Daisychain Summer. Elizabeth Elgin
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I’m up because there’s a lot to do and only three servants to do it! The countess and Lady Anna are calling this morning, so shape yourself! I want you bathed and shaved and your linen changed as soon as maybe! Breakfast is in five minutes; the hairdresser is calling at nine. And a word to the wise, Elliot! The girl next door has taken my fancy, so behave yourself!’
‘Mother, dear – you aren’t playing Cupid again? You know, I really am capable of –’
‘You are capable of nothing, boy! I’ve warned you and warned you. I want you settled down. I want grandchildren!’
‘But you have one already, in Kentucky.’ He shifted uneasily, an eye on the staircase, and escape. His mother was in one of her or-else moods. Do as I say, or else! His allowance, that’s what it would be. She had only stopped it once, but what an uncomfortable month it had been.
‘The one in America doesn’t count. I want a grandson from you, Elliot, and born in wedlock, an’ all. Your Aunt Helen has one. Giles did his duty. Rowangarth has an heir.’
‘Ah, yes – the sewing-maid …’
‘An heir, Elliot, no matter by who! That grandchild of Helen’s kept the title from Pendenys. Your father would have had it, but for him! Helen always lands on her feet!’
‘As did the sewing-maid – or was it on her back?’
‘That will do!’ Clementina’s cheeks blazed bright red. ‘I’m not going to argue the toss with you. You’ve sown your wild oats from Leeds to Paris and back! Now either you find yourself a wife, or else!’
Or else no allowance; bills unpaid and no money for a wager, either! And this morning, he was forced to admit, his mother looked as if she meant it.
‘Mother, dear – can we not go in to breakfast?’ Did they have to talk about it in the hall in full hearing of below stairs, who would be shivering with delight at every syllable of it? ‘Can’t we have our chat over a cup of coffee? I understand perfectly your wish to see me married.’ And I know how damn-awful it is to be without money and that you know that I know it, too.
He opened the dining-room door, jabbing the bell-push as he walked past it, pulling out his mother’s chair.
‘Married? You do? And you are willing to be nice to Lady Anna and the countess – just to please me? It’s all I ask and you know you can charm the birds from the trees when you set your mind to it.’
‘I will be nice to them.’ The worst was over. She had had her say; now she would change to the surely-you-can-do-this-one-little-thing-for-me approach which was better than the dramatic ‘… and-in-my-own-house-too!’ – followed by a fit of sobbing vapours. ‘I promise you I’ll be especially nice to your countess.’
‘And to Lady Anna?’
‘Her too, mother. And now can we eat like civilized people? Breakfast on the sleeper was untouchable. Oh, and father says he’ll keep in touch about Aunt Sutton and that you are not to worry.’
‘Ha! Can’t see why he should go tearing off to France at the drop of a hat! And why does Helen have to be poking her nose in? She’s no more related to your aunt than I am! We are both sisters-in-law, so why was that telegram sent to her in the first place?’
‘Why indeed?’ Elliot comforted, glad they were on a different tack. ‘But you can’t be expected to drop everything, mother. You have a full social calendar …’
‘Yes, I have.’ She held out her coffee cup to be filled. ‘And it’s probably nothing worse than a cut finger! They are soft, those Suttons – not like my side; not like your Grandfather Elliot and the Pendennises …’
She stopped, horrified. This morning, when she was at home to a countess, the last person she must think about was her Cornish ancestress Mary Anne Pendennis!
She gazed across the table at her son; at the only Sutton who was Pendennis dark. All the rest were fair and grey-eyed; all but Elliot whom she loved all the more because of it.
‘You are a great comfort to me,’ she whispered. ‘Only settle down with a respectable girl and you shall have anything you could ever want. That is my promise to you, so think on, Elliot …’
The Countess Petrovska arrived punctually, accompanied by her daughter and the servant in black. The servant pressed the bell-push, curtseyed deeply, then returned to the house next door, hands demurely clasped, eyes on her boots.
Clementina Sutton’s door was opened at once by the footman who had waited there for five minutes, flexing his white-gloved hands. Fuss, fuss, fuss. You’d have thought the Queen and Princess Mary were visiting, not some women the Ruskies had flung out!
The footman bowed; Clementina appeared in the sitting-room doorway.
‘My dear countess.’ She offered a hand, fingers limp. ‘And Lady Anna.’
Anna Petrovska smiled prettily, then bobbed the smallest of curtseys in deference to an elder.
‘Countess – may I present Elliot, my son?’
Elliot bowed low over the offered hand, raised it almost to his lips, his eyes all the time on those of the countess. Then he turned his gaze to Anna, nodding, smiling, claiming her attention for a fleeting, intimate second.
He did it so beautifully, Clementina thought with pride. Money, that’s what! Money paid for education and grand tours. It didn’t buy breeding, but most other things came within its giving. So vast a sum spent on Elliot’s upbringing had returned a good dividend. If only he had been born fair like all the other Suttons he would be perfect, she sighed.
‘Please?’ she gestured with a hand. ‘I have rung for tea and coffee. Do sit down.’
Elliot hovered attentively, moving side tables a fraction nearer, offering a footstool, his eyes appraising Anna.
She was tall and slender. Her brown hair was thick and simply dressed. Remove the combs either side of her face and it would cascade almost to her waist.
Elliot Sutton liked long hair; deplored the newest short cuts women were taking to. Tresses and breasts were fast disappearing and both excited him.
Anna Petrovska had high, rounded breasts he could cup in each hand. Her eyes were demurely downcast, her lashes thick and long on her cheek.
She was undoubtedly a virgin. He liked taking virgins but this one he would first have to marry.
Now the servant in black – the one he had watched this morning from his bedroom window – was altogether another thing. Virginal, too, but servants were available. He had observed her closely, pegging sheets to dry; had never before seen so menial a task so gracefully performed. The servant’s breasts were rounded and high, too; her waist was handspan small and her ankles, when glimpsed, had excited him.
He wondered if she spoke any English, but a kiss was a kiss in any language. Mind, he had promised his best behaviour, and there was the rub. If he was to impress the countess as his mother had so firmly demanded, perhaps it were best to place the servant out of bounds for the time being.
‘My mother tells me,’ he smiled at Anna, ‘that you speak the most beautiful English almost all the time.’
‘Except two days ago, when Igor came home,’ she dimpled. ‘Then we forget and we laugh and cry in Russian. Did you know, Mr Sutton, that it is possible even to weep, in Russian?’
‘Your son is home, countess?’ Clementina knew it already, but she wanted the entire story.
‘He is, thanks be. And the boy did well.’ Her eyes misted briefly, then she lifted her chin. ‘Ah, you tell them, Anna. It still pains me to speak of it!’
‘Igor was