the change of topic, but made a mental note to speak to Lady Barton about discouraging Mr. Whitmore.

  As they turned into Berkeley Square, Jane startled him by suddenly clutching his sleeve. “Oh no,” she said, “It can’t be. It mustn’t be.”

  His pulse racing, Glendale yanked on the reins, pulling the carriage to an abrupt halt in front of the Bartons’ town house. The horses complained at the unkind treatment, but he was too concerned about Jane to worry.

  Glendale looked around, but he could see nothing that would cause Jane’s distress. The brownstone town house looked the same as it always did, imposing and inhospitable. The only person in sight was a housemaid, energetically scrubbing down the stone steps.

  “What is it?”

  Jane lifted her head from where she had buried it against his sleeve. “I cannot bear to look.”

  Her expression reflected exasperation rather than fright. A semblance of calmness returned to his own thoughts.

  “Jane, you’re being foolish. Is there something wrong?”

  Jane nodded her head in the direction of the square. “Do you see two boys there?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are they both dark-haired lads, about twelve?”

  Glendale looked at the boys closely. The two ragged urchins were certainly out of place in Berkeley Square, but that didn’t explain Jane’s reaction. The boys had been engaged in some obscure game, but sensing his regard they stood up and returned his stare.

  “Yes,” he said slowly.

  “I knew it was too good to last,” Jane said obscurely. “Excuse me, Lord Glendale.” She turned away from him, and gave her hand to the groom who had been patiently waiting to help her alight. Stepping down on the pavement, she walked around to the front of the carriage, and called out. “Bobby! Dick! Come over here at once.”

  The boys waved, and then began making their way across the square.

  “May I take it that you are acquainted with the boys?” Glendale asked.

  “Yes,” Jane sighed. “Those, my lord, are my brothers.”

  Chapter Seven

  The twins waved in response to her call. Jane checked her first impulse to run to them, and instead stood waiting for them to make their own way. Her heart raced and she imagined all sorts of disasters that could have occasioned their presence in London.

  The twins ran to her, but halted a few paces away, as if unsure of their welcome. Their eyes flicked nervously to the figure of Glendale, who remained in his carriage, an apparently fascinated spectator.

  “Bobby, Dick. What on earth are you doing here?” Jane demanded.

  “We had to come,” Dick said, then ducked his head and shuffled his feet. She looked at Bobby, but he, too, lowered his eyes. Close up she could see they looked rather the worse for wear. Travel grime stained their clothes and faces. Dick had torn the knees of his breeches, and Bobby had managed to lose his cap.

  Jane crossed the remaining few steps and hugged them both. “It is good to see you,” she said, ruffling Bobby’s hair. “But what are you doing outside? Why didn’t you wait for me inside?”

  “They didn’t believe us when we said we was your brothers.”

  Bobby nodded in vigorous agreement. “And a pompous old windbag came out and said we were to shove off, before he called the watch.”

  Browning. Only the self-important butler would have been so callous. True, at the moment her brothers bore more resemblance to street urchins than to the grandsons of a duke, but Browning should have known better. What harm would it have done to let the boys wait inside till she returned to confirm their identities?

  “We will just see about that,” Jane promised. “Come inside now, and tell me what the trouble is.” Gathering up her skirts, she prepared to shepherd them up the steps of the town house.

  Glendale waited at the bottom of the steps. She had been too wrapped up with the boys to notice his stepping down from the carriage. He had purposefully chosen a spot that blocked their path. Couldn’t he see the awkwardness of her situation? A real gentleman would have left by now. But there was no hope for it, so she made the necessary introductions.

  “Lord Glendale, may I present my brothers, Richard and Robert Sedgwick.”

  Dick dragged off his cap, and the boys executed credible bows.

  “Honored to make your acquaintances,” Glendale said, solemnly shaking their hands.

  “Lord Glendale,” she said stiffly, “I thank you for the drive, but as you can see, I have other concerns. I am sure you will excuse me.” The last thing she needed was an interloper at this family gathering.

  She attempted to step around him, but Glendale would not be budged. “On the contrary,” he said, smoothly taking her arm, and escorting her up the stairs. “You promised me tea, after all. And I look forward to the opportunity to become better acquainted with your brothers.”

  The door was opened by the imperious Browning, putting an end to further debate. The butler’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the boys.

  “Browning,” Jane said haughtily, in her best imitation of Lady Barton. “As you can see, my brothers have arrived from Yo
rkshire. Have the maids make up a room for them. And see that tea is served directly, in the sitting room.”

  Browning opened his mouth to protest, and then his gaze settled on the imposing figure of Lord Glendale, entering behind her. “Yes, miss,” he said woodenly. “But Lady Barton won’t like it.”

  “I hardly think it your place to pass judgment on Lady Barton’s likes or dislikes,” Jane said mildly. Browning’s face reddened, embarrassed at having been caught in such a presumptuous act.

  Glendale assisted Jane in taking off her cloak, then removed his own and handed it to the waiting footman. Following his example, the boys cheerfully shrugged off their own jackets and tossed them in the direction of Browning, who received them with a visible wince.

  The boys gazed in wonder at the splendid surroundings, but managed to contain themselves until they reached the sitting room. Jane breathed a sigh of relief to find it unoccupied. Lady Barton preferred the parlor in the afternoons, which was why Jane had chosen the smaller sitting room. Lady Barton would no doubt be informed of their arrival. But if she had callers she would be reluctant to leave them, thus delaying the inevitable confrontation.

  “Dick, Bobby, sit on the bench by the fire,” Jane ordered, directing them to the one piece of furniture in the room that was not covered with expensive brocades.

  Dick settled himself down with a bounce. Bobby followed more slowly, taking time to place his knapsack on the floor.

  “Gosh, Jane, don’t you look swell. We weren’t sure it was you till you waved,” Dick said admiringly.

  “Thank you, I think,” Jane said wryly.

  “You look real fine. Rosemarie would scratch your eyes out if she saw you now,” Bobby concurred.

  Jane winced. So much for small talk. “Does Mama know that you are here?” she asked.

  “Yes…No,” the twins said in unison. They shot each other accusatory looks.

  “Which is it?” Jane insisted.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “What I mean is, that we told her—”

  “We didn’t exactly tell her—”

  “Well, you said not to—”

  “No, I said we should and you said—”

  The squabbling was interrupted by the arrival of the tea cart. Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Dick take advantage of the distraction to kick Bobby in the ankle.

  Jane dismissed the hovering maid and served the tea herself, then watched fascinated as the boys piled their plates full of delicacies. Their appetites reassured her. Surely there was nothing seriously wrong at home, if they could eat so unconcernedly.

  “Cripes, do you eat like this every day?” Bobby asked, holding a cream scone in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Hunger had apparently won out over good manners.

  “Of course she doesn’t silly, or she’d be as fat as Mrs. Norton,” Dick retorted.

  Jane fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. She longed to remind her brothers to mind their manners, but refused to embarrass them by correcting them in front of Lord Glendale.

  She looked over towards Glendale, who had been staring at the scene with all the fascination of a man gazing at a menagerie. With no younger siblings or nephews, it was probably years since he had last seen twelve-year-old boys at their mealtime.

  “May I take it that these truants have escaped from school?” he enquired.

  It was a reasonable deduction, given their ages. And most fashionable schools were close to London.

  Bobby shook his head vigorously, then swallowed. “No, sir. We came from home.”

  “From Barkhamsted. That’s in Yorkshire,” Dick added helpfully.

  “Yorkshire!” Glendale exclaimed. “How on earth did you manage to get here?”

  “Andy Turner gave us a ride to York—” Dick began.

  “But we had to walk to Collinsville—” Bobby interjected.

  “Enough,” Jane said. It would take them forever to tell their story in their own way. “Which one of you is Arthur today?”

  “I am,” Dick said.

  “Who is Arthur?” Glendale demanded.

  Jane bit back a giggle at his expression. The poor man was at sea. He should leave now while he still had all his wits about him.

  “Arthur was my father’s name,” she explained. “My parents planned on naming the oldest boy Arthur as well.”

  “But then they had us,” Bobby broke in. “And they sorta mixed us up. So no one knows which one is oldest.”

  “So we take turns being the oldest. ’Cause that’s only fair.”

  Glendale looked aghast, as only a scion of an ancient titled family could. Jane understood his confusion. Growing up she had never questioned her parents’ decision that the twins should share everything equally. And the tale of an accidental mix-up had always rung slightly false to her. But now, having been exposed to the nobility, where order of birth was everything, she could see how Glendale would take a dim view of such a casual attitude.

  “They mixed you up?” he said faintly.

  “Enough,” Jane said impatiently. “Dick, you explain what has brought you here. And if he leaves anything out, you can tell us, Bobby. After your brother finishes.”

  Dick took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, nervous now that the moment had come.

  “We knew you’d be mad at us, but we had to come.” He looked up at her, begging her understanding. “Mama said we weren’t to worry you, but we knew you would want to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Percival George’s dead.”

  Jane froze, her heart constricting in her chest. Her hand shook, rattling the cup in its saucer. She could feel Glendale’s gaze on her. Carefully she lowered the cup to the table before her, using the moment to calm herself.

  “How did it happen?” she asked, with a valiant attempt at composure.

  “Some kind of influenza, Angus said. Squire Jones had it first on his place, and then Percival got sick. Most of the others are fine, though,” Dick added reassuringly.

  “It was after the Bennetts moved out of the Hall. Folks were mad because they just up and left, and now they owe everyone money,” Bobby chimed in, tired of sitting silently.

  Jane struggled to bring her thoughts under control. This was beyond belief. She had feared the loss of the tenants, or a setback with the flock, but never in her worst nightmares had she imagined that both would strike at once.

  “So you decided to come here? Couldn’t you have written a letter instead?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Mama said we weren’t to worry you. Said you had enough on your mind, what with being with Lady Barton and all,” Dick replied.

  “And we asked Angus, and he agreed with us, but when Mama said ‘No,’ he wouldn’t go against her,” Bobby cut in.

  “So we left Mama a note and came,” Dick finished up.

  “Just like that?” she asked faintly.

  “Well, we walked as far as Collinsville, and then Andy Turner gave us a ride in his cart to York. We had our pocket money, but it wasn’t enough for the stage.”

  Jane made a vow to have strong words with Andy Turner when she returned home. Imagine the brains of the man, taking two young boys to York! He had to know they were runaways.

  “But then Bobby found Mr. Bender, who was driving a wagon of cloth to London. He said we could ride in the back, if we gave him our coins, and helped him when he reached London. So we did. He even told us how to get to Berkeley Square.”

  “And we only got lost once or twice,” Bobby added.

  They had been lucky. Jane tried not to think of all the perils that could have befallen two innocent boys on their own.

  “Thank God you made it here safely,” Jane said. “And I am grateful that you told me about Percival.” Her apparent calmness deceived the boys, who relaxed now that their message was delivered. “But you are still in deep trouble,” she continued. “I can’t begin to think of what Mama is going through right now, wo
ndering if anything has befallen you. How could you do this to her?”

  Dick had the grace to look ashamed, but Bobby merely looked belligerent. “But we had to come,” Bobby repeated.

  It was too much to absorb all at once. Her apparent calmness was fooling the boys. But Jane feared that Glendale would see through her deception, and sense her inner turmoil. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. She needed to bring this gathering to an ending, before she revealed too much.

  Seeing that the boys had finally finished demolishing everything on the tea tray, Jane rang the bell. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” she promised. “Annie, kindly show my brothers up to their room, where they can wash up. I will be up to see you later.”

  The boys jumped up, eager to be out from under the shadow of her disapproval. Remembering their manners, they made their bows to Glendale. “Honored to have met you, sir,” they said in unison, before following the maid out the door.

  Jane sank back wearily, exhausted by the effort of maintaining her composure in front of an audience. And the battle had just begun. There was Lady Barton, who would no doubt be furious over her unexpected guests. Jane needed to make arrangements for their swift return.

  “Who is Percival George?” Glendale asked, breaking into her train of thought. “Is that another one of your brothers?”

  “What? Oh, no, no,” Jane said, but refused to elaborate. She didn’t feel up to explaining that Percival George Black was a sheep. A very important ram, to be sure, one whom they had hoped would be the foundation of their new flock. But there was no way to explain to Glendale why Percival was so important, without laying bare the whole of their financial condition.

  She looked at Glendale, but the sympathy in his eyes was too much to bear. He must think her family a ramshackle lot, after this latest escapade. If only she could confide in him. But from the prickling behind her eyes, she knew she was close to tears. If she began to unburden herself, she would weep. And he would no doubt despise her for a silly female.