Rake's Reward. Joanna Maitland

miss. Her ladyship and her son…’ He coughed. ‘His lordship has his own house in town. He always stays there.’

      ‘I see,’ said Marina. It was understandable that a grown-up son would not wish to live under the eye of his mother, even for a day or two. The butler seemed to have been about to say something about the pair, something that had sounded for all the world like the beginning of backstairs gossip. Marina, not being a servant, should deliberately shut her ears to it. And yet she found herself wondering about the Earl and his relationship with his mother. Was she too demanding for his comfort? Elderly ladies often were. And a gentleman’s patience could be quickly exhausted.

      The butler led Marina down to the floor below and to a room at the front of the house. With a grand gesture, he threw open the door and announced, in stentorian tones, ‘Miss Beaumont, your ladyship.’

      Marina passed through the door that Tibbs was holding and heard it close quietly at her back. This sumptuous straw-coloured drawing room seemed to be empty. She could see no one at all. But surely…? The butler had seemed in no doubt…

      Marina hesitated by the door.

      ‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Come into the light where I may see you.’ The sharp voice came from the depths of a chair by a large window overlooking the street.

      Marina moved forward to find the source of that peremptory command. Only when she had reached the far side of the room could she see that the voice had issued from a tiny figure who was dwarfed by the chair she sat in. Lady Luce was richly dressed in plum-coloured silk, but in the style of more than forty years earlier, with wide skirts and an abundance of fine lace at her throat and wrists, and a powdered wig on her head. Although her skin was dry and wrinkled, the delicate lines of her bones showed that she had once been very beautiful. Now she resembled nothing so much as a miniature exotic fruit, so shrivelled and fragile that it might shatter if it was touched.

      ‘Good gad, they’ve sent me a beanpole,’ Lady Luce exclaimed.

      Marina could feel herself blushing. It had been a matter of regret throughout her adult life that she had inherited her father’s height and build. Her slight figure made her seem even taller than she actually was. Compared with Lady Luce, she must seem a veritable giantess. Marina curtsied. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’ she said calmly, trying to manage a smile for the tiny—and extremely rude—Dowager Countess who was to be her employer.

      The Dowager did not immediately reply to Marina’s polite greeting. She was looking her up and down, her sharp old eyes missing nothing of her new companion’s dowdy appearance. ‘Thought one of the Blaines would be better turned out,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t give a gown like that to a scullery maid.’

      This was not a good start to their relationship. The Dowager must be instantly disabused of the idea that Marina was ‘one of the Blaines,’ or that she could afford to be better dressed. Marina knew she must set matters straight between them, even if Lady Luce sent her packing as a result. She had no choice.

      ‘I think you must be labouring under a misapprehension, ma’am,’ Marina began. ‘My name is Beaumont, not Blaine. I am only distantly related to the Viscount’s family, through my grandmother, but she was not acknowledged by them, not after her marriage.’

      ‘Hmph,’ snorted the Dowager. ‘Nothing “distant” about it. Your mother and the new Viscount are first cousins, are they not?’

      ‘Yes, but not—’

      ‘You’re a Blaine,’ said the Dowager flatly. ‘The old Viscount’s father was a tyrant and a blackguard, but that don’t change the bloodline, not in my book. Your grandmother was daughter to one Viscount, and sister to the next. You’re a Blaine, all right.’

      It was clearly going to be difficult to argue with Lady Luce, perhaps even to get a word in, Marina decided. But, on this delicate subject, she must try.

      ‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she began again, ‘but you must understand that the Beaumonts have never been acknowledged by the Viscount’s family, not even when my grandmother’s brother succeeded to the title.’

      ‘That’s because he was just like his father,’ interrupted the Dowager, with a grimace, ‘which was only to be expected, since all the Blaine men—’ She broke off to scrutinise Marina’s face for a moment and then said, ‘I see you know nothing about your noble relations, young lady. Well, I may choose to enlighten you—perhaps—one day. But there are other, more pressing matters. For a start, we must do something about that frightful monstrosity you are wearing.’

      Worse and worse, thought Marina, but before she had a chance to say a word in defence of her wardrobe, the Dowager was laying down the law on dress, just as she had on the subject of blood.

      ‘It is fit only for the fire,’ pronounced Lady Luce. ‘Or the poorhouse. Though, even there, I dare say the women would turn their noses up at it. Have you nothing fit to be seen, girl?’

      ‘I do have one evening gown, ma’am. Apart from that, I have very few gowns, all similar to this one. What spare money we have must be spent on my brother’s education. Harry is at Oxford,’ she added, with sisterly pride, ‘and he is destined for the Church.’

      ‘Don’t approve of spending every last farthing on boys,’ said Lady Luce quickly. ‘You educate them, and where does it get you? Eh? Take your every penny and fritter it away. If it’s not land drainage, or enclosures, or something equally unnecessary, it’s fast living and loose women.’

      ‘Harry does not—’

      Marina’s protest was cut short by another disapproving snort. ‘Not your brother. Don’t know the first thing about him. He may be a pattern-card of rectitude, for all I know. But the sons of noble families…’ Lady Luce shook her head. Her message was clear. The sons of noble families were not to be trusted with money. Presumably that also applied to her own son?

      ‘A lady has to be independent enough to lead her own life, in just the way she wants,’ said Lady Luce, warming to her subject. ‘Especially once she is widowed,’ she added meaningfully.

      At last, Marina understood. Lady Luce’s unusual views on female independence were clearly to be applied to her own case, and probably to that case only. It was unlikely she would care about the plight of Mama, or any other gently bred widow who had fallen on hard times.

      ‘You give ’em an heir and your duty is done,’ said Lady Luce. ‘Least a husband can do in return is to provide for a comfortable widowhood. But husbands seem to think that the heir should have charge of everything, even his mother!’ She stopped, looking up at Marina once again. ‘And just what do you think you are laughing at, young madam?’

      Marina had not realised she had begun to smile at the old lady’s spirited defence of her own interests. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she lied quickly, ‘I was thinking only that you reminded me of my own dear grandmother. I miss her greatly.’

      ‘Balderdash,’ said Lady Luce roundly. ‘You were thinking that I was talking dangerous nonsense, but that I could be forgiven my revolutionary views because of my great age. Well? Were you not?’

      Taking a deep breath, Marina said, with sudden resolution, ‘Yes, ma’am, I was. I admit it. But I see now that your arguments should not be dismissed on such spurious grounds. You are obviously a redoubtable opponent, for woman or for man, and your great age has nothing to do with the case.’

      Lady Luce gasped. For a second, Marina held her breath, thinking how foolhardy she had been to speak so. The Dowager would ring a peal over her head and then despatch her post-haste back to Yorkshire. But nothing of the sort happened. Her ladyship stared sharply into Marina’s face, now mercifully straight, and then said, with a crack of laughter, ‘Yes, you’ll do. Once we have done something about your wardrobe, of course. I shall see to that tomorrow. You are not fit to be seen as you are. Turn round.’

      Obediently, Marina turned her back.

      ‘Again,’ said the Dowager.

      Marina