Page 11 of Mrs. Merritt’s Remorse (Lord Dere’s Dependents #2)

Merry it is in the good green wood.

—Sir Walter Scott, The Lady of the Lake (1810)

Mr. Beck had indeed come to Iffley, for the very next day as the Barstows sat at their needlework a note arrived.

“We are invited to a card party at Greenwood Hall on Wednesday evening,” read Jane, to a chorus of indrawn breaths. “At least, some of us are. He addresses it to “The Mesdames Barstow, Mrs. Merritt, and Miss Barstow.’”

“See? I am never invited!” complained Maria. “Though I play cards better than you, Jane.”

“And I wish you might have my place, Maria,” Jane told her. “We hardly know the man, to be invited.”

“He better have invited Mrs. Dere, if he knows what’s good for him,” said Frances.

“But he hasn’t met the Deres, I don’t believe,” Jane answered. “Dear me, he may stumble at the threshold if he invites us without inviting them. After all, there is no reason to curry favor with Iffley Cottage, but every reason to do so with Perryfield.”

“Iffley Cottage does boast three pretty young ladies,” Mrs. Barstow said with a fond smile.

“Only three? Why do you not count me, Mama?” Maria cried.

“Because you aren’t pretty,” spoke up Gordon in provoking, younger-brother fashion. It being Saturday, he was lying on the carpet dragging a string to amuse the cat.

“No, sweeting, I did not include you because you are still my darling little girl.”

“Yes, you are eleven, Maria,” returned Frances, “as you so often remind us. But Mama, shall we go? Mr. Beck is so handsome and dashing!” She elbowed Jane in the ribs here, as if Jane could have forgotten their earlier conversation.

“Perhaps you ought to stay home with Maria as well, Frances,” Jane rallied her.

“I do not see how we could avoid going, without giving offense,” replied Mrs. Barstow. “And I confess I would very much like to see inside Greenwood Hall. But I do wish we could discover if he invited the Deres. I would hate to be in Mrs. Dere’s black book, if it can be helped.”

“I could run to the Tree Inn and see what may be pried from Mrs. Lamb,” Frances offered at once.

But even if her mother might have condoned such a measure, the next moment Maria called from the window seat, “Here is Miss Egerton with that Miss Hynde person.”

Jane’s breath quickened. Mr. Egerton’s beloved! The fortunate, fortunate girl.

There was not time for further thought, however, for the ordinary sewing must be put away and fancy work taken up; Gordon must scramble to his feet; Maria’s cascade of bushy curls must be smoothed.

“Miss Egerton, Miss Hynde, welcome,” Mrs. Barstow greeted them. “Won’t you be seated?”

“Good morning to you all,” said the curate’s sister. “How good of you to remember my uncle’s ward Miss Hynde. She came just yesterday, but I thought I would walk her about Iffley and remind her of people’s names.”

“How delighted I am to have so many young people so near,” Miss Hynde declared, clapping her hands. “And look at this adorable dog and cat!”

Miss Hynde proved impossible to dislike, for she praised everything and everyone at Iffley Cottage: the family members; large families in general; the pets; Poppet’s repertoire of commands, as demonstrated by Maria and Gordy; Bash’s limited vocabulary; the ladies’ needlework; a magic trick Gordy showed her; the furniture and its arrangement; the prospect from the front window; the convenience and charm of the cottage taken altogether. Within fifteen minutes she had all the Barstows eating out of her hand. Jane alone, in the privacy of her mind, felt a reservation. For, though it might have been her imagination or her too-present consciousness, she could swear Miss Hynde looked at her in a particular way, with a mixture of awareness and curiosity and pity, all rolled into one.

With an effort, Jane fought down resentment, scolding herself as she had done a thousand times in the past two years. If she was infamous in her small way, it was, alas, all her own doing.

“Oh, look, Cassie!” cried Miss Hynde, when Sarah removed from Bash’s mouth the card he had found to chew on. “The Barstows received an invitation too! Isn’t that from Mr. Beck, now of Greenwood Hall? Archie told us the little shape on the seal is meant to be the Stone of Scone. It’s a pun, see? Mr. Beck’s family is at the ‘beck’ of the monarch. We received ours this morning.”

The Barstows exchanged looks of renewed concern. Truly, if the Deres were not invited now, something would have to be done!

“We will go,” said Mrs. Barstow, “though we are barely acquainted with him. And I hope you at the rectory will as well…?”

“Philip says we haven’t any choice but to go,” giggled Miss Hynde. “Because Mr. Beck is Archie’s guardian. But I am glad of it, and you are too, aren’t you Cassie?”

“ Philip ”? Jane twitched at this use of his Christian name. Were they already so intimate?

“Why doesn’t Mr. Egerton want to go?” asked Frances. “Doesn’t he like cards?”

“Cassie says he likes whist and quadrille but finds Commerce dull,” said Miss Hynde. “And I declare I am exactly the opposite! For Philip is so serious and intent that there is no beating him in games of strategy, while I would rather have a good chat around the table. But perhaps there will be enough of us present that Mr. Beck will have one table for the serious card players and one for the light-hearted.”

“Or, if there are three of you, four of us, and Mr. Beck, we might all play a round game like Speculation,” Jane suggested. “That might please both you and Mr. Egerton because it involves strategy as well as chatting around the table.”

“True!” agreed Miss Hynde, favoring Jane with another of her curious looks. “Will you propose it, or shall I?”

“Oh!” Jane demurred. “I was only speculating myself. I will let the host decide, but if it is whist or quadrille, I will know not to play against Mr. Egerton.”

The church was unusually well attended that Sunday, many hoping for a glimpse of both Miss Hynde and Mr. Beck, but they must be satisfied with Miss Hynde alone, for Beck was nowhere to be seen. Jane sat in the center of the second Dere pew, hidden by both Sarah’s veil and Mrs. Markham Dere’s formidable straw bonnet with full black chip brim. The repeat wearing of the veil caused a frown to fleet across Egerton’s features as he ascended the pulpit steps, but she had only worn it to fend off Mr. Beck’s possible gaze.

After the service, Mrs. Dere said loudly to the baron, “Uncle, I had thought we would see Mr. Beck before his card party on Wednesday.” With lifted brows she consulted the cluster of Barstow dependents gathered around them. “Mrs. Barstow, I assume Mr. Beck issued an invitation to Iffley Cottage as well, in consideration of what is due to those connected with Perryfield.”

“He did, madam,” replied Mrs. Barstow with a relieved smile at her family. “Are you and the baron now acquainted with the newcomer?”

“My uncle thought it appropriate to call upon Mr. Beck yesterday,” said Mrs. Dere, and those in earshot immediately understood this to mean Mrs. Dere had insisted the baron call, and the baron had obeyed. “Lord Dere being first among families in Iffley, it would be remiss to leave such niceties to the last. It would be taken as a deliberate snub.”

“How did you find him, Lord Dere?” asked Mr. Chauncey.

“Has he come from town alone or with a party?” asked his wife.

“Did he tell you why he did not intend to come to church?” asked Mrs. Lane, Dr. Lane’s wispy beard nodding beside her to second the question.

“I expect Mr. Beck and his friends might have mistakenly attended at St. James in Cowley,” ventured Lord Dere in his mild manner. “It is the closer church to Greenwood Hall, though a different parish. It did not occur to me to warn him against possible confusion.”

“That must be it,” agreed Dr. Lane. “He is probably even now having the matter explained to him by Howe over at St. James.”

“Then he did have guests?” persisted Mrs. Chauncey.

“He did. His stepsister Mrs. Rowland and her husband, and a friend by the name of Hardy.”

“Stylish sorts, I imagine,” said Mrs. Lane, “if they are his town friends.”

But judging degrees of fashionableness was quite beyond the baron. “They seemed pleasant enough people.”

Mrs. Lane and Mrs. Chauncey looked no better satisfied with this vagueness than Mrs. Dere had been upon first hearing it, and Mrs. Chauncey said with a sigh, “Well, even if Mr. Chauncey calls upon them, I doubt a more adequate description will be forthcoming. How I envy you, Mrs. Dere, being invited to the card party! I will certainly call at Perryfield on Thursday to hear all about it, and in much greater detail.”

With such a hum of curiosity in the air, Jane could not help but be infected, and even she began to anticipate the occasion she had once wished on Maria.

When Jane arrived at the rectory on Monday for the next parish school lesson, there were two surprises awaiting her. First, Miss Hynde was perched on a stool in the corner, her workbasket beside her (“Where I will work and hold my tongue and be entirely out of your way”). And second, any budding eagerness Jane felt for the approaching card party was easily eclipsed by Miss Hynde’s.

“Oh, Mrs. Merritt,” she breathed, sliding from her stool to make her curtsey. “I have been thinking and thinking about what I will wear on Wednesday. I scarcely slept for excitement. Have you decided? What you will wear, I mean. I have never been to a card party and am not even introduced to Mr. Beck, and I dread making any faux pas . Cassie says she will wear her spotted muslin, and I thought my muslin with pale green sprigs, though perhaps that is too spring-like?”

Possessing but few gowns suitable for evening wear in company, Jane said, “Perhaps just my white gown with a blue train.”

“With your hazel eyes you would look very pretty in my green sprig,” Miss Hynde declared, her head on one side, “but you would have to add length to the hem because you are taller.”

Jane was spared responding by the noisy arrival of their pupils, who regarded Miss Hynde with suspicion (Harry Barbary) and awe (the Cramthorpes). But because she indeed did nothing but sew in silence after the lesson had begun, they soon ignored her, and Jane gave her credit for keeping her word.

When the children had gone again, Miss Hynde’s tongue loosened. “How very good you both are, to teach them. Very good indeed.”

She gave Jane again that look of mingled pity and thoughtfulness which made Jane want to squirm., but Jane said instead, “Would you not find it more interesting and comfortable, Miss Hynde, to sit in the parlor where the Tommies and Archie have their lessons? The Tommies, at least, are more advanced in their studies.”

Miss Hynde gave a charming blush, and it was Cassie who replied. “My brother advised her that it might be less distracting if she kept away. Tom Ellis is fourteen now, you understand, and when he saw Felicity, you could almost hear the twang of Cupid’s bow…”

“Nonsense, Cassie!” protested Miss Hynde, her color deepening, but she giggled. “That silly boy.”

Mr. Egerton had banished his beloved during lesson times? Jane could not help wondering if it was Tommy Ellis alone who found the girl’s presence distracting. Perhaps Mr. Egerton feared his own gaze would wander too often to his adored one, making teaching impossible. Or perhaps Mr. Egerton would brook no rivals, even in the form of an adolescent pupil.

Tuesday passed in the same fashion, though when Jane returned home on that day, she was informed by an eager Maria that the Greenwood Hall people had called in her absence. “So now we all know what Mr. and Mrs. Rowland and Mr. Hardy look like, and you don’t, Jane!”

“And what do they look like, Miss Superior?”

“Mrs. Rowland is not handsome, but she is so modish one doesn’t even notice for several minutes because one is studying her clothing and trimmings,” Frances supplied.

“I was frightened of her because she had sharp eyes,” admitted Maria, “and when I was pushing up the corner of the carpet with the toe of my slipper—because it was already curling upward, Frances!—she gave me such a look that I didn’t dare speak or move until they were leaving.”

“So Mrs. Rowland is fashionable and frightening,” said Jane with a grimace. “What of the two gentlemen?”

“I thought Mr. Rowland would fall asleep,” Sarah chuckled. “His wife had to nudge him with her elbow! And Mr. Hardy did nothing but hang on Mr. Beck’s little speeches. Take heart, Jane—there is nothing to fear from either of those two.”

“Did Mr. Beck make little speeches?”

“Yes, and he proved as charming as the first time he called,” Mrs. Barstow said lightly.

“He asked us our favorite card games, Jane!” said Frances. “There will be thirteen altogether, you know, which means there will be at least one round game, so I nominated Commerce and Speculation, even if Mr. Egerton dislikes them. What do you think?”

“I think Mr. Egerton is courteous enough and certainly old enough to pretend a liking, no matter his true feelings.”

“True,” her sister agreed. “I don’t imagine we would even know he had a preference (or an aversion), had he been present. In fact, he might have been rather put out by Miss Hynde being so frank, but there is no harm in us knowing, is there?”

“No harm at all,” answered her mother, “unless we chose to torture the poor man with games he disliked whenever we met him.”

This idea amused them all, and the rest of the day passed quickly in refurbishing their gowns and caps for the coming occasion. As Jane stitched a length of lace to the hem of her blue train, she found anxiety beginning once more to outweigh anticipation. For if the hard-eyed Mrs. Rowland disapproved poor Maria turning up the carpet with her toe, how much more might she disapprove Jane’s misadventures?

But inevitably Wednesday came, and inevitably the hours passed, and inevitably Reed announced the arrival of the Perryfield coach. The ladies were handed in by the footman Harker to be greeted by the baron and Mrs. Dere, and they were off.

“I defy all Oxfordshire to produce such a lovely and amiable family,” pronounced Lord Dere with his old-fashioned grace, beaming upon them. “I will be proud to arrive at Greenwood Hall with you all beside me.”

While this drew no more than a cool, “Thank you, uncle” from Mrs. Dere, Jane was grateful for his words. And indeed, his mild eyes meeting hers, she suspected it was more than courtliness which inspired them. He knows I am all nerves, and he means to encourage me.

Alone of those beside her, Lord Dere understood—truly understood—what Jane had experienced, because he had seen her in the Fleet with her unfortunate husband. Therefore, alone of anyone in the world save Adela and her husband Gerard, Lord Dere could offer sympathy without arousing Jane’s defensiveness. On the contrary, she felt her throat constrict and hot tears rise.

But no—she absolutely could not cry—not when they would be so soon at Greenwood Hall!

Her family guessed enough, however, that Sarah’s hand crept across the seat to take Jane’s, and Frances began loudly to admire Mrs. Dere’s evening dress. These measures succeeded. The tears were beaten back and equanimity restored, so that when they arrived at the Hall and Harker lowered the steps, Jane accepted his assistance with outward calm.

“My, my,” marveled Frances, elbowing Jane. For new white gravel had been laid in the drive, and new potted autumn flowers flanked the steps leading to the entrance. Greenwood Hall itself blazed with candles and lanterns.

They were not the first to arrive, for there stood the rusty creaking carriage which every Iffleyite recognized.

“Ah,” said Lord Dere, nodding at it. “Mr. Egerton told me on Sunday that Mr. Beck would send the Tree Inn’s landau for them. Quite thoughtful of our host.” Which only made the Barstows smile because they knew their benefactor could only know such a detail if he had first offered to send the Dere coach.

Extending both his arms, one to Mrs. Dere and the other to Mrs. Barstow, the baron led them toward the steps, Sarah, Jane and Frances trailing after.