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The sisters had alighted from the mail coach at noon and been brought back on the pony and trap by their manservant, Mr Francis. Shortly after they had trooped tiredly up the steps to their home, their father, leaning heavily on his cane, had come into the hallway to fondly welcome them. Following a refreshing drink of lemonade and some newly baked buns, eaten in the sunny parlour, the young ladies had immediately retired to their chambers to remove their dusty travelling clothes and bathe in cool scented water provided by Mrs Francis, their housekeeper.
Beatrice had then rolled herself in her eiderdown and fallen into a deep sleep. Elise, also attired in just her linen underclothes, had snuggled into the comfort of her own bed. The window had been wide open and she’d luxuriated in the feel of balmy air sweeping her clean skin. She’d drowsed until the roiling thoughts ever present in her mind stole away the comfort and even the somnolent rustle of a million leaves couldn’t give it back. Drawing up her knees beneath her chin, she’d stared out at green pasture and fields turning gold beyond their boundary wall.
Now it was early evening and in an hour’s time they would dine. Having prepared their supper, Betty and Norman Francis had set off for their tiny cottage close by. In the kitchen a mutton stew bubbled on the stove, wafting mouthwatering aroma into the atmosphere. But Elise had no appetite. For the duration of the journey home she had been torn over whether to prime her father that dreadful rumours might even now be circulating in London because she’d disgraced herself. Beatrice was also unaware their world might come crashing down about their ears. Elise was determined to shield the two people who meant most to her from unnecessary alarm, so still held her tongue on it. Subconsciously she clung to her belief that Alex Blackthorne was worthy of the trust she’d put in him and would somehow bring everything right.
She hadn’t seen him again after their meeting in Regent Street. She’d been convinced he’d find a pretext to call on the Chapmans the following day so they might discuss what to do. But he had not.
‘Now...have you had a good rest and a bite to eat?’
Elise nodded as her father’s concern broke into her troubled introspection. ‘Mrs Francis gave us some buns before we went to freshen up and have a snooze. Bea is still fast asleep. The journey was very warm and tiring.’
‘Indeed, it is too close.’ Walter took a hanky from a pocket and mopped his perspiring brow. ‘So...did you have a nice time in London with your friends and has your sister returned in a better mood?’ He took off his spectacles and placed them on his desk, his features crinkling in a smile.
‘We had a fine time, Papa,’ Elise confirmed rather huskily. ‘And must thank you for your generosity in providing us with new clothes and for allowing us to stay with the Chapmans longer than was planned.’
Walter waved aside his daughter’s gratitude with a mottled hand. ‘It is no great sacrifice if good might come out of it.’ He cocked his sparsely thatched head, watching Elise. ‘Has Beatrice found herself a beau? Have you?’ His tone was as poignantly optimistic as the look in his pale eyes.
Elise walked to the window and looked out over a small garden filled with lupins and foxgloves and trellises tangled with roses and honeysuckle. She hated having to disappoint her father with the truth. ‘Bea met a gentleman she liked very well. But...he is unfortunately not in a position to court her.’
‘Is he spoken for as was the other fellow?’ Walter had learned from his sister Dolly that Beatrice had settled her heart on a newly betrothed gentleman last time the girls had gone to town. Walter had written to the scoundrel to give him a piece of his mind when he discovered from Dolly that Mr Vaughan had cruelly encouraged Beatrice, laying her open to ridicule.
‘It is Hugh Kendrick’s financial position that is the stumbling block,’ Elise explained.
‘The Kendricks, eh? I do recall the family. I thought the younger son, Hugh, nice enough...better than that brother of his with his tight fists and airs and graces.’
Walter sighed, picked up his spectacles and fitted the wires over his ears. He knew the drawbacks of being a younger son with few prospects. He’d been the second of three boys and of necessity had gone into the City to earn his way in the world rather than enter the clergy. It had taken him much time and toil to get to a position where he could afford a wife. He had been in his late thirties, Arabella barely twenty, when they married. Inwardly he sighed. Had he only acquired a loyal spouse and better business acumen things might have been very different...
