The Aim Of A Lady Read online

  She fell silent as she remembered the last such endeavor and its outcome of an offer from Walter. It had disturbed her to disappoint the young man, but she really could see no purpose in marrying him. She was entirely satisfied with her life, and she had yet to meet someone who would accept her as she was. Even Walter, for all his devotion, frowned on her diverse interests, which she could not see harmed anyone. Only her brother George understood and accepted her, she thought with a sigh, and that was probably because nothing and no one seemed to upset his equable nature.

  Alma had attempted to question Diana further on the Dodges but, finding her so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not hear him, he gazed down at her (she only came up to his chest), and shrugged. She looked the image of a village schoolmistress in her loose gray riding dress, her hair pulled severely back to the nape of her neck. Strange that she dressed so unfashionably when her brother was the picture of elegance. Rigged out properly, she would probably be presentable, he mused. Ah well, it was no doubt the exile in the country which left her so lamentably ignorant of London modality. George really should see that she had some decent clothes though, Alma thought. It would not do to have one’s sister taken for a governess!

  * * * *

  Alonna Sanfield left London on the day her engagement was announced, and she did not intend to return until her father had the announcement retracted. In fact, she was not sure that she would be able to return at all. It had not been so very difficult to come into London society in the fall when she had her sister to guide her and when everything was unique and interesting to her. The little season, too, had made the demands on her less than they would have been in the spring, but her sister was in the country now, near Colchester, expecting the arrival of her second child momentarily. There was only an aging, imperious aunt in London to chaperone her, a woman who would not be the least sympathetic to her plight.

  Although she sought her father to discuss with him her decision to leave town, he was not in the house and had not indicated where he was headed. Callers arrived regularly and were turned away, but the insistent thump of the knocker began to wear Alonna down. She repaired to the library, where she wrote her father a note explaining that she was going to her sister Margaret until the announcement was withdrawn and there had been time for the gossip to die down. A nine days’ wonder, she hoped, and she begged her father to understand and to send her a copy of the retraction as soon as it appeared.

  A footman was instructed to purchase her ticket on the Norwich Mail as far as Colchester. When he had left she advised her maid that she wished the girl to accompany her to her sister’s for a while, and to be ready to depart early that evening. Lord Franston did not return before it was time for Alonna to depart; unsure whether this pleased or depressed her, she arrived at the General Post Office in Lombard Street well before the eight o’clock departure. She had never seen so many of the maroon and black coaches with their scarlet wheels all in one place. The Royal coat of arms on the doors made them very impressive, as did the guard in his Royal scarlet livery, ready to mount to the boot to protect the locked mail box.

  There were only two other inside passengers, a young man who was dressed neatly but not fashionably, and an old woman who grumbled continually, not one word of which discourse could be understood by the young women. Immediately the guard’s horn was heard, the coach started with a lurch and Alonna gazed forlornly out the window. Her maid, Drucy, was evidently thrilled by the whole scene in the yard and kept up a constant stream of chatter as they clattered through London and out into the countryside. It was dark already and the night outside London seemed overwhelmingly black after the lights of the city. Alonna silently watched the ghostly shapes of trees move past the window and allowed the swaying of the coach to lull her to sleep.

  It was close to midnight when the mail reached Colchester. The landlord at the Three Horseshoes was willing enough for Alonna to hire a post chaise to take her to Trafford Hall, but not until morning, and she was not eager to spend another two hours on the road at that time of night in any case, so she took rooms for her maid and herself and asked to be called early. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the day thrust sleep upon her the minute her head touched the pillow.

  * * * *

  Diana was not able to convince Alma to take dinner with her and Mrs. Lewis, but he joined them for a while in the music room in the evening. Mrs. Lewis, unable to comprehend the full extent of his injury, felt uncomfortable having him stand. This caused Diana some amusement, but she could see that he was disgruntled and she bid him turn her music for her while she played. This gave him an excuse to stand by the harpsichord, but it was not easy to cajole him into a better frame of mind; the longer he lived with his injury, the more it was borne in on him how much it inconvenienced him. He had spent his adult years going where he wished to go and doing what he wished to do. He was attractive, possessed of a handsome fortune and flourishing estates, and was much in demand in society. The fact that one action of a minute chit could debilitate him so enormously made his spleen rise. He glowered down at Diana as she concentrated on the keyboard, her voice sweetly singing of the month of May.

  Raising her eyes to his, she smiled apologetically. It was not difficult for her to understand how he felt, but there was little she could do about it. Only time would heal his wound, and then he would perhaps forget the inconvenience as he picked up the threads of his normal life again. “Tell me what is your favorite, Lord Alma, and we shall sing a duet for Mrs. Lewis.”

  The old woman beamed on them and, in spite of his reluctance, Alma refused to be so rude as to ignore his hostess’s suggestion. His rich baritone was uncertain at first, gradually becoming stronger as he shrugged off his annoyance and entered into the spirit of the madrigal they sang. Without prompting he proposed the next song, and a pleasant half hour was spent by the three of them until he began to feel the strain of standing. Too proud to admit his weakness, he irritably shifted from foot to foot. Not now or at any time would he speak of his fatigue; he was, after all, a sportsman.

  Diana closed her music and turned to Mrs. Lewis. “I am ready for my bed.”

  Mrs. Lewis, who was nothing if not biddable, rose quickly and stuffed away the embroidery she had been working on. “Yes, it has been a busy day,” she murmured, “and very productive.”

  Intent on proving there was no hurry about his departure, Alma bowed them out of the room with lightly veiled sarcasm in his wishes that Diana spend a good night. He heard her muffled laughter as the door closed behind her. When their footsteps had died away, he took himself rapidly to his room where his valet had a great deal of trouble undressing him, as he refused to rise from the bed for this service.

  * * * *

  Although the thought of a boiled fowl was not entirely appealing, George Savile headed for White’s in St. James’s Street when he arrived in London. Few of the clubs, for all their claim to companionship, could offer a decent meal. While he waited for his food he absently picked up the current issue of the Herald to thumb through it with little interest. When he had read the announcement with a mixture of incredulity and distress, he felt little inclined for the meal which was served him, but proceeded to devour it, since his body had been denied sufficient sustenance at midday.

  George was hailed by friends and reluctantly agreed to join them at the newest gambling hall. His mind, however, was concentrated on the problem of whether he should seek an interview with Alonna in light of the announcement. Every rule of society and common sense told him that he should not, but he could not bear the thought of leaving matters as they stood. There was something in their relationship, he was sure of it. Ordinarily rather quiet, Alonna had seemed to blossom when he spoke with her; the attractive face would become animated and the blue eyes sparkle. George did not have a particularly high opinion of Lord Vallert, though he did not know him well. Still, he himself had never indicated his intentions to Alonna, and she might have thought it necessary to accept th
is offer of marriage.

  When he had broken even at faro, he quitted his companions in spite of their protests. The servants at his town house had been alerted by his valet to expect him, so he quietly greeted the butler and went straight to his bedchamber. During his restless night he finally convinced himself that he would call on Miss Sanfield the next morning to offer his felicitations, and to assess her feelings if he were able.

  Chapter Five

  Assuming that Lord Alma would sleep late the next morning, Diana took her favorite mare out for an early gallop. On her return she found Alma in the stables talking with Jenkins about Crusader, and though he eyed her somewhat resentfully, he assisted her from her mount with great courtesy.

  “Have you broken your fast, Lord Alma?” she asked.

  “No. I thought to have a r—walk first.”

  “Would you like to walk over to the stud farm with me? I cannot think George had time to visit it, and, if there are questions, you would know better than I how to answer them.”

  Alma was annoyed that she always suggested a project which would interest him. If she had proposed a round of archery at this hour he would have been able to reject the idea with haughty disdain. He felt like a sulky child; his only desire at times was to snub her and make her pay for his discomfort. However, he did want to see George’s stud farm, so he nodded curtly and assumed a distracted air so that she would not expect him to speak with her.

  In high spirits after her ride, with the smell of spring in the air, buds bursting out on the trees and the birds singing cheerfully, Diana’s gaze took in the well-manicured fields, the dense Home Wood and the lanes curving through the countryside further away. She began to hum a tune.

  Desperately as Alma wished to ignore her, he was enchanted by the melody and found himself asking her what it was.

  “Well, I have never precisely named it, but it is about spring.”

  “You wrote it?”

  “Yes, I do that sometimes when I am particularly happy.”

  “But not when you are sad?” he asked mockingly, his black eyebrows lifted.

  “I am rarely sad,” she admitted frankly. “I imagine if I were I would compose a song to fit my mood.”

  “I see,” he replied, though he was not at all sure he did. “Does your song have words?”

  “Yes, shall I teach them to you?”

  To his own astonishment Alma soon found himself singing a duet with his companion as they wandered across the fields toward the stud farm. When they arrived at the stable, lads greeted Diana and she introduced Alma as a friend of her brother’s. She had not seen the most recent acquisition to the stud and was curious as to why they were handling him so cautiously.

  “He’s very nearly wild, ma’am,” one of the men explained as the magnificent black struck out with a foreleg at his assistant, who neatly dodged it.

  Alma approached the black at a discreet distance, his voice softened to murmur soothing words. The black pricked his ears forward and seemed to grow more quiet. Fascinated by this show of affinity, Diana stepped forward to join Alma by the horse; his voice was soft but authoritative when he ordered, “Stay back, Miss Savile.”

  Immediately obeying him, she retreated to her former position. The black had grown restless again and the groom holding his bridle had all he could do to hang on. Alma stretched out an imperative hand to the groom, who reluctantly released the bridle for him to grasp. The viscount started his low-voiced commentary to the horse again and began to lead him about the stable yard with frequent stops and starts and turns which the horse nervously followed. Horrified, Diana watched as he swung himself up onto the unsaddled beast. She saw his face pale as his bottom met the horse’s flanks, but the determination in his eyes froze on her lips the protest she had meant to offer. The black pranced and bucked for a moment until the stream of words from his rider soothed him again. Alma dug his booted heels into the horse’s sides and allowed him a short, restrained gallop before returning to the stable yard and swinging himself to the ground. He then handed the horse to the groom (who had watched this performance in amazement) and turned to Diana. “I am ready for breakfast,” he said blandly.

  Diana bit her lip and nodded. They walked back to the Park without a word, and Alma took his meal in his room, Diana in the dining parlor with Mrs. Lewis.

  * * * *

  George Savile found that his decision to seek an interview with Alonna Sanfield was not to prove easy. He could not call until a decent hour and when he did so he was informed that Miss Sanfield was not at home. George then instructed the butler to advise Miss Sanfield that he would return during the afternoon, but the impassive-faced butler assured him that Miss Sanfield would not be home during the afternoon, so George exasperatedly said that he would call the next day, in that case. The butler informed him that Miss Sanfield would not be home then, either.

  “Is Miss Sanfield out of town?” George finally asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And when do you expect her return?”

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  “Is Lord Franston available?”

  “No, sir, his lordship is out.”

  “Is he also out of town?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then do you know when I may call to find him available?”

  “No, sir. He has not been receiving callers since yesterday.” The butler kept his eyes locked on a point somewhere above George’s head.

  “Might I enquire if Miss Sanfield has returned to Hampshire?”

  “I would not be at liberty to say, sir.”

  George seldom felt ruffled by anyone or anything, but he would have liked to shake the smooth-voiced butler until he obtained the information he desired. Instead he turned on his heels and left, all the while trying to decide how he could get in touch with Alonna and whether it would do him any good to do so.

  He repaired to White’s and kept an ear open for the current on dit in the hopes that he would learn something of value. After spending several hours nursing two glasses of brandy and being bored by the usual run of gossip imparted by the various members drifting in and out, he finally overheard something of interest.

  Canton Boothe, slightly drunk from the three glasses of wine he had downed in rapid succession, leaned confidentially toward his companion, Geoffrey Walthers, and slurred, “Heard Vallert’s ‘tended’s given him the slip. Left town soon’s the ‘nouncem’nt came out. Vallert’s sister went to call yest’day aft’noon and learned the little lady’s not in town. But she was there the day b’fore,” he said knowingly, “‘cause I saw her m’self.”

  When the two men progressed to new fields of defamation, George paid his reckoning and departed. He could waste more time trying to track down Lord Franston, or he could go in search of Alonna, which could easily also be a waste of time. George was aware of the location of Lord Franston’s estate in Hampshire hut he had no way of knowing if Alonna had headed there or not. It seemed the likeliest of possibilities, however, and he determined to pursue it.

  It was late afternoon before he was ready to depart and his valet, astonished to see such activity from his ordinarily languid employer, decried the necessity of setting off at such an hour.

  “I’m not taking you, Stephen. I have a lot of ground to cover and perhaps more than I bargain for. It will be most uncomfortable and you will enjoy the leisure of London, I feel sure.”

  “Not coming with you? But, sir, you always take me with you!” the valet wailed.

  “Not this time. I may be gone for several days, but I shall send word if it becomes longer than that.”

  When Stephen had seen the portmanteau stashed in back of the phaeton and George jumped up and grasped the reins from the groom, the valet was even more astonished. “You surely will be taking the groom at least!”

  “No, I go alone this time.” George gave the horses their heads in so far as it was possible in the London traffic and breathed a sigh of relief to be at last making some move. With
changes at Brentford and Hounslow he made The Bush in Staines within a few hours, but the sky was overcast and foretold of rain, so he settled there for the night. In the morning he awoke to a pouring rain which made it impossible for him to set out in his open carriage. He debated the efficacy of hiring a closed carriage, but decided against it. The rain did not let up all day, and there was word of flooding on the Exeter Road to cheer him.

  * * * *

  Lord Franston had been more than a little annoyed when he read his daughter’s note. In spite of her plea he had no intention of approaching Vallert to have him withdraw the announcement, nor of doing so himself. He had seen four of her older brothers and sisters safely married off; Alonna was the last of them and he was intent on seeing the business settled once and for all. If Vallert wanted to marry her, he could have her. Not such a bad fellow, either. There was no reason why Alonna should refuse him, and she would thank her father in the future for his patience with her.

  Ever since the announcement had appeared, Vallert himself had been a prey to misgivings. When his friends began to congratulate him and mere acquaintances stopped him in the street to express their knowledge of his impending marriage, he suddenly realized what he had done. If Miss Sanfield refused to marry him now he would be a laughingstock. With some trepidation he took himself to the Franston town house the day after the announcement appeared, only to be informed, as George Savile had been an hour previously, that Miss Sanfield was not at home.

  Vallert, however, knew precisely where to find Lord Franston at this hour of the day, and he repaired to Batson’s Coffee House in Cornhill where he knew the old boy would be smoking his pipe and reading the papers.