Page 3 of Hearts at Home

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M artin kept the rest of his scold till Doro had exclaimed her relief and left in their carriage, which Martin insisted on having prepared for her. Then Chloe had to listen to a long lecture on irresponsible behaviour, putting herself in danger, disobeying the head of her family whose responsibility it was to protect her, and (for good measure) keeping inappropriate pets.

She found it easy to promise to attend no more reform meetings. The one speaker she’d heard had been disappointing, and while the riot had been an adventure, she did not need Martin to point out that she was lucky Lord Dom had been at hand to protect her. Indeed, his general and vague description of the harms that may have befallen her were nothing to the gruesome horrors she had imagined on her own.

Martin was still seething when they met for dinner. He barely said a word until Aunt Swithin distracted his attention by lamenting she had missed the meeting. “I was so looking forward to it, dear Martin,” she told him, blissfully oblivious to his shocked horror, “but I suffered an upset to my digestion, so I told the girls to go ahead without me. Did you have an interesting time, Chloe?”

After one glance at Martin’s face, Chloe had to keep her eyes on her plate, though she managed not to laugh. “I only heard the one speaker, Aunt Swithin: Mr. Thomas, whose articles you liked so much when I read them to you. I’m afraid he writes much better than he speaks. After that, the meeting broke up, and Doro and I came home.”

Another swift glance at Martin’s pained expression almost overcame her gravity.

“Aunt Swithin?” he demanded. “Are you telling me you approve of these revolutionaries? I cannot believe it. What would Uncle say?”

“Not revolutionaries, dear,” Aunt Swithin insisted. “I would never support revolution. Those poor dear children in France! But reform, yes. The government is trying to bully the people instead of listening, and it is not nice, dear. Nobody likes a bully.”

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. Chloe waited for him to scold Aunt Swithin as he had her, but instead, he changed the subject. “Chloe is expecting a gentleman caller tomorrow, Aunt Swithin. Lord Diomedes Finchley escorted Chloe home from the meeting, and asked to call again.”

“Finchley,” Aunt Swithin said, and then repeated it. “Finchley. Ah, yes. The Marquess of Pevenwood’s third son.” Aunt Swithin had taken her responsibilities as the female educator of a young viscount to include a devotion to memorizing Debretts. She was also, even under the harsh rule of her husband, addicted to the gossip news sheets, entering into a conspiracy with Cook to read them in the kitchen when Uncle Swithin was out spreading virtue and gloom around the neighbourhood.

She showed the fruits of that research in her next remark. “The one they call Lord Cuckoo, because everyone knows the Duke of Haverford laid him in Pevenwood’s nest. The old Duke of Haverford, who died two years ago, not the young one, who was a dreadful rake but is now devoted to his wife, or so they say. Very admirable, but much less interesting.” She sighed.

“Now where was I? Around fifteen years ago, Pevenwood sued Haverford for criminal conversation, but Haverford’s affair with the boy’s mother was ancient history. The boy was nine or ten, I believe, before Pevenwood found out that the boy was not his own get and took the case. The Duke refused to give evidence, the Marchioness denied everything, the evidence was all gossip or circumstantial, and the case was dismissed.”

She sighed. “I always felt sorry for the little boy. A soldier, is he not? Does he wear a uniform? A man looks so delightful in a uniform. Does Lord Cuckoo have money, though, Chloe? One cannot imagine that Pevenwood left him any, under the circumstances.”

Poor Lord Dom. Chloe could do nothing about his tragic origins, but she could speak up for him to some degree. “Lord Dom—he prefers to be called Lord Dom, not Lord Diomedes,” and definitely not Lord Cuckoo, which sounded like a cruel schoolboy joke. “Lord Dom has left the army. I do not know what he plans for his future, nor do I know how much money he has. It is surely none of my business, Aunt Swithin.”

“Only if you wish to marry him, my dove. Money does not buy happiness, it is true. But one is able to be miserable in some degree of comfort. I always wished that Swithin had more money.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested. “Uncle Swithin was a very—” his pause for thought was telling. “Upright man,” he concluded.

“He never wore a uniform though,” Aunt Swithin complained. “I do love a man in a uniform.”

Martin’s reply was a gurgling noise, as if he had choked on what he wanted to say. Chloe took pity and changed the subject. “I am visiting Lady Seahaven and the sisters tomorrow morning. Aunt Swithin, will you come with me? I can go with my maid, if you prefer.”

Martin surprised her. “I will escort you, Chloe. I wish to pay my respects to Lady Seahaven, and I should visit our sisters.”

“They will be thrilled, Martin.” Mama had given her second husband, the Earl of Seahaven, two daughters, Emma and Merry. They had remained with the Earl of Seahaven when Mama died and Uncle Swithin insisted on Chloe being returned to her brother’s household.

Chloe had kept in touch in the intervening years, but Martin had only met his half-sisters after Uncle Swithin’s death.

Martin twirled his wine glass between his fingers. That was another innovation. They never had wine or any other alcohol while Uncle Swithin was alive. “Lady Dorothea was telling me about their ball, Chloe, and I had an idea,” he said. “What do you think of us asking Lady Seahaven to make you one of her protégées?”

“She has been very kind about including me when she and her step-daughters go calling,” Chloe observed. Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters had started with some personal connections and a few recommendations from relatives, and had brokered them into introductions to most of York Society.

“Precisely,” Martin agreed. “They know many more people than we do, and their ball will be much better attended than any entertainment I could put on for you. But I would not wish you to be neglected in such a big crowd of sisters.”

Aunt Swithin cackled. “Only three sisters that count, Martin. Lady Seahaven is giving the ball for the Seahaven Diamonds, and quite right, too. Next to them, no one will notice our Chloe, nor any other female.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested, “Chloe would make a fine match for any gentleman of discernment.”

“Josefina and the twins can only marry one man apiece,” Chloe pointed out, though privately she agreed with Aunt Swithin’s assessment. Short and dumpy as she was, she suffered by comparison to those Bigglesworth sisters who were her age and older, let alone the three younger girls who would have been reigning beauties even in a London Season.

The three had been dubbed the Seahaven Diamonds after their first public appearance in York, and the sooner they selected from among their swarming suitors, the better all the other marriageable ladies in York would like it.

“Besides, Aunt Swithin, it isn’t just about the ball. If Lady Seahaven agrees to sponsor me, hostesses who are inviting the Seahavens will include me in their invitations. I will have many more opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen.” And much good it might do me, for I shall still be unfashionably plump, two years past twenty, and far too opinionated for most gentlemen .

Martin nodded. “That is what I thought. I shall ask Lady Seahaven, then, shall I? I will, of course, offer her the money I planned to spend on a party of some kind. Do you think that would be the right thing to do?”

Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

After dinner, he showed Chloe some books and trinkets he had brought for the little girls, including for Lady Seahaven’s little Jane, who was only three. “If I am giving gifts to our sisters, I can’t leave the baby out,” he said.

Sometimes, Chloe was quite hopeful that, out from under Uncle Swithin’s control, Martin was becoming almost human.

* * *

When they saw her the next day, Lady Seahaven was delighted to take Chloe under her wing, “Though it seems silly for me to be your sponsor, Miss Tavistock, when you and I are the same age. At the very least, you must call me Patience, as your stepsisters do. When they are not calling me ‘Mama’ to tease me.”

She objected when Martin offered to help finance the ball, “and any other expenses you incur by allowing Chloe to join you.”

“But, Lord Tavistock, your sister is part of the family. I cannot think it proper to charge you a fee.”

“The fact is, Lady Seahaven, that I am at a standstill,” Martin explained. “Chloe and I were tutored at home, as you know, and our guardian was not a warm man. Nor were those few social connections he maintained at the right social level for a viscount’s sister. Aunt Swithin is as much out of her depth as I am, and besides, grows more peculiar by the day.” As Patience could see for herself, since Aunt Swithin had barely said good morning to her hostess before announcing that she would go and find Bess, the eldest Seahaven daughter, because Bess did not have cotton wool between her ears.

Martin leaned forward in his seat, gifting Patience with a winning smile. “If you will treat Chloe as one of your own flock, I am persuaded she will fare much better than my aunt and I could manage without your help. I would not think of putting a monetary value on the advantage to Chloe of your sponsorship. You are doing me an enormous favour, and all I can say is thank you. But I have budgeted for a season for Chloe, and it is only fair that the money I was going to spend doing a poor job should go to helping you do a far better one.”

Chloe was impressed by the speech, and so was Doro, who commented, “That is reasonable, Patience. Lord Tavistock’s money added to ours will allow us to make more of an impression than either of us could manage on our own.”

That settled, Martin was carried off to the schoolroom by an ecstatic pair of schoolgirls. At twelve and ten, and used to a house full of women, Emma and Merry were awed and fascinated by their adult brother.

Chloe was drawn into a wide-ranging discussion of budgets, suppers, invitation lists, and musicians, with Doro and five more step-sisters, Barbara, Susana, Josefina and the twins, Ivy and Iris. Twice, one of the sisters slipped out to fetch tea and cakes. At one point, Martin strolled in to say he had an engagement at the club he’d joined and would walk Chloe and Aunt Swithin home if they were ready to leave. Chloe said, “You go, Martin. Aunt Swithin and I can walk five hundred yards through the quietest part of town in broad daylight.”

An hour later, when Patience called a halt so she and those who were accompanying her could change for afternoon calls, Aunt Swithin was nowhere to be found. The impossibly handsome butler said she’d spent some time with Bess but left long before Martin.

Chloe thought about asking Patience for the loan of a servant to walk home with her. But it was, after all, broad daylight, and Patience had retreated to her chamber to get changed, as had the sisters.

Martin was right. Aunt Swithin really was growing more peculiar by the day. Chloe only hoped she had gone home. At least Rosario could be locked in a cage when not directly supervised, but one could hardly do that to one’s aunt.

She reached the corner and hesitated. A left turn was the quickest way home, but straight ahead would take her to the bookshop that ran the circulating library she had joined during her first week in York. It was not much out of her way. She could ask if the book she was waiting for had been returned, and then take a shortcut by the narrow way that ran along the back of houses to join up with the street where she lived.