The Parson's Pleasure Page 11

  All this speculation was quite pleasant, but Babcock, who never had been one to shirk his duty, realized that there was one big impediment—Claire. Though he had never spoken to her of marriage, he knew that his words and actions had implied a promise. He also knew that his parents expected the alliance. He began to regret his possessive behaviour—he must have got her hopes up! Despairingly, he thought that it was too late, but he refused to accept defeat so easily. He must endeavour to change everyone's perception of the case—subtly, at first, in order to test the possibility of success. Then, if things went well, he could show his preference more overtly. He felt hope rising in him. He was very much in love.

  Lord Babcock's campaign, for such was its spirit, began the very next morning. When he set out on his morning calls, he headed, not in the direction of the Oliver house, as had been his wont, but directly for the Willoughbys’ cottage. He was armed with a legitimate excuse, for he intended to invite the Willoughbys to the great unveiling of the Sitchville manor. The Olivers, he knew, had already been invited by Lady Sitchville herself.

  Much discussion had taken place at the Sitchvilles’ dinner table about the most appropriate way to unveil their new mansion. Lord Sitchville had voted for a grand ball to show it off in the grandest style. Lady Sitchville liked the idea of a ball, but she wanted their friends to see not only the great hall, but also the kitchens and the servants’ quarters, which were designed with such modernity as to make her most proud. So she suggested a less formal affair. Babcock voted for both in quick succession and easily persuaded his parents. It was decided that a breakfast be held the second week in June with a complete tour of the house and stables, and then a ball the following week.

  Usually confident of a welcome reception, Babcock was nonetheless anxious about his call on the Willoughbys this morning. He wondered briefly if he could have been mistaken in his quick assessment of Lydia, but when he saw her peeking out from behind her mother, who answered the door, his doubts were put to rest. She was quite surprised, but obviously thrilled by his call. He responded with a glowing smile, then confidently entered the house.

  Sophia Willoughby was no less gratified than her daughter. She fluttered around Lord Babcock like a butterfly, exclaimed her pleasure over his visit, and rattled aimlessly in an effort to entertain him. Eventually, however, even she realized that he was not giving her much of his attention. She ushered him into the parlour, apologizing all the while for receiving him at the door herself.

  “For I had just been going to stick my head out the front door to see if there was a need to take an extra wrap along on our walk,” she explained. “You know how unpredictable the weather is at this time of year. A cool breeze may be coming in at the window, but the sun outside may be fearfully hot. I would not want Lydia to be overcome by the heat."

  “No, indeed!” exclaimed Babcock, sincerely sharing her concern.

  Lydia blushed charmingly at his tone of voice, and her mother could scarcely contain her delight.

  “You must tell us how the manor is coming along, my lord. It is so exciting for us to hear of its progress."

  “You must come see it for yourself,” replied Babcock. “In fact you find me on a commission from my mama to beg you to do so.” (This was not precisely true.) “We shall be having a breakfast on June the fourteenth at one o'clock, and it will be a great pleasure for me to escort you on a tour of the house and stables."

  Both ladies expressed their acceptance in raptures, and Babcock basked in their gratitude. He felt more than ever that these were the most agreeable people of his acquaintance, and the joy on Lydia's face made her more beautiful than ever.

  The three of them talked pleasurably for some time—or rather, Babcock talked and Sophia and Lydia listened—before the viscount came to the realization that he had outstayed the time prescribed for a morning call. He rose apologetically and reluctantly to his feet, but was gratified by their obvious regret that he was leaving. His own reluctance was mirrored in the wistfulness on Lydia's face. Never had he felt so pulled by a look. But society dictated the acceptable length of a morning call, and he must not go against it. He took leave of them and headed for home, floating on air.

  Lydia and Sophia could not contain their joy over his call. It was so kind of Lord Babcock! What a perfect gentleman! They had not minded his staying such a long while; indeed, it was not even mentioned.

  Lydia was almost beside herself. She was experiencing new emotions that confused and frightened her, and she sought reassurance from her mother.

  “Mama, it was so kind of Lord Babcock to call on us, but wasn't it unusual? I mean, he was not wont to do so before today. And he has been so kind to me. What does it mean, Mama?” Lydia blushed with modesty and anxiety.

  Sophia, who had been off in the clouds, was brought back to earth with a crash by this simple question. She could not help but notice the looks Babcock had bestowed on her daughter, and this, along with his actions of the day before, confirmed that he had been much taken with her. She had been happily speculating on something beyond her wildest dreams for her daughter. True, sometimes she had dreamed of an accidental meeting between Lydia and a royal duke, had even gone so far as to wish for a chance to throw her in one's way, but she had never really believed in the possibility. But this time she could read real admiration in a young man's eyes, and he a peer with his own fortune!

  But what did it mean? Lord Babcock was understood to be promised to Claire, even if there had not been an announcement of an engagement. Claire was Lydia's own cousin. She had the birth and the fortune to make her the perfect match for Babcock, too. He had always shown his intentions openly. Why then was he visiting Lydia with such admiration in his eyes?

  Sophia's blood ran cold. She looked at her beloved daughter, her innocent expression, and realized a possible answer. She must protect her daughter from any illicit alliance. She would hate to think it of Lord Babcock, as fine a young man as they thought him, but she had to admit to herself that it was a possibility. She pulled herself together for Lydia's sake and determined on strict vigilance without divulging her fears to her daughter. She must damp the child's hopes, though, as soon as possible.

  “I would not refine too much upon it, my dear,” she said hurriedly. “He is a polite young gentleman, and as he said, he was simply on an errand for his mama. And we are, of course, part of Claire's family and perhaps as such he feels that he should get to know us better."

  Lydia looked as though she had been dashed with cold water. “Oh,” she said as her face fell. “Yes, that must be it. Of course!’ Without Babcock there, without the look that he had given her there in the room with her, she accepted her mother's reasoning. She had learned to accept her lot in life and her bleak prospects. The sadness she felt was something that she had learned not to indulge in a long time ago, but it was back now much stronger than before. She did not realize that it was because her heart had responded to the love in Babcock's eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mr. Bennett called at the Olivers’ manor several times the following week to see how the young boy was getting along. It was discovered that his name was Sam and his mother's was Ethel. By the end of the week, they were more or less settled in and Sam was recovering rapidly under the constant care of Nurse Sutton.

  “She is really quite sensible with the sick,” commented Claire on one of his visits.

  “That is true now, my dear,” said Lady Sally who was busy with her needlework in the corner of the drawing room. “But when you were younger, she placed too much faith in Culpepper's Herbal. That all changed when she nearly killed the upstairs parlour maid with too large a dose. I had to put a stop to it, of course, and at first I did not think that she would ever forgive me. But she has forgotten it now. Or at least she pretends to have forgotten it,” she said with a twinkle, looking over her eyeglasses at their visitor.

  Mr. Bennett laughed appreciatively. His respect for the entire Oliver family had only increased with this
latest episode, for they dealt with the arrival of these two desperate people with barely a ripple in their composure. At a time when ladies of fashion insisted their sedan chairs be carried into a foyer before they would allow the curtains to be opened for fear of taking ill from the night air, they had shown no concern for their own health.

  The child was not infectious, Claire's mother had said, and there was no reason at all to be concerned. They would find the pair a cottage on their own property and ascertain from the servants how they might best be employed.

  “Have you found any position that Ethel might be able to fill?” asked the rector. “For if you haven't, I might try to find one. I fear, though, that she is not trained in any domestic work."

  “That she isn't,” confirmed Lady Sally, smiling. “But do not tax yourself. She will be able to work for a while as a scullery maid. They have assured me in the kitchen that the extra pair of hands will be welcome, and there will be very little that she cannot learn rapidly there. Besides, Cook can understand her, and the poor woman will be happier if she can improve her English gradually, you know. She will have enough changes to get used to as it is."

  “I cannot thank you enough for undertaking this problem,” said Mr. Bennett sincerely, but he was cut off by Lady Sally.

  “Pooh! “ she said. “It caused me no effort at all, as you well know. It was quite amusing for us all to hear the screams coming from the nursery when they were both bathed. I had not heard anything like it since Claire was little."

  Claire spoke up with a start and coloured rapidly. “Mama! How can you tell such a horrid story! There is not a word of truth in it!"

  “No, of course there isn't,” said Lady Sally soothingly. “You must forgive me, Mr. Bennett, for treating you like one of the family. That was quite an improper thing for me to say in front of you. I was merely trying to see if Claire was awake, for she did not seem to be attending, but it was most improper."

  Mr. Bennett had been doing his best not to laugh out loud, but he could not suppress a smile. “Your apology is accepted, my lady. I will take it as a compliment that you forgot your formality in my presence."

  “Formality!” exclaimed Claire. “When could you possibly accuse my mama of too much formality? Or any formality, for that matter?” She had been embarrassed more by her mother's calling attention to her absent-mindedness than by her words about the bath, for her thoughts had been rather private. She had been thinking that Mr. Bennett seemed more withdrawn from her than he had been before their expedition to rescue Sam.

  He had assumed a distance from her that was both respectful and proper, but there was something about it that she did not understand. Perhaps he had been offended by some comment she had made, though he did not seem in the least angry. There was still a look in his eye that bespoke a good understanding between them, but there was much less openness. She had come to enjoy being a part of his many projects, even if only as a listener, and the distance he was putting between them seemed to exclude her from his confidence.

  She could sit and enjoy the banter between her mother and the rector, but he made no effort to draw her in, as he had been wont to do. She could be a part of his discussions with her father, but Mr. Bennett no longer looked her in the eye when he spoke. And yet, at times, Claire was sure that he watched her when she was not regarding him directly. It was both puzzling and distressing.

  * * * *

  The next week, there was a bustle of activity, the kind of which the county had not seen for some time. It was in honour of the occasion that everyone had looked forward to, the unveiling of the Sitchville mansion.

  On June the fourteenth, Mr. Bennett found himself on the way to breakfast at Sitchville Park. He was not in a sunny humour. He had seen the necessity for putting a stop to the growing intimacy he had been developing with Miss Oliver, but he was finding it very hard to bear up under the strain. He had not realized, until he tried to do without it, that her closeness had become so important to him.

  He continued to see her frequently, not by design, but by habit. Her whole family had entered into his projects so thoroughly that it was impossible to draw back from them without causing offence where he would least wish to do so. His friendship with her parents could continue much as before, but their acceptance of him into their family circle only made the distance he had placed between Claire and himself harder to maintain. He wished that he had not got so close to her before he saw the danger to his own heart, but he could grimly comfort himself with the knowledge that nothing in her demeanour suggested that she had been similarly affected. Mr. Bennett, who could usually see the humour in any situation, was finding it more and more difficult to see it in this one.

  Claire had been trying to distract herself with preparations for the Sitchvilles’ breakfast party and ball, but she was preoccupied with thoughts about the rector. For many reasons she no longer believed that she had done something to offend him. There was his happy reception of her and her father in his library on their last visit. His face had lit up when he saw her—involuntarily it had seemed—and she had responded with a smile. But no sooner were they welcomed than his restraint returned. She thought about the several times he had appeared to have some private concern before she had come to know him. That suggestion of a burden or sorrow had disappeared from his manner for a while, but now it was present again. The strange thing was that whatever was troubling him did not affect his friendship with her parents, just herself. She could not dismiss it as mere moodiness.

  Claire now saw how much his friendship and companionship had come to mean to her. Seeing him was the greatest joy in her life, for there had never been another person with whom she could talk as she talked to him. It was an unusual friendship, she knew, which could transcend the barriers of social position and gender. There was nothing wrong in it, she told herself, but she was afraid to look any closer at the implications. She thought herself free of the sort of social considerations she deemed beneath her notice.

  There was one possibility, which she could scarcely credit, except that much of the gossip seemed to support it. Perhaps he was thinking of marrying. Everyone seemed to think it part of his duty. Might he not be considering making a proposal? Might it be to Lydia? It was unthinkable in many ways, but Claire could see how it would make him shrink from friendship with another woman. And it was unlikely to be something that he would discuss with her. She knew that her aunt was doing everything in her power to put Lydia in his company as often as possible.

  On the appointed day, Claire and her parents arrived at Sitchville Park within a few minutes of one o'clock. They had breakfasted at their own home on the sly, fearing the fashionable nature of Lady Sitchville's “breakfast” might lead her to withhold food from the guests until three in the afternoon. They came with a great deal of curiosity and no small anticipation of amusement at what they were about to see.

  As they entered the grounds, they passed a new gatehouse with Gothic influences and drove under a Gothic arch. And when the main house came into view, Lord Oliver said dryly, “Sally, my darling, it looks as though Sophia has been vindicated."

  There, as she had promised, were the moat, the battlements, and the drawbridge. The moat did not surround the house and was too far from it to serve as a dry moat for lighting the servants’ quarters. Instead it was filled with water, from what source they did not know, and it curved gently from one front corner of the house to another simply to pass under the drawbridge. The drawbridge served only to cross the moat. The coachman negotiated it to the front of the house.

  The house had acquired an imposing new facade of flat stone with Gothic arches and massive oak doors at intervals. The roof was squared off with battlements and turrets at three of the corners. From what they could see, the right side of the house extended for many yards with smaller arches repeated at intervals, but the left side ended at the main section with the common rooms.

  The coachman drove their carriage up to where the front door of the hou
se had been and found an imposing Gothic portico in its place. They alighted under the massive colonnade and proceeded through the doorway into a sort of vestibule that opened into the great hall.

  Lady Sitchville was positioned near the door to the vestibule to receive her guests. It was evident to the Olivers that there was already a large number assembled, including a house party of perhaps twenty guests in all. Undoubtedly it was the first of many house parties planned to show off the new house to the Sitchvilles’ town friends, but these would be staying for the ball the following week.

  Lady Sitchville was radiant with pride when she greeted the Olivers. “Lord Oliver, Sally, and Claire, my dear—what a pleasure to see you,” she began. “What do you think of the hall? You must tell me at once."

  Lady Sally groped for words, but inspiration finally came to her, “It is splendid, Theresa. We are overcome. It is ... reminiscent of one's noblest ancestors,” she concluded, borrowing from her sister-in-law's words.

  Claire heard her father murmur, “Yes, but whose ancestors?” She tried not to laugh, and managed a reasonably sincere expression of admiration.

  The Olivers looked around them at the formidable room. It was paneled on three sides in heavy oak and had enormous beams in the ceiling. At one end was a dais on which sat an imposing oak table, with chairs placed behind it so that everyone seated there would face the hall. It was clearly a copy of the baronial hall of old. Coats of arms were carved in the panels, and suits of armour posted like sentries at the main doors.

  In spite of these forbidding items, the room was furnished for the day with delicate tables and chairs, arranged for the upcoming breakfast, in the most modern fashion. The upholstery was of the finest silk, flowers adorned each table, and the tablecloths were hemmed with lace. The contrast of the furnishings was no more astonishing than the contrast of the fourth wall, which was also the back wall of the house. It was covered with large plates of glass, which allowed one to look out over the gardens. Double doors, also of glass, opened to permit the guests to stroll in and out.