The Parson's Pleasure Page 6

  He thought about the remarks Claire had made about his influence, not as a compliment to himself, but from another point of view. Surely it was part of his duty to try to get more of the people with wealth to notice those without, and she was right that he should not neglect that aspect of his work. It was hard to know how best to do it, and, up until now, he realized he had been quite tactless. He had simply confronted Lord Sitchville with his omissions and his own strongly worded suggestions for changes. It had not served.

  Not very diplomatic, thought Mr. Bennett ruefully. He thought of Claire again. She had begun to restore his faith in the notion that there were other people besides himself who would be willing to take the trouble to notice the suffering around them.

  “Well,” he said out loud. “Perhaps I will try it her way."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Over the succeeding days Claire thought more than once about her pleasant visit to the rectory. She had found much to regret in the fact that Mr. Bennett had not often permitted himself to be in the company of the local gentry, but she could only respect his reasons. He could certainly make better use of his time if he ignored the frivolous and purposeless amusements of that set. She almost envied him the liberty to make such a decision, for as a woman, she did not have the license to ignore society and pursue only her own interests. And even though she enjoyed herself much of the time, she did feel her share of boredom and frequently wished for something more important to do.

  Still, Claire knew that her enjoyment of future social occasions would be diminished if the rector were not to take part. She began almost to despair of her situation, for she had never met a social equal who had inspired so much interest. The gentlemen she knew talked of sheep, horses, and bullocks, and conversed about what wind would afford a good scouting day or what course a fox would most likely take upon breaking cover. They inspected the stables and the kennels before dinner, and she rightly supposed that they spent long hours after the meal cracking coarse jokes. And these were her social equals, not the rector of Garby parish.

  Claire had to laugh when she thought about her mother's and her own speculations about the new rector—before they had met him. That would teach them to have preconceptions, she thought. No two men could be more un-alike than the past and present rectors. She recalled the finely chiseled lines of Mr. Bennett's face, his dark brown eyes rimmed with thick black lashes, the way his smile transformed his whole face and made others want to smile, too. Not at all like Twickenham!

  Word reached her over the next few days that perhaps Mr. Bennett had taken her advice to heart. Several neighbours reported that he had called upon them and had accepted invitations to dinner parties and small gatherings of one sort or another. This was confirmed by her Aunt Sophia in one of what were becoming her daily visits to the Olivers.

  “Mr. Bennett had the goodness to return Mr. Willoughby's call yesterday,” she began. “It so happened that only Lydia and myself were home, Mr. Willoughby being out of the house on business.” Sophia looked round tentatively as though fearing that someone would challenge her on the latter part of her statement, but receiving no challenge, continued, “He is a most pleasing young man, though too tall for my taste. Still, he has a wonderful address. I believe that he was very favourably impressed by Lydia because he expressed his regret that his visit had to be so short due to some duties he was obliged to perform."

  Here, at least, thought Claire, Lydia had the grace to blush, though perhaps not for the right reason.

  Her aunt went on, “I spoke to Mr. Bennett about the historical merit of our parish church, and I think I have persuaded him to lead a group of ladies on an instructional tour of its older parts. He seemed most willing to do so, and then requested me to be the hostess at a luncheon in the rectory garden. He will provide the refreshments and the servants will be his, but I am to do the planning and see to the guest list. I sincerely hope that you will come."

  Lady Sally accepted for them both, and Claire added a remark or two about her interest in the old church, asking when the party was to be.

  “Not for a fortnight,” Sophia said, “but I assure you that I will need at least that much time to make all of the arrangements. There are so many details to attend to,” she added anxiously. Sophia was obviously going to enjoy every minute of every day that she could occupy in playing hostess at the rectory.

  Claire, who was anticipating a degree of unnecessary tedium out of this affair, could spare a feeling of pity for her aunt, who seldom had the pleasure of entertaining guests and could not even afford to return the hospitality she received. So she determined to enter into her aunt's plans with as much enthusiasm as possible, and she felt a warm glow of gratitude towards Mr. Bennett for so generously offering her aunt the occasion to give a party. That her aunt thought it was offered because of an attraction he felt for Lydia, Claire was aware. She was not sure if this was the real reason, but if so, it would not be the first time that someone had fallen for Lydia's charms.

  Unfortunately all her would-be admirers had been frightened off by her lack of fortune, but Claire thought that such a lack would not weigh heavily with a man like Mr. Bennett. Still, she felt that his virtues would be wasted on Lydia and that she would bore him as a wife.

  There I go matchmaking, she thought to herself. I am as bad as Mama.

  She was abruptly called from her wool-gathering by a comment her aunt addressed to her.

  “Claire, you will perhaps be interested to hear, if you have not already, that Lord Babcock is expected back among us at any moment. I dare say that he will be calling upon you himself shortly. Now, that is a perfect young man! His address is not to be rivaled, and I have never met a gentleman so mindful of a lady's sensibilities. He will make a wonderful husband. His mama has brought him up so well. I cannot conceive that he would give a moment's worry to anyone.” This was followed by a sigh.

  Claire knew that her aunt was trying to please her by bringing up Lord Babcock's whereabouts, but she wanted to scream with frustration. She knew that it would be improper for her to tell anyone about her complete lack of interest in the man, though she longed to do so. Besides, her aunt would probably think that she was speaking in a fit of pique, since the whole county thought that Lord Babcock and she should have arrived at some understanding by now. No, best to keep quiet about it and try to turn the conversation.

  Claire found it difficult not to grit her teeth, as she said, “It will be very kind of Lord Babcock to call on us if he finds the time, but I suppose he will be anxious to go on to the horse races this summer. If you will excuse me, Mama and Aunt, I must see to the arrangement of the flowers for the dinner table.” And with that she left the room.

  Unfortunately for Claire, her aunt was correct in her unwelcome information, and Lord Babcock presented himself on the front doorstep two days hence. He was announced by the Olivers’ longtime butler who could barely hide his disapproval at the proprietary air Lord Babcock assumed upon entering. Indeed, the young viscount looked like the hunter home from the kill, so sure was he of his welcome.

  Lord Sitchville's son bore all the appearance of one who had been born to his own title and fortune. He carried himself with a prideful arrogance, and vanity, revealed by the padding of his shoulders, the tops of his sleeves, and the tails of his frock-coat. Claire suspected immediately from the tight waist of his coat and the stiffness of his walk that he had begun to use stays, for Lord Babcock was naturally stocky and had a distinct paunch. No valet with a conscience could have dressed him, she thought, for jockey boots, though popular, shortened his already short legs, and an overly large stock hid the existence of any neck. His hair was an uninteresting shade of blond and his skin was similarly pale, giving him a bland appearance. Claire, who during his long absences tried to feel more charitable towards him, instantly slipped back into the acute discomfort that he inspired in her.

  'Lady Sally—” he bowed over her mother's hand— “and Claire,” he said, looking meaningfully into
her eyes as he bent over hers. Claire always hated to hear him use her Christian name since it implied a certain intimacy, but she could not deny it to someone she had known all her life. “I cannot tell you how often I have thought of this happy reunion. I am quite anxious that you should forgive what I know must seem a long absence on my part, but I beg that you will understand the demands of a university education, so long and tedious, and of course my parliamentary responsibilities. I can promise you that the educational phase of my life, at least, is now behind me, and I will be much more attentive in future. You find me humbly in search of your forgiveness."

  Claire thought that if anyone looked less humble than Lord Babcock at that moment she would like to see him. How dare he assume that they pined for his return! More than anything he looked to her like the illustrations of Little Jack Horner with his prize plum.

  Lady Sally, in trying to hide her amusement at Babcock's pretense of humility, was forced to feign a small cough before returning his greeting and inviting him to sit. Casting her daughter a conspiratorial glance, she asked Lord Babcock about his trip home. As she and Claire both anticipated, he launched into a lengthy soliloquy about the route he had taken, the condition of the roads, points of interest along the way, the inns he had slept in and the quality of their beds and food, and threaded throughout, his own comfort or discomfort, whichever it happened to be.

  Claire felt a drowsiness come over her as he droned on and on, and she was reminded of his previous visits, all equally tedious. Finally the story came to an end, and he passed on to other matters, asking perfunctorily after Lord Oliver and the Willoughbys, whom he scarcely knew. Just when Claire was fearing that he expected to be asked to stay to dinner, he began to make signs of leaving.

  “Oh, we have been chatting so pleasurably that I nearly forgot a commission entrusted to me by my mama,” he added as they walked him to the door. “She has particularly charged me to obtain your consent to a dinner party to be given Saturday week in celebration of my homecoming. I must insist that you accept. Your absence would most sadly be felt by all, as I am sure you are aware.” Saying which, he gave Claire another meaningful look.

  Lady Sally accepted the invitation with as much grace as she could manage, and praying not to detain him any longer, hurried him out of the door.

  Claire groaned and fell in a most unladylike manner into the nearest chair. She put two clenched fists over her eyes and then turned her gaze heavenwards in a gesture of mock supplication. “Oh Lord, deliver me from this imbecile!” she shrieked.

  Her mother, coming back into the room, laughed, but it was a sound of sympathy. She came and put her arms around Claire and held her head to her bosom.

  “Don't despair, love, it will all be over someday. And it may be sooner than you think. Lord Babcock has all the look of a gentleman who is ready to settle down, and I think you may receive a proposal sometime this season. You must simply refuse, and then finally all this nonsense will be at an end. I know it has been annoying for you, but there has been no way to resolve it so long as he has not spoken. I can promise you that if he should approach your father or me first, we will do all we can to urge him to drop the matter. If he speaks to you first, of course, you will have to handle it yourself, and while it will be most uncomfortable for you, it will be a welcome end!'

  “I am eager for the chance,” exclaimed Claire. “At least there is one thing, Mama. Fortunately, Lord Babcock is a restful suitor. He's the only man I know who would allow me to catch a nap while he is paying court to me. His visits leave me dazed with boredom. Were it not for your subtle Babcock-baiting, there would be no saving humour in them."

  “I suppose I should be ashamed of my behaviour,” Lady Sally said with a laugh, “but he so enjoys hearing himself talk that I feel I am doing a kindness by giving him an opportunity to do so. After all, when he is a guest in this house it is my duty to see that he is entertained."

  “What would I do without you?” Claire returned affectionately. “I can't tell you the number of times I have given thanks for my two greatest blessings—my loving parents, who understand why I am going to refuse Babcock, and my fortune which allows me to do so."

  “I am afraid that it is just those two things which are responsible for your having to put up with him. If you were Jane Nobody of no particular fortune you would not be receiving Lord Babcock in your drawing room today,” pointed out her mother.

  “Well, if I must choose between the lesser of two evils, I had much rather have to put up with Babcock than to lose either you or my fortune,” asserted Claire.

  “What a pity it is that he is not more like Mr. Bennett and Mr. Bennett like him. That is, it would be so nice if they could just change places. One could very well put up with a Babcock if he were merely the rector of the parish church, but he is quite insufferable as a suitor."

  Claire felt a vague unease about such speculations, but without stopping to ask herself why, hastened to change the subject. “I am trusting you, Mama, to see that Babcock and I are never in a room alone together."

  “I am afraid that will not stop him if he is determined to make you an offer,” Lady Sally replied. “And I am of the impression that he is not the kind of man who takes a hint easily. There will be all too many occasions when he can snatch a few moments of conversation with you privately. But I will certainly protect you as best I can."

  “It would probably suit his notions of propriety more if you were never to leave me unchaperoned. I can easily imagine his asking me for my hand while you and Papa were both present."

  “And rightly so!” her mother exclaimed, much struck by the idea. “Excellent young man! I should hope that no daughter of mine is suggesting that she would so compromise herself as to receive a proposal of any kind without her parents present. As a matter of fact, perhaps I should speak to Babcock myself. I see no reason at all for you to be present when he proposes."

  Claire laughed. “Please don't! He might like the idea! I declare, I have never met a man so unlikely to inspire passion in the female breast."

  “Well, my dear,” said her mother, becoming instantly more serious and giving her a gentle hug, “when someone does so inspire you—and someone will, of that I am sure—he will be the best of all possible men."

  Claire smiled up at her mother, but released an inward sigh.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the following Saturday, as Claire dressed for the evening at Lord Sitchville's, she hesitated for a long while over her choice of gown. Her mother, who had been ready for some time, finally came to her assistance.

  “It is not like you to keep us waiting, Claire,” she declared. “Surely you have something suitable for the evening. Why not wear your new yellow gown?"

  Claire looked sheepishly at her and confessed, “I know this will sound silly, but I cannot seem to make myself dress for this affair. Undoubtedly, Babcock will take me in to dinner as has been his custom, and I cannot bear the thought that he will think I put on a new gown just to please him.” She added somewhat defiantly, “Indeed, I am giving serious thought to wearing something obviously outmoded to put him off."

  Her mother gave a sigh as if she were trying to control her exasperation, but looking at Claire's resulting pout she had to laugh. “My dear, you are becoming an absolute ninny over this affair with Babcock. Pray tell me what possible end you could serve by dressing like a dowd for this party."

  “Well,” Claire began hesitantly, “you know what a stickler Babcock is for fashion. Although I question his taste, he is well recognized as being knowledgeable about ladies’ fashions. I thought that if I could thoroughly disgust him with my choice of gown tonight, embarrassing him in front of his other guests, he might be so put out that he would drop me altogether.” Claire made this last pronouncement on a note of triumph.

  Lady Sally was rendered momentarily speechless by her daughter's outrageous plan; then she was consumed by peels of laughter until she stood in danger of bursting her stays.


  “Why, you little goose,” she said, when she at last got control, “and who else do you think you would embarrass in the process? What about yourself ... your father ... me?"

  Claire dimpled, then laughed, too. “I was willing to sacrifice my own reputation for being in the first stare of fashion, but I confess I didn't think about you two."

  “Well, I suggest that you do,” admonished her mother. “ Imagine what it would feel like to have every female eye, and some of the male ones, staring at you with either anger or amusement. You are not used to being laughed at, and I suspect that you would not like it any better than the rest of us."

  “I dare say you are right,” admitted Claire with a sigh. “I suppose I shall have to dress according to fashion to spare the family honour."

  “Yes, darling, you will,” said her mother firmly, “and somehow I don't think you will find that a punishment.” At this Lady Sally smiled. “So let's not have any more nonsense, creative though it may be. Your father and I will be downstairs waiting for you in the library."

  Claire could not resist one more joke. “You don't think,” she asked hesitantly, “that a train behind my dress, a little damping of the skirt?” Lady Sally fled from the room, laughing. “Clocks on my stockings?” Claire called out. She heard her mother's one word reply, “Dress!” and she desisted.

  So Claire dressed reluctantly, but in haste. At least, she thought, yellow was neither her favourite nor her most becoming colour. Perhaps Lord Babcock would not be too impressed. Nevertheless, she looked very fetching by the time she had completed her toilet. Pale yellow roses descended her white dress in stripes, with a double row of larger flowers round the hem. The sleeves were small puffs, the bodice was fitted almost to the waist, and the neckline cut straight across the breast and vertically to the shoulders. She used combs and yellow flowers to adorn her hair.