“You are the lady of this house,” Viola said, taking the second lavender tea cake. “You should be correcting Trevor’s errors and guiding him back to the path of common sense. Jerome cannot bear the whole burden on his own.”
“Jerome and his cronies are largely the reason Trevor played too deeply, Viola. Mr. Sycamore Dorning has kindly allowed Trevor to work off the debt of honor by serving as an informal assistant at the Coventry. Trevor earns no coin, but he is learning a great deal about the perils of overindulged impulses.”
Sycamore had provided a progress report to Jeanette over yesterday’s dinner, and Trevor himself had confirmed that he was “on loan to the club for the nonce.” The prospect seemed to cheer him, and Jeanette suspected having an excuse to avoid Jerome and his friends was part of Trevor’s improved mood.
“Trevor is learning nothing of value,” Viola sniffed. “He is learning to spend his evenings with wagering inebriates who have no sense of decorum.”
“Wagering inebriates like Jerome and his friends?”
Had Viola left in high dudgeon or launched into a tirade, Jeanette would not have been surprised, but instead, Viola took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
“I am tired, my lady,” Viola said, “of managing a household, managing marriageable daughters, trying to provide you the benefit of my wisdom, and guiding Beardsley in his role as Trevor’s guardian. The burden on me has been… But that is neither here nor there. Jerome is a young man of independent means. He may do as he wishes in the company of his fellows and still be quite the gentleman in any respectable drawing room. That is the way of the world, and he understands it. For Trevor to attach himself to a gaming hell, though, is…” Viola dabbed at her eyes again. “You must see that it is unacceptable.”
Jeanette did not want to pity Viola, did not want to concede that she had a point. “The situation is temporary, Viola. Trevor badly overspent his allowance, and I do mean badly, and Jerome’s influence, for good or ill, did not prevent that. I am unwilling to set a precedent whereby Trevor’s entertainments throw him into debt, and no consequences result. Beardsley would doubtless agree with me. Trevor is too young, and too new to Town, also too generously funded, to be allowed to start down that path.”
“He needs a wife,” Viola said, tucking her handkerchief into her reticule. “A sensible young lady who knows what’s expected of her.”
Jeanette took a sip of her tea, though it had gone tepid. “Trevor needs to grow up, Viola. He’s years away from his majority, and when he does eventually marry, he’ll be a better husband for having seen a bit of life first.”
Viola rose. “I cannot make you understand the damage he could do to his own consequence by frequenting such an establishment. The occasional sortie with his friends is understandable, but this indentured servitude… Beardsley will have something to say about it.”
Having lectured and wept, Viola now descended to threats.
“Beardsley should say something about it,” Jeanette replied, getting to her feet. “Beardsley should have a strong word with both Jerome and Trevor about debts of honor, about the folly of drunken wagers, about knowing the difference between real friends and the other kind. Perhaps if you and Beardsley add your exhortations to my own, both young men will give us less to worry about.”
“But Trevor dwells with you, for now. He respects you. You are a parental figure to him, while I am the aunt he calls on exclusively out of duty. You must take him firmly in hand, Jeanette.”
That was the one thing she must not do. “My hope is that he will see at the Coventry the difference between those who can handle recreation responsibly and those who cannot. Trevor is intelligent and well aware of his station. I trust him to make better choices going forward.”
Not quite the truth.
Jeanette trusted that Trevor would eventually learn to make better choices, but first he’d wake up with many a sore head, make more stupid wagers, have his heart broken several times, and most assuredly have his trust betrayed.
If it hadn’t been already.
“You are not a mother,” Voila said, firing that broadside as she moved toward the door. “I know you love the boy, but you cannot understand how close to peril he’s treading. Beardsley feels as I do, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Beardsley would ask you to remove to the dower house if matters do not resolve themselves to his satisfaction, Jeanette. Trevor should be at university, but you make it easy for him to neglect his education too.”
Good heavens, not the dower house. Viola was truly in good form today. “Beardsley is overdue to have lunch with his nephew, clearly, for I did not invite Trevor to leave school, Viola, and I regularly urge him to return. Perhaps if Jerome added his voice to the chorus, Trevor might see reason.”
And Jerome would lose his entrée into the Season’s most glittering entertainments, as well as countless rounds of free drinks for him and his friends.
“I will have a word with Beardsley,” Viola said, bustling on to the main foyer. “You may be assured of that.”
Jeanette saw her guest out, exchanged a long-suffering look with old Peem, and then took herself to her private sitting room, rather than the family sitting room where she’d endured Viola’s call. The morning post sat on the blotter, a folded and sealed note—hand delivered—among the correspondence.
Sycamore’s handwriting. God save her, she was pleased to see his handwriting, and filled as well with dread. What if he was ending their liaison already, canceling next week’s lesson, leaving Town to elude further entanglement?
Later perhaps, Jeanette would ponder why, nearly a decade after accepting the marquess’s proposal, she should revert to schoolgirl insecurities and what to do about that dreadful lapse.
