The Hemingford Scandal. Mary Nichols
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their breakfast, ‘we have a week to kill.’
‘It will pass soon enough,’ Mr Hemingford said. ‘I have a mountain of copying for Jane.’
‘James Hemingford, you should be ashamed!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘Working that poor girl as you do. She is young, she needs amusements; besides, we have shopping to do—she must be at her best for Coprise.’
‘Oh, Aunt, there is nothing I need. I am sure Mr Allworthy will take me as I am.’
‘Oh, so he might,’ her aunt said airily. ‘But he has a house full of servants and it is always wise to impress the servants, particularly if you expect to become their mistress one day. They must respect you, not look on you as someone’s poor relation the master has been so foolish as to take pity on.’
Was that how her aunt really saw her? A poor relation whom it behoved her to pity? Was that why she had encouraged Mr Allworthy, because no one else would have her? Was she still shackled by the old scandal? But Mr Allworthy had said he admired her, that he paid no attention to gossip and he was a good man, if something of a sobersides. Perhaps that was what she needed.
‘I won’t have you saying Jane is a poor relation,’ her father snapped.
Her aunt laughed. ‘I did not say she was my poor relation, I only meant we did not want Mr Allworthy’s servants to have grounds for criticism. You are a man, you cannot advise the dear girl on her dress, now can you?’
Jane smiled. ‘Papa, I understood Aunt Lane very well, there is no need to refine upon it. I need very little, you know, just fripperies.’
‘Which I can pay for,’ he retorted. ‘Go shopping, buy whatever you need, but never say Jane is to be pitied.’
And so they went shopping and returned in the early afternoon with Aunt Lane’s carriage seat loaded with parcels and more to be delivered in the coming days, which her aunt had insisted on buying, leaving only a few small things to be set to her father’s account.
She was sitting on her bed surrounded by them, wondering how she was going to cram all those new clothes into her trunk and if she really needed them, when Hannah came to tell her Anne had arrived.
Jane tidied her hair and straightened her skirt before going down to the drawing room. Anne was sitting on the sofa, glancing at the latest Ladies’ Magazine when she entered. She was alone. If Jane had nurtured a hope that her friend would be accompanied by Harry, she refused even to acknowledge it, and smiled a welcome. ‘Anne, I am so glad you have come. There is so much to tell you.’ She rang the bell and, when Hannah came, asked her to bring refreshments. ‘I have had an exhausting day.’
‘Preparing for your visit to Coprise, I collect,’ Anne said drily.
‘Yes.’ Jane chose to ignore her friend’s tone. ‘Aunt Lane has insisted on buying me a whole new wardrobe. I think she must have been thinking she was buying a wedding trousseau.’
‘Perhaps she was.’
‘No, indeed. I have made no promise. But come upstairs and I will show you.’
They went up to Jane’s room where the purchases were laid out for her inspection. ‘I had such a job arguing with Aunt about colours and styles,’ she said. ‘But luckily the costumier agreed with me and so I have nothing too outrageous.’
‘Jane, are you sure you are not being persuaded into something you do not truly wish for? Once you have been to Coprise Manor, it will be assumed that you will have him. It will be difficult to turn back.’
‘I might not want to turn back.’
‘But supposing you do? You know nothing about this man or his background.’
‘That is what I am going to Coprise to discover. And if I find we do not suit, I shall simply say so.’
‘Oh, Jane, surely you are not such a ninny as to think it will be as easy as that? You will never be able to extricate yourself without a dreadful scandal. I am afraid for you.’
‘You have no need to be. Aunt Lane will take care of me.’
Anne felt like weeping. As far as she could see, her friend had been manipulated in the most disgraceful way and she could cheerfully have throttled both Mr Hemingford and Mrs Lane. ‘I wish you happy, I really do, but forgive me if I do not stay to take tea. I think it would choke me.’
She got up and left Jane surrounded by her new finery, bewildered and tearful. She had only once before quarrelled with Anne and that had been over Harry. And so was this. Anne was like a dog with a bone, but was she right?
Chapter Three
J ane spent the next few days tormented by indecision. Anne’s words had sunk deep and though she continually told herself that her friend had an axe to grind, she did not think that was the whole of it. But it was too late to say she would not go—her aunt talked about it endlessly, even so far as calling on the Countess, obeying that lady’s instruction to keep her informed.
‘Her ladyship tells me Mr Allworthy is related to Viscount Denderfield,’ she told Jane on her return. ‘He has a modest estate and an income of twenty thousand a year. The match has her blessing.’
Jane could not see how a modest estate could bring in that income, but she supposed he had inherited some of it. ‘Aunt, how could you discuss my affairs so openly with someone I have only seen once in my life and that for no more than five minutes?’
‘But, Jane dear, I have always done so; she is family, after all. And you must acknowledge Mr Allworthy is a great catch, better than I could have hoped for you.’
‘Why? Am I monster? Do I have two heads? Do I eat with my fingers and never wash? Am I mad?’ She was fiery with passion.
‘My dear Jane, there is no need to fly into the boughs. You know I did not mean that you were not good enough for him. After all, you come from aristocratic stock on your dear mama’s side and you have inherited her looks, nothing wrong there. It is only that you have left it so late and everyone of your age, including most of the eligibles, except widowers and old fogies, are suited. It is only because Mr Allworthy has spent most of his time buried in the country that he was overlooked.’
Jane laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. Mr Allworthy had been overlooked and forgotten in the country while she was being tainted by scandal and ostracised by the haut monde because she had dared to break off her engagement to one of their number. And now it looked very much as if it was all going to be raked up again. Harry was back and not only back, but had returned a hero. She was glad she was leaving town, very glad indeed.
But she was to see Harry once more before she left. Since she now had a fashionable habit and knew the stable from which Blaze had been hired, it was not difficult to go riding. The same groom whom Donald had employed was designated to ride behind her, to protect her from the villains with which London abounded and to act as an unofficial chaperon. Jane did not see the necessity for either role, but she consented to his presence to please her aunt. But it was not a sedate walk or trot she had in mind, but a full-blooded gallop, and once in the park she ordered her escort to wait for her by the gate and trotted off on her own.
Although it was early in the morning, it promised to be a warm day. The sun was a brilliant orange ball in a sky of cornflower blue, with not a cloud to be seen. Her problems were pushed to the back of her mind as she rode away from the usual bridleway where everyone was more concerned with how they looked, whom they might meet, the gossip they might hear and pass on, than with the business of exercising their mounts.
Gradually she became aware that she was not alone; there were other hoofbeats gaining on her and she was reminded that London was not a safe place for a lady on her own, not even Hyde Park in broad daylight. She spurred the little mare on, but the harder she rode, the nearer her pursuer came and she knew that Blaze was tiring. She was obliged to pull up or wind her horse completely. The other rider pulled up beside her.
‘My