A Proper Englishwoman

A Proper Englishwoman Eloisa James The gossips are raging about the Earl of Kerr and his love of French women. But Miss Emma Loudan, his betrothed since childhood, refuses to be ignored any longer and enacts an elaborate masquerade to ensure her future husband never forgets her again. Chapter One In Which a Quote from Shakespeare Insults the Stodgy and Horrifies the Staid March 15,1817 Lady Cecilia Petworth to her sister, the Countess of Bredelbane Dearest Sister, I take my pen in hand although it is almost dawn, because I know you will be most distressed when the news of this evening's'entertainment at Sandleford House reaches you. Kerr has made quite a spectacle of himself, and although there's nothing new in that (as we've said of your godson before, he gives new definition to the term rakehell), last night his debauchery reached new heights. To the horror of all, he escorted a French tris-coquette to Lady Sandleford's ball. Making mischief as usual, Lord Dressel strolled up to the couple and asked Kerr if he'd set a date to marry his fiancee. Kerr merely tightened his arm around his bird of paradise (for, not to mince words, she was no better) and drawled the most excruciating vulgarity: something like not until she has my baby in her belly and my ring on her finger. Lady Sandleford was naturally quite insulted by such unseemly behavior under her roof, and I'm certain that the story is traveling like wildfire ... one must be grateful that Kerr's mother has gone to her rest. I shall write again tomorrow but, dearest, I think the time has come to put your foot down and cause your benighted godson to marry that poor girl—what is her name? It's too late at night for an old head like mine. I shall write again in the morn. Yours in all affection, Cecilia, Lady Petworth March 16,1817 The Countess of Bredelbane to her godson, Gilbert Baring-Gould, Earl of Kerr Kerr, I have received a distressing communication from my sister regarding your behavior—or should I say, the lack of it—while attending Lady Sandleford's ball. What needs have you, pray, to leave your usual haunts and attend the assemblies of my friends? Of course poor Cecilia didn't recognize the provenance of your disgusting reply to Dressel; Shakespeare was never in her line. The least you could have done was to reverse the quotation and put the bit around the ring before the question of the baby. Your fiancée will no doubt be horrified to find that her ability to get with child (and that without your knowledge) is on the lips of every Londoner. I demand you make haste to the country and marry Emma immediately, preferably with a special license. I shall expect to hear that you have left for St. Albans by tomorrow at the latest. Yours with all proper esteem, Countess of Bredelbane March 16, 1817 Mrs. Broughton to The Hon. Emma Loudan, St. Albans, Hertfordshire Dear Miss Loudan, I am not convinced that you will remember me, since we had only the slightest of acquaintances at Miss Proudfoot's School for Ladies. My maiden name was Laneham. I write you from the deep reverence I feel toward you and indeed, all my fellow students at Miss Proudfoot's School. The Earl of Kerr spoke of you in such a fashion last evening that I had difficulty restraining myself. To be precise, he said that he would not marry you, implying that you were with child. I know that this information will come as a great shock, given the unpleasant implication as regards your reputation. I hasten to tell you that no one believed it in the least. If our positions were reversed, and I as isolated from the town as you have been, I should wish to be told of his disgraceful comment. In hopes that you are not angered by my communication, Mrs. Broughton March 16, 1817 The Countess of Bredelbane to the Earl of Kerr Kerr, As regards my note earlier this morning, I have now had missives from Mrs. Witter and Lady Home. Lady Home informs me that you exemplify the depraved appetite of this vicious age. Picture my dismay on hearing my godson described thusly. How long has it been since you even visited St. Albans? I know that you have had a difficult time since Walter's death, but your brother would not wish you to lose all sense of decency. Next week at the latest I shall expect to hear of your nuptials. The Countess & etc. March 17, 1817 The Earl of Kerr to the Countess of Bredelbane My dear, dearest Godmama, I can't take myself to the country today and marry my provincial paragon; I have an appointment to look at a horse. And a fencing match to attend as well. She will have to wait. Granted, I haven't seen Miss Loudan for some time, but she seemed clearheaded enough when I last found myself in St. Albans. She won't think twice of these rumors of my degeneracy, should they make their way to her. Affectionately yours, Gil March 17, 1817 Lady Dyott to her cousin, The Hon. Emma Loudan, St. Albans, Hertfordshire Dearest Emma, This will be a quick note, as Dyott awaits me. We're off to Tattersall's to find a pony for Garret who is quite a bruising rider at age five, and does us proud. You know how much I hate bibble-babble, but I'm told Kerr informed a roomful that you are too old to bear a child; I merely wished to reassure you that I was all of forty-one when Garret was born, and since you are half that age, breeding is not a concern. I only have to think of your sporting nature, and I have no concern for your future. Thank God you didn't marry Kerr already, because he's nothing more than a job horse, and you deserve a high-stepper. Do come to London, and we'll find you a proper spouse. Much love, Your cousin Mary, Lady Dyott March 18, 1817 The Countess of Bredelbane to the Earl of Kerr The news of your appalling jest has spread throughout the town. I have no doubt but that Emma has heard every loathsome detail. Can you not consider your duty, which is clearly to provide an heir to the estate without delay? The Countess & etc. March 18, 1817 Gilbert Baring-Gould, Earl of Kerr, to the Countess of Bredelbane Dearest Godmama, I'll marry Miss Loudan someday, but not this week. And certainly not due to a jest on my part, if admittedly in poor taste. Don't you think that the ton has become alarmingly illiterate, given that no one seems to recognize a Shakespeare play? I shouldn't worry about the question of an heir; I've heard that country air is remarkably healthy. I can turn out five or six little Kerrs in the next decade. Yours with affection, Gil March 19,1817 Lady Flaskell to her sister, The Hon. Emma Loudan Dearest, I was suffering from a stomach upset and so missed the initial flurry of news about Kerr. Darling, I'm so sorry! But we must move quickly, Emma, given that your betrothal obviously must be terminated. You are all of twenty-four now, and fiancés, especially those with a hefty fortune and title, do not grow, on trees. You have been immured in the country so long that you have no idea what it is like here. Women are considered decayed at two and twenty. You must come to London at once and find a husband. I shall arrive tomorrow and expect to find you packed. With love, Your sister Bethany Lynn March 19, 1817 The Earl of Kerr to Mademoiselle Benoit Madeline, ma cherie, While I naturally adore you and kiss your feet in pure admiration, it would not be prudent for me to accompany you to the opera tonight. The Puritans are out in force. In fact, I am very much afraid that I shall have to forgo the pleasure of your company in the future. Please accept this ruby as the smallest hint of my regard for you. Tu seras toujours dan mon coeur mime si tu ne seras pas toujours avec moi. Kerr March 19, 1817 The Countess of Bredelbane to the Earl of Kerr Kerr: I can't force you to abide honorably by the vows that your father made on your behalf. I take your behavior much amiss though, and I say that to you seriously. I shall write Emma myself and try to soothe her feelings. I've no doubt but that she's hearing the same as I: that you intend to marry some rubbishing Frenchwoman with putative claims to being a lady. Do so, Kerr, and you will never darken my door again. The Countess of Bredalbane March 20,1817 Gilbert Baring-Gould, Earl of Kerr, to the Countess of Bredalbane Tsk, tsk, dearest Godmama. You who know your Shakespeare so well should avoid cliches about darkened doors and such like. When my sainted godfather was alive, did he object to your sharp tongue? I go about my business with a rejoicing heart, knowing that you will soothe Miss Loudan's troubled brow. You needn't worry about Mademoiselle Benoit. While I shall always find a French accent irrésistible, I concede that the country charmer is my fate. I also know that you, my sainted godmother, would never wish for me, her beloved godson, to be unhappy, so you will forgive me if I cease to think about marriage this very moment. Yours & Etc. Gil Chapter Two March 21,1817 The Countess of Bredelbane to Gilbert Baring-Gould, Earl of Kerr Kern You were always an impudent child; I shall never forget how you made me laugh when you first arrived in my house, and your parents gone but a month. Still, there is an edge to your jests that gives me concern. How dare you speak of being unhappy to marry Emma? The poor girl will surely have need of valor, given that your foolish quotation has gone so terribly awry. I am surprised that she has not yet terminated your engagement. Expect me tomorrow after nuncheon. Yours & etc. The Countess 75 St. James's Place, London "You are the shame of your sex," Lord Lockwood said, stretching out his long legs and regarding his boots with pleasure. "You make far too much of yourself, and have strayed into dissolute habits, and now your doom is upon you. I am inordinantly happy to see it happen." "Don't be so intolerably smug," his companion retorted. "Your reputation is as low as mine has ever been. 'Twas you who thought it'd be a good idea to bring Madeline and her friend to Sandleford's house. I said it'd be a boring affair." "It wasn't boring after you made such an ass of yourself quoting the bard," Lockwood pointed out. "Would you put on a shirt, if you please? It turns my stomach to look at your shoulders. You're muscled like a barge man, Kerr. Grotesquely unfashionable, I might add." "The boxing does it," the earl replied, unperturbed. He was seated at his writing desk, wearing only black pantaloons. "At any rate, I didn't ask you here. I've a mountain of correspondence to get through, and I'm expecting my secretary any moment." "I'll take myself off. Were you foolish enough to invest in Hensing's canal scheme?" "No. It sounded intriguing, but the man's a fool." "I suppose that's why your estate keeps growing, while my living shrinks," Lockwood said. "But don't you think there's a chance he'll make a go of it?" "Unlikely," Kerr stated, not even looking up as his pen scratched over a leaf of stationery. But Lockwood paused at the door to the chamber and turned back, driven by insatiable curiosity. Kerr had finished sanding his letter and was reaching for a new sheet of foolscap. "So, are you going to marry, then? To be specific, are you going to marry Madeline Benoit, as all London appears to believe?" Kerr narrowed his eyes. "You think less of me than I deserve." They'd been friends since Oxford, and yet Lockwood flinched slightly at the expression in Kerr's eyes. "I merely thought—" "I heard about your bet in White's. You'll lose that money, as you'll lose any blunt you put into Hensing's canal. I shall fulfill my obligations to Miss Loudan," Kerr said, turning back to his sheet as if he had no further interest in the conversation. A grin spread across Lockwood's face. Kerr looked up and frowned. "What are you smirking about?" "You just made up for Hensing's canal. I placed a bet in White's that you'd marry Mademoiselle Benoit, but that was only to give Etherege enough courage to take my bet on the other side ... that you would honor your betrothal." "Etherege must have thought you were drunk," Kerr observed. "Why the hell would you bet one way in White's and place the opposite bet with him?" "I gather he didn't notice that the bet in White's was for a shilling or two. He put a good four hundred pounds on your propensity to marry the mademoiselle, thinking I was too castaway to remember my own opinion." Kerr snorted. "Meet me at Miss Bridget's tonight?" Miss Bridget was a Frenchwoman who ran a house that was not precisely one of ill repute but damn near close, to Lockwood's mind. "I see that your taste for Frenchwomen is much like the English taste for food: predicated on quantity rather than quality," he remarked. Kerr smiled faintly. "I thought it would amuse the ton to see me with a woman other than Madeline. We'll take one of Miss Bridget's young friends to the opera." Lockwood laughed. "That'll put the cat amongst the pigeons." Kerr turned back to his papers. "Quite." Chapter Three March 22, 1817 Mrs. Broughton to The Hon. Emma Loudan, St. Albans, Hertfordshire Dear Miss Loudan, Thank you so much for your gracious response to my letter; to be sure, I trembled before I took pen in hand. I should most dislike to be thought a gossipmonger, or some such, and yet I have every sympathy with your difficult position. I consider it my honor—if not my pleasure—to offer you such tidbits of news as might interest you. I hasten, then, to reassure you that it is no longer believed that the Earl of Kerr intends to marry Mademoiselle Benoit. Last night he and some friends made an appearance at the Royal Opera House accompanied by a group of young Frenchwomen. Everyone noted that Kerr paid particular attention to one of them, and since she cannot be considered a possibility for matrimony, the consensus is that your fiance' has a propensity for women of Gallic origin. This is a most unseemly topic, and I feel reprehensible for even bringing it to the attention of an unmarried lady. But my loyalty to Miss Proudfoot's School rises above manners. Yours with all esteem, Mrs. Broughton Emma Loudan, daughter of Viscount Howitt, was painstakingly painting bees, one after another. Bees, she thought to herself, are profoundly uninspiring insects: after one has painted one round yellow body and then another, one has learned all there is to know about bee painting. But there was no relief in sight: Titania and Bottom both mentioned bees in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Mr. Tey had decided that bees must swarm over every backdrop, and never mind that the audience would think the insects were flying marigolds. Emma sighed and dipped her brush into yellow paint. She was just putting a finishing touch on one of three beehives when the door opened. "Lady Flaskell," announced the butler, Wilson. Emma put down her brush just in time as Bethany hurdled herself across the room and threw her arms around Emma. "Careful!" she said, laughing. "You'll get painted." "It's quite all right. I'm wearing nothing but rags for the trip." Emma put her little sister at arm's length and glanced from the saffron-colored flying ribbons on her glorious little bonnet to the tips of her silk slippers. "Rags are looking better every moment," she observed, untying her voluminous apron. Bethany's eyes narrowed at the sight. "Your gown must have been created by Madame Maisonnat!" she cried. "The Duchess of Silverton was wearing just the same costume in sage green, only last week. Everyone was talking about it. How on earth did you obtain that gown here, in the depths of the country, and without coming to town?" "I have my means," Emma said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What means are those?" Bethany demanded. "I could beg, plead, and cry at Madame's door, and I'm quite certain that she would fulfill her other orders before mine." Emma glanced down at her morning gown. It was designed à la militaire, in amber-colored poplin with garnet buttons marching down the bodice. It followed her curves to a T and made her feel like an extremely feminine brigadier general. She smiled at her little sister. "It's not a dark secret. Madame knows my measurements, and she simply sends me those gowns that she thinks would interest me." "Before anyone else?" Bethany said, her eyes narrowed. Emma grinned. "I also pay her approximately twice the customary price, for her trouble. I must dress well in order to keep up my spirits here in the country." "Piffle! You could join me in London any moment you pleased. Mama's death was well over a year ago now. The truth is that you like being immured in St. Albans, Emma." Bethany walked over to the stage set, with its fresh paint and clusters of bees. "How can you prefer to sit about in the county and paint? Are those insects?" "Bees. Obviously." "Proving my point absolutely. Painting insects while dressed in Madame Maisonnat's latest creation! You've lost your wits." Put that way, Emma could see what she meant. "I like painting sets," she said. "That's irrelevant," Bethany said. "For once, you must take me seriously, Emma. You are in trouble." She took a deep breath, her chest swelling impressively. "You are in danger of becoming an unmarried woman!" "I've been an unmarried woman for four and twenty years," Emma noted, opening the door. "Shall we retire to the morning room and have some tea? You must be fatigued after your journey." Bethany trotted through the door and down the hall, talking all the way and paying no attention to the presence of the family butler and two footmen. She finished up as she entered the morning room: "The point is that unmarried women are dreadfully out of fashion. If they ever were in fashion at all." "Wilson, will you bring us a tea tray?" Emma asked the butler. "Immediately, Miss Loudan," he said, bowing his way out of the morning room. "You really mustn't speak like that in front of Wilson," Emma said, settling herself next to the fire. "When he is upset, he falls prey to stomachaches." Bethany plumped herself into the settee and turned her reticule upside down. "I cut a piece from a gossip column that you must read... ah! Here it is!" She waved a bit of newspaper in the air. "From La Belle Monde, and it says quite firmly that there is nothing more fatal to a woman than the lack of a husband. Listen to this: 'Though they are the very ornament of their sex, they will await invitations that do not arrive. When they are invited to an occasion, one sees them flock to the side of the ballroom, like crows made dismal by rain.' How awful, Emma! You do not look well in black." Emma was beginning to feel nettled. "I have a prospective husband," she said coolly. "Simply because Kerr hasn't yet presented himself to undergo the rite of matrimony doesn't mean that he won't do so in the near future. And besides, I firmly reject the implications of that piece of drivel. I could find another husband in five minutes, if I wished." "How long has it been since Kerr visited you?" Bethany demanded. Emma hesitated. Bethany answered for her. "He was coming last Christmas—No! It was two Christmases ago, but then he traveled the Continent after his brother died. And before that—" She stopped, trying to remember. "It's been three years," Emma said, feeling a mild astonishment at the fact. She was so comfortable living as she was that she tended to forget her fiancè's existence. "I was so glad not to hear from him during Mama's illness, since I had no wish to leave her, that I haven't taken close account. But he has been in mourning for his brother, you know." "Mourning!" Bethany shrieked. "From all accounts, he took himself to Paris and enjoyed himself there so much that he had to fight at least two duels with outraged husbands. And the only reason he wasn't challenged much mor