Indecently Daring by Emma V Leech
Chapter 2
Dearest Fred,
Life at Heart’s Folly is rather wonderful. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, in a great big bed surrounded by lace edged pillows and with a fire blazing in the hearth and think I must be dreaming. The day I met Papa was the luckiest day of my life and I am so grateful to him. I wish I were better behaved, for he deserves the perfect daughter who never says things she ought not or acts imprudently. Sadly, he’s stuck with me. I do try, Fred, truly, but then I open my mouth and… well, you know.
Sometimes I think you will lose patience with me and decide I am not worth the bother. There are so many other young ladies eager for your time who would not try you so sorely. Yet, I do miss your company and wish you were still here. I hope you are doing well at school and getting top marks, but of course I know you are.
Papa has hired a tutor for me, for as his daughter, it is no longer appropriate that I attend Eliza’s school. I rather miss it, for the girls were a lot of fun, but I must become a young lady now and make him and dear Evie proud. Happily, I still get to learn all the lessons I attended at school, including maths and science, though I think it rather scandalises the tutor to be teaching such subjects to a mere girl. However, I intend to confound him by showing him I’m just as good as any boy.
When shall I see you again?
―Excerpt of a letter to the Right Hon’ble Frederick Adolphus (Younger son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) from Miss Agatha de Montluc (adopted daughter of Louis and Evie de Montluc, Comte et Comtesse de Villen).
3rdJanuary 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.
Harry approached the vast building that was Holbrook House with a prickling sensation skittering down his spine. He told himself not to be so ungrateful, nor so unkind as to wish his aunt elsewhere. She was a kind-hearted soul and generous to a fault. As a boy, he’d adored her and believed her the only person in the world who understood him or cared for his well-being, but things had changed. Cora Dankworth’s particular brand of chaos was not something he could welcome into his well-ordered world with equanimity any longer. His living here as parish vicar still felt precarious but, until his housekeeper had left so precipitously, things had been going well. For the first time he could remember, he’d had taken control of his life. He had found meaning and purpose in a life that had been too random and tumultuous for too long. But of late he’d been feeling somewhat restless and on edge, as if the safe, peaceful little world he had built for himself rested on sand, rather than the solid foundation he had wanted so much to believe in. And now here was his madcap relative, plunging headlong into his nicely ordered life without so much as a by your leaveand those uncertain footings were shuddering with apprehension.
Forcing down his misgivings, Harry affixed a smile to his face and greeted the countess, who had just preceded the butler out of the front doors. Harry turned at the sound of hooves and wheels upon gravel, to see a splendid carriage and six matched bays trotting smartly down the long approach to the house.
“Perfect timing, Reverend,” Lady St Clair said approvingly as he bowed to her. “Oh, and do you remember my niece, Miss Cadogan? I suppose it’s been rather a while, and I must introduce you to her friend, Lady Catherine.”
Harry turned and almost took a step backwards in shock, which would have pitched him back down the stairs. Instead, he forced himself not to react, which made his greeting rather mechanical, and froze the already stiff smile upon his face. Really, though, one did not expect to be thrust into the presence of Aphrodite and Artemis at the same time. A fellow needed a bit of warning for that kind of thing, but Lady St Clair only hurried through the introductions, keen to greet her approaching guests.
“Lady Catherine, allow me to present the Reverend Harry Martin. Reverend, Lady Catherine Barrington, and my niece, Miss Alana Cadogan.”
“A pleasure, ladies,” Harry managed, though uncomfortably aware that it did not sound as if much pleasure was involved. Lady Catherine, or Aphrodite, as he had mentally labelled her, returned a warm smile, apparently unperturbed by his reaction. Looking as she did, no doubt she was used to men acting oddly around her. Artemis, however, had a challenging glint in her eyes that suggested she thought him rude and rather pompous. He only had a vague memory of Alana Cadogan, though he remembered well enough that she always conspired to be elsewhere when she ought to be in church. Sighing inwardly, Harry turned towards the carriage, which had rolled to a stop before the house, and now he saw the impressive golden crest emblazoned on the door.
Oh, no. And there he’d been thinking it couldn’t get any worse.
The door was flung open a moment before the footman reached it and a large and all too familiar man leapt down, turning to glare back into the carriage, shaking his fist at someone inside.
“Never again, you devil! I’m never travelling with you ever again. Not if my life depends upon it, you malodorous creature. You’ve the heart of a villain, you blackguard, but you’re nothing but a pigeon with pretensions!”
Emerging from the carriage—now a rather anxious looking footman had set down the steps—Lady Beauchamp rolled her eyes at her nephew. “Bainbridge, really, must you make such a scene? It’s only a parrot, dear.”
“It’s the devil’s spawn is what it is!” Bainbridge raged with feeling, before remembering himself and turning to see the assembled company watching him with consternation. Tugging down his waistcoat, he let out a slow breath before bowing to the ladies. “Forgive me, Countess, ladies, but Lady St Clair, whatever possessed you to allow them to bring that wretched bird? I swear it would try the patience of a saint, and I ain’t no saint.”
“I was under the impression the creature would pine if left behind,” the lady said, lips twitching with amusement.
“Pine,” Bainbridge scoffed, looking disgusted. “It would just use the time to make plans for how best to upset my peace of mind, that’s all.”
Harry looked on, amused despite himself, as his aunt stepped out of the carriage and a footman gingerly followed her, carrying an enormous cage with a large, brightly coloured parrot inside.
“Sodom and Gomorrah,” the parrot announced cheerfully, whistling and bobbing up and down on its perch whilst looking about with interest. “Wicked, wicked Bainbridge! Murder, murder!”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I wish you joy of it,” Bainbridge said to Lady St Clair balefully, before his gaze fell upon Harry, his expression brightening. “As I live and breathe. That you under all that black cloth, Harry?”
“For my sins,” Harry replied with a wry smile, finding himself pleased to see Bainbridge after so long, despite the fellow always having caused chaos whenever he was around.
Bainbridge took the stairs two at a time and grasped Harry’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Well, well. Look at you, all holy and err, vicary. I heard you’d taken holy whatchacallems, but I hardly believed it, yet here you are. The Reverend Harry Martin.” Bainbridge shook his head, staring at Harry with obvious fascination, as if he’d revealed himself to have a green skin and a tail. “Why, Harry?” he asked then, his tone so bewildered Harry could only laugh.
“It’s good to see you too, Bainbridge,” he said, before turning to greet his relation. “Aunt Cora, you are looking well.”
“What tosh! I look like the Gorgon’s grandmother, especially after that dreadful journey, and I don’t doubt I’m just as welcome, eh, boy?”
His aunt shot him a knowing look, though her lips quirked with amusement.
“Nonsense. I’m delighted to see you, you dreadful creature,” Harry said, finding he meant it, for now at least. Cora brought memories of a happy childhood, of mischief and sweets and stolen cake, and a great deal of laughter. Until now, he’d not realised he’d forbidden himself to remember such things. A bittersweet sense of regret accompanied the memories.
“Dreadful, dreadful, wicked boy!” squawked the parrot.
“Get that blasted bird indoors and out of my sight!” Bainbridge barked at the nearest footman, who practically ran up the stairs, cage in hand. “Thank God I’m not staying here, no offence, Countess—oh, or you, Martin. Blasphemy, and all that. Forgive me, I forgot myself, but you know I’m a philistine by now, I reckon.”
“Well, then,” Lady St Clair said, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter. “I’m certain you’re all desperate for a cup of tea, so do come inside and we’ll get you all settled.”
Casting a bright smile upon the assembled company, she ushered everyone indoors.
“Well,” Cat said to Alana, watching the new arrivals as Aunt Harriet ushered them all indoors and out of the cold. “Now I understand what all the fuss was about.”
“Hmm?” Alana turned to look at her friend. “What fuss?”
Cat rolled her eyes and slipped her arm through Alana’s. “About the Reverend Martin, dear.”
“What about him?”
With a snort of frustration, Cat shook her head, her ice-blonde curls bouncing. “That he’s divine, you unnatural creature! My, those broad shoulders, and that thick dark hair. What on earth is wrong with you? Surely you noticed him?”
“I noticed he looked at me like I’d crawled out of cheese,” Alana remarked tartly.
“Oh, you must disregard that.” Cat waved this away. “A vicar is still a man, and men often act oddly when meeting pretty girls. Papa says I must deploy my smile with caution. He swears he saw a fellow walk headlong into a lamppost once, simply because I smiled at him and the poor devil promptly lost his bearings.”
She shook her head, apparently still finding this incomprehensible, but Alana knew that, if Cat’s father had told her, she would take it as gospel.
“Lost his wits, more like,” Alana muttered. “And I can well believe you have that effect on men, Cat, but he was glaring at me.”
“Well, and the combined effect of both of us together must have temporarily dazzled him.” Cat snickered. “Come along. We shall give him another chance, and see if he rallies.”
Alana allowed Cat to drag her indoors.
Alana was not to have a chance to see what she made of Reverend Martin that day, however. It appeared that, immediately after being introduced to them, he’d seen his aunt comfortably settled, then made his excuses and rushed off, presumably to tend to his flock. Not that Alana could find fault with that. She was all admiration for those kind-hearted souls who gave their time to aiding and comforting others. Though the possibility that he had fled to avoid her company nagged at her, Alana scolded herself for being conceited enough to think her presence bothered him one way or another and disregarded it. No, he would have gone off doing good works, no doubt.
Today, he had come to Holbrook again at her aunt’s invitation to discuss a fund-raising event for the local school. Alana eyed the man with curiosity as he listened to Lady Beauchamp illustrate some minor mishap that the lady seemed vastly disturbed by, and with every outward appearance of attention and sympathy. He must have a tremendous amount of patience.
Alana had never quite gained the knack for offering comfort. Though she was happy to be busy, to do things, the idea of holding the hand of someone in distress and offering reassurance always made her want to run for the hills. It wasn’t that she was squeamish; Alana was a practical girl with a strong stomach. If you wanted help to lance a boil or to birth a calf, she’d do whatever was required. If you wanted her to hike up a mountain without a murmur of complaint, or wade barefoot through mud to rescue an unfortunate kitten, she'd do it. She had done all those things. But weeping and sickness made her panicky, and she hadn’t the slightest idea of polite chitchat.
Her eldest sister, one of the twins and the most intelligent of the Cadogan brood, despaired of her. Elspeth was truly an elegant lady of the ton, and everything that Alana was not. The other twin, Greer, was far closer in character, but even she had settled down since she’d married, and now lived a peaceful life with her husband. Greer simply said Alana had best marry a farmer and have done with it, because she’d no notion of how to go on in society. Alana had believed for some years that she was going to marry a farmer, and had prepared for the role, only to discover… well, that she’d made a proper mess of things. How unusual.
She gave a heavy sigh and then stiffened as she realised she had been lost in her own thoughts instead of paying attention to the meeting. Reverend Martin was frowning at her in apparent disapproval. Alana sat up straighter, determined to concentrate on the proceedings.
“Have another biscuit, Harry,” Mrs Dankworth said, offering the tray to the reverend.
He took one. That had to be his fifth, Alana noted with amusement.
“Well, so we have decided a ball won’t do, then,” Lady Beauchamp said with a regretful sigh. “A pity.”
“Well, only because there is already a ball for Valentine’s night planned before we go up to town,” Lady St Clair pointed out. “To have another within a few weeks of it might try even my organisational powers, not to mention my patience.”
“Yes, quite right, of course. I’m being greedy as usual,” Lady Beecham said wistfully. “Only I do love a ball. All those handsome young men in their finery, such a pretty sight.”
“Marvellous,” Mrs Dankworth agreed with alacrity. “Though it was better in our day. The fashions are so dull for men now. When we were girls, they wore these tight little pantaloons, and—”
“So if not a ball, what shall we do?” the vicar interrupted hurriedly, moving the conversation on and earning himself a reproachful glare from his aunt.
“How about an auction?” Alana suggested, handing the plate of sugar biscuits she’d been given to Cat after she’d chosen one for herself. “People can get quite competitive about giving the best prize, and then even more so when bidding, each of them trying to look more generous than their neighbours.”
“Oh, a marvellous idea,” Mrs Dankworth said, her eyes lighting up. “I’m certain we could find something to donate, couldn’t we, Dorcas?”
“I should think so,” Lady Beauchamp agreed.
“That sounds interesting, though it would take some organising.” Aunt Harriet frowned a little, considering. “You know what people are for promising the earth, but when it comes to the point, they’re dreadfully hard to pin down.”
“Well, we could help with that,” Cat volunteered. “Alana and I are very good at persuading people. Aren’t we, Lana?”
“Erm, I suppose so,” Alana said, eyeing the vicar, who was studying them with increasing concern.
“I’ll just bet you are, Lady Catherine. My, the trouble I could have caused with a face like that,” Mrs Dankworth said with a wondering sigh.
“You caused your fair share and more, Cora, dear,” Lady Beauchamp murmured.
“True, but I did give it my all.” The old lady winked at them, and Alana and Cat laughed, delighted by her.
“I’m uncertain it’s appropriate,” the reverend said, his dark eyes filled with concern.
“What’s not appropriate?” Mrs Dankworth demanded.
“For two unmarried ladies to be visiting the neighbourhood to gather donations. Isn’t it a little… I mean…?” The vicar hesitated, turning towards Lady St Clair for help. “Is it quite the thing?”
Despite knowing she ought not, Alana rolled her eyes, naturally at the precise moment the vicar glanced back at her. He stiffened, obviously offended, and Alana winced inwardly. Well, whatever it was he didn’t like about her, she had just made it far worse. She made a mental note to give him a wide berth in the future, but it was just more proof that she was quite unfit to enter society. Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps she ought to go back to Monmouthshire.
Alana had enjoyed living with her sister Greer and her husband, rather to her surprise. Once upon a time, the idea of not living in London would have appalled her, but she had found life in the country offered her far more freedom than she’d ever had before, and she had revelled in it. The discovery that she was not afraid of hard work, had a knack for handling animals, and loved the challenge of a working farm had entirely changed her perspective of who she was and what she wanted. But that had been much to do with Ollie.
Pushing those memories to the back of her mind, Alana forced her attention back to the question of the auction. The vicar, despite looking like every girl’s dream of a knight errant, was obviously a stick-in-the-mud, the kind who thought the world would crash down about their ears if propriety was not observed. Ignoring his obvious disapproval, Alana turned back to her aunt.
“—perfectly respectable,” the countess said. “It only needs a proper chaperone to accompany them. Perhaps Mrs Dankworth—”
The vicar choked on his tea, setting his teacup down with a crash.
Lady St Clair sprang to her feet and pounded him on the back as the vicar gasped, wheezing and coughing.
“That will teach you,” Mrs Dankworth remarked with a smirk, as Reverend Martin glared at her, his dark eyes watering as he fought to catch his breath.
“A glass of water, perhaps?” Lady St Clair offered, but Reverend Martin shook his head again, getting to his feet.
“Best be off,” he managed hoarsely. “Appointments.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Lady St Clair said. “Let me see you out.”
They watched the countess escort the vicar out of the room.
“Poor Reverend Martin,” Cat said sympathetically, once the door had closed behind them.
Rather to Alana’s surprise, Mrs Dankworth snorted. “I could choke him myself,” she muttered. “The foolish boy.”
Lady Beauchamp reached over and patted Mrs Dankworth’s hand. “Now, now, Cora. He’s young yet, and he’s trying so hard to make something of himself.”
“Yes, but he’s doing it all wrong, the dolt!”
Alana and Cat shared a glance and Mrs Dankworth sighed. “Forgive me, girls. It just makes me wild to see him wasting his life.”
“Wasting his life?” Alana repeated cautiously. “You don’t approve of his religious calling, Mrs Dankworth?”
The lady shrugged, apparently indifferent. “Oh, no, that’s fine. If that is what makes him happy, then I’m all for it… and do call me Cora, dear. Mrs Dankworth is such a dreary name. Mr Dankworth was a dear soul, but I always wished he’d sounded a little more dashing.”
She gave another wistful sigh and shook her head.
Alana bit her lip, rather delighted by the old woman. She was short and a little on the stout side, unlike Lady Beauchamp, who leaned towards the statuesque. Cora’s curls were a soft white with an apricot tint, suggesting she had once had auburn hair. Her eyes, like her nephew’s, were brown, though the Reverend Martin’s were an unusual spicy colour that put Alana in mind of cinnamon, and Cora’s were a darker shade.
“If it is not his being a vicar, then?” Cat asked, daring to ask the question Alana had not been bold enough to voice aloud. “What is it that makes you think he is wasting his life?”
“Because he’s forgotten how to live it,” Cora said in frustration. “He’s so afraid that—”
She snapped her mouth shut as Lady Beauchamp cleared her throat suggestively.
“I think perhaps your nephew’s affairs ought not be discussed quite so freely, Cora, dear,” the lady said gently.
Cora flushed. “How dreadful of me. Oh, what am I thinking? Girls, please disregard me. My nephew is a fine young man, the finest, in fact, and I adore him. I only worry about his happiness and that makes me cross and… and indiscreet, apparently.” The lady gave a bark of laughter. “Not that I’ve ever been any different, but poor Harry would be mortified if he knew I’d spoken of him so. Oh, but he’s changed too much, Dorcas! You must see it too?”
“Of course, I do, but don’t fret so. The Harry we knew is still there, we must just remind him, that’s all.”
Alana and Cat exchanged a bewildered glance. Alana wondered what on earth his aunt meant, what the Reverend Martin had once been like that was so different to how he was now, and how his Aunt Cora proposed to remind him of that fact.
