‘And what of that moralizing wife of his?’
‘At The Bath, my lady. I am to stay with her.’
‘Sorry for you and that’s a fact.’ The countess fell silent, for the Judds were preparing to sing again. They sang several popular duets and rounded off their recital with a rousing rendition of ‘Rule, Britannia!’
Amid the noisy applause, the countess strode over to the piano and accosted them. She began to question them about themselves and, on finding out all about the seminary, and then about the Marquess of Frenton’s introductions, an idea hit her. She knew that her peers considered her an eccentric and the only way she could ever outshine anyone was on the hunting field, but since only ladies of her own rather masculine stamp hunted, there was not much of a feeling of success in that. But if she could produce these singing Judds in her own drawing-room in the town house in London as
The marquess was wondering what to do. He wanted to talk to Belinda but she was being monopolized by Lord Frederick. His eyes drifted over the assembled company. Miss Wimple, wearing a tremendous turban to disguise her shaven head, was talking in a low voice to the Methodist minister. The marquess studied the minister and his eyes sharpened. Hannah, watching from her corner, noticed that Mr Biles saw the marquess looking at him and the way Mr Biles flushed and averted his eyes.
Penelope at that moment caught Lord Frederick’s eye and beckoned to him. With a hurried excuse to Belinda, he rose and went to join her. The marquess took his vacated seat.
‘I am pleased to see you again, Miss Earle,’ he began.
Belinda bowed her head but made no reply. Her eye-lashes were very long and silky, the marquess noticed. Belinda Earle was like a good painting that one could examine at length and each time discover something new and pleasing. ‘I was on my way to The Bath,’ he said, unable to bring himself to say that the sole reason for his journey was to look for her. ‘I was very surprised to find the Jordan family here.’
Belinda looked at him, startled. ‘I had assumed you came with them!’
‘No, unfortunately they had to leave the castle.’
She had a sudden hope that he had sent them packing. ‘Why?’
‘Because I am having all the rooms redecorated and, alas, Miss Jordan is made quite ill by the smell of fresh paint.’
Meanwhile, Lord Frederick was telling a highly irritated Penelope about Belinda’s good social standing. ‘Odd, is it not?’ he asked.
‘What is odd?’ snapped Penelope.
‘That Miss Earle should choose to travel by the stage.’
‘There is a great deal odd about Miss Earle,’ said Penelope, lowering her voice. ‘Do you know she had the temerity to make an assignation with the Marquess of Frenton?’
‘When? Where?’
‘She sent him a letter. My maid told me of it and I thought I had better warn that travelling companion of hers, Miss Pym, about it as her real companion was ill. But Miss Pym, as far as I can guess, did nothing. Miss Earle is a well-known hussy.’
‘How shocking,’ said Lord Frederick. ‘Thought Frenton was courting you, or rather, that’s what the gossips said.’
‘He was,’ said Penelope in a sad voice. ‘But I asked Mama and Papa to take me away, for I fear I and the marquess would not suit. He is a trifle old and set in his ways.’ She cast Lord Frederick a languishing look. ‘I prefer younger men.’
‘By George! And so you should, a delightful beauty like yourself, Miss Jordan.’
Lord Frederick’s brain, usually not very agile, appeared all at once to be working at a great rate. He had every intention of proposing to Penelope. She was rich and she was beautiful, and he could not understand why she had not been snapped up before. Lord Frederick was very much a man of his age. Love and marriage in his opinion definitely did not mix. One needed a pretty wife to grace one’s bed and table, but real pleasure was to be found elsewhere. He paid Penelope further compliments while his hot eyes ranged in the direction of Belinda Earle. He was sure she was the reason the marquess had pretended to need shelter from the storm. On to a good thing, too, thought Lord Frederick. He himself wouldn’t mind getting a leg over that. Young and sweet and, what was more important, no fear of the pox. Might try his luck with her himself.
The marquess, by talking on general topics and showing her every mark of respect, was trying to repair the damage he must have surely done in treating Belinda so vulgarly.
Belinda replied automatically, her spirits very low. It was obvious to her that the marquess had only kissed her because he thought she was damaged goods. When he had found out she was not, he had decided she was like any other boring female of his acquaintance, someone to talk civilities to. She did not know that behind the marquess’s calm eyes his brain was furiously working out some way in which he could get a chance to kiss that glorious mouth again. He was not yet sure whether he wanted to marry her.
The countess interrupted their conversation, asking the marquess again why he did not hunt, and Belinda was left with her thoughts. Penelope was flirting with Lord Frederick. How could she? marvelled Belinda. Lord Frederick, despite his fine evening clothes, had a low forehead and a leering, nasty look about the eyes. But Penelope was glowing and her beauty gave Belinda another sharp stab of jealousy.
Belinda furtively fingered her own thin, finely arched eyebrows and then looked miserably at Penelope’s thick, luxuriant ones. Also, as Penelope raised an arm to adjust a curl, she revealed a strong bush of hair growing in her armpit.
It was an age when gentlemen preferred ladies to have a lot of hair – everywhere. Never had false hair been in such demand. Not only should the hair on one’s head be thick and luxuriant, but the eyebrows were supposed to be thick, and the arms and the armpits seductively hairy. Some ladies, Belinda had heard, even shaved their arms regularly in the hope of encouraging growth. The newspapers abounded with notices advertising not only wigs but false eyebrows, and there were even advertisements for pubic wigs, complete with illustrations, there for anyone to see. Belinda saw the marquess looking at her and blushed deep red. No young lady should even
Hannah Pym was now holding a skein of wool for the poor relation. She saw the way Penelope leaned forward intimately to talk to Lord Frederick and then the way that gentleman’s eyes widened and he stared across the room at Belinda.
Hannah glared at Miss Wimple. She blamed the companion for starting all the gossip about Belinda, forgetting in her distress that it was Belinda herself who had given Penelope suspicions about the innocence of her character by writing that letter to Frenton. Damn Miss Wimple, thought Hannah. If only she would get really drunk and disgrace herself. But she was so taken up with that Methodist minister that she was behaving like a virginal miss in her teens.
Finally, the countess rose as a signal that the evening was at an end. Belinda, Hannah and Miss Wimple found they were to have a room each, the hunting-box having plenty of bedchambers so as to accommodate quite large parties of huntsmen.
Hannah would have preferred a room next to Belinda’s but found she was in the floor above. She decided to read one of her guidebooks before going to bed. A hush had descended on the house. Hannah read on and then decided Belinda was safe for the night. If only the girl could avoid the marquess for a little longer; Hannah was sure Frenton would propose to her.
Belinda, too, was reluctant to sleep. The marquess had looked as if there were many things he wanted to say to her. Perhaps he would call on her. And yet if he did, it meant he was of the same mind as before. He thought she was easy game.
At last she blew out the light and settled herself for sleep. One moment, she thought it would never come, and the next, she had plunged down into oblivion.
The marquess was having a painful interview with Mr Biles, the Methodist minister. ‘I do not think,’ said the marquess, feeling pompous, ‘that you are setting a good example to Miss Earle by flirting with her companion when you are a married man.’ Mr Biles turned red and then white and then looked sulky. Mr Biles, the marquess knew, lived in a village some ten miles from the castle. He was a wealthy man, son of a prosperous tradesman, and had
