She was delighted to meet Reginald again, particularly at Portland Place—it supported her conviction that the young man meant to make Lady Vernon an offer of marriage, and this was confirmed by Lady Vernon’s pale and languid appearance, which must be the result of waiting for him to speak.

“Are you settled in town for the season, sir?” inquired Mrs. Johnson.

“I cannot say. There is an interest that brings me to London and another that may call me back to Kent.”

“Well, you have got to that time of life when everybody will want a share of your company, and it will be difficult to know how to please them and do your duty to your parents as well.”

“Indeed,” observed Lady Martin, “I tell my son that he must not concern himself with duty—he may keep away from me as long as he likes without ever offending me or thinking me neglected. There will be time enough to settle when you marry. Then your friends and relations may come to you, and I can only hope that the occasion will see such an improvement in Sir Reginald that you will be obliged to find a property of your own when you settle.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” chimed in Mrs. Johnson. “For entails can be very awkward arrangements.”

“I think the purpose of an entail is an excellent one,” replied Reginald.

“Yes,” Lady Vernon observed, “but the purpose is not always borne out in practice. Not every heir can administer the property entrusted to him, and when an inheritance is neglected or driven into debt, I think that family feeling must suffer.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed her aunt. “And only think of all the daughters and wives who are cast adrift when property goes from one hand to another. What is to be done with them ought to be laid out in the entail as well. And where do you go now?” she inquired as Reginald rose to take his leave. “To your club, I expect—which is it, White’s? Clubs are very treacherous places when the weather is so wet. It keeps the members too long at wagering and cards. Many a fortune has been lost at a comfortable club on a rainy day, and that is even harder on the wives and daughters, as it brings disgrace upon them as well as poverty.”

“That is one advantage of an entail.” Reginald smiled. “I cannot lose Parklands Manor at cards.”

“A gentleman of property will see that as an advantage,” replied Lady Vernon gravely as she extended her hand, “because he will always be left with something to fall back upon, but a woman whose livelihood is in the custody of a gamester must always tremble when a reckless husband or brother goes to his club.”

“Oh, yes!” declared Mrs. Johnson. “If Mr. Johnson were affable enough to sit down to cards, he might have lost Eliza Manwaring’s fortune, as it was all left in his charge. You are left better off than Eliza,” she said to her friend, “for one brother will not breach the trust of another, but friendship often does not survive a lifetime, much less beyond it.”

Lady Vernon was grateful for Mrs. Johnson’s useful vulgarity, as it often caused her to put forth ideas that a more genteel person would be loath to express. At her allusion to Charles Vernon, Reginald became very sober and, soon after, took his leave.

“How very handsome of him to visit you so immediately upon his coming from Kent!” declared Mrs. Johnson when he was gone. “Such extraordinary attention cannot be without motive!”

She then made her adieux and hurried to call upon Lady Millbanke, Mrs. Crosby, and Eliza Manwaring and relate all that had passed between Lady Vernon and Reginald deCourcy while their looks and words were still fresh in her head. They would make a match of it, she declared, as soon as Lady Vernon was able to exert, for she had looked very fatigued and sat upon the sofa covered up with shawls for the entire visit.

As for Reginald, he went directly to his club, where he asked of the more seasoned habitués whether his brother Vernon had been often seen in the card room and if Lord Whitby had been exhibiting any symptoms of being in love.

chapter forty-eight

Lady Vernon to Miss Vernon


             Portland Place, London

             My dear Frederica,

             I am very happy that you are so pleased with Parklands. To be warmly received by Lady deCourcy was perhaps too much to hope for, but the civility of Sir Reginald and the companionship of Maria will be ample compensation, particularly in so delightful a setting.

             We have been confined to Portland Place by the weather—or rather, confined by our country habits, which have us content with needlework and books and conversation when it rains. Those who prefer the town to the country are not put off by the wet. Lucy Smith called, wearing blue peacock feathers upon her head and her pink husband on her arm—she expressed great surprise over your being in Kent, great disappointment at your not being here, and great delight to be introduced to Lady Martin. Indeed, every expression and emotion and exclamation was very great—she makes no allowance for shade or degree. The Smiths are inoffensive and silly, but it is the silliness that might easily make them prey to contrivance and double dealing.

             Mr. Manwaring has called every day, but I do not think it is wise to admit him unless my aunt is at leisure to sit with us. He has grown very incautious in a manner that has raised the estrangement with his wife to the level of scandal, yet he is still received everywhere—his manners remain so affable and high-spirited that he cannot be shunned. It is no difficult thing to find good people to put at ones dinner table or saloon, but the clever and entertaining ones are harder to come by, and relief from dullness is purchased at the cost of a little impropriety.

             Eliza Manwaring is so far reconciled to her guardian as to have continual admission at Edward Street. Alicia Johnson declares that he is inclined to consign the whole of Eliza’s fortune to her and be done with it, and so poor Alicia does not know which Manwaring to befriend—the privilege of visiting Langford must be weighed against keeping up an acquaintance who may have thirty thousand. I honor your sense, my dear Freddie, in choosing the best of the three, as Maria is superior to both her brother and his wife, and am very pleased to learn that she will soon be removed to a situation that will ensure her happiness.

             This information—which must have been confided to you by Maria, as it is of the sort that young ladies will never keep from a bosom friend—has been disclosed to me by Mr. Lewis deCourcy. I think the news, when it is generally known, will surprise many at first, but I am so persuaded of Mr. deCourcy’s sound character and good judgment that I think he would never choose rashly or ill. I hope that Sir Reginald is pleased with her—pleased enough that the news of their engagement will meet with no coldness or opposition from him. How well Lady deCourcy will like to have a girl younger than her own son as her sister, I cannot say, but I do not think that Mr. Lewis deCourcy will be held back in anything because Lady deCourcy does not like it. His brother’s good opinion may have more influence, and therefore, if you may effect anything on your friend’s behalf, I hope that you will do it, as it would be for the best if Maria were not to ever return to either Eliza or Manwaring. I have never been an advocate for long engagements, nor an opponent of marriages where there is some disparity in age or fortune. My own marriage to your honored father came about within months of our introduction and produced so many years of happiness that I cannot think anybody now remembers that it was regarded as a very unequal match.

             My aunt takes Dr. Driggs’s visits in very good humor, and all of her pronouncements upon the charlatanry of London attendants are made out of his hearing, but I fear that the residents of Portland Place have put a very dire construction upon his regular attendance (as my situation is so well concealed that only my aunt, Wilson, and Mrs. Forrester know of it). If, therefore, you should receive word of my imminent demise, do not be alarmed.

             I am very interested in your portrait of Sir Reginald. Write to me faithfully to tell me how you get on with him.

             My aunt bids me send you her love, and Sir James, who is a very faithful visitor, likewise instructs me to close no letter to you without assuring you of his affection.

             Your mother,

             S. Vernon


Sir James Martin was very much entertained by the gossip making its way through fashionable circles, that Lady Vernon was the object of Reginald deCourcy He imagined what great fun it would be when his engagement to Lady Vernon was made public. Of that prospect, he had not the least doubt—had he any rival, his cousin would have refused him outright and not asked only that he postpone his addresses.

He called very regularly at Portland Place, always making a grand bow in the direction of the upper window of the Misses Millbanke across the way before he stepped into the house.

“He must be impatient to advance his marriage with Miss Vernon,” declared Mrs. Johnson to these young ladies. “If he were a poor man, I would advise him to delay, for if Lady Vernon marries Reginald deCourcy, she will be very rich, and in a position to settle a great deal more upon her daughter than she can at present.”

It was not until a morning near the middle of February, however, that Sir James spied the bowed form of Dr. Driggs as the latter was departing from Portland Place and alighted from his carriage in great haste, afraid that his mother or cousin had been taken ill. To his relief, he saw Lady Martin with her workbasket at her feet and her sewing on her lap, and Lady Vernon reclining by the fire, covered with shawls. She smiled with her customary pleasure when he entered and held out her hand, though she did not stir from her position.