Louise Read online

  LOUISE

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  Persuaded by her grandfather to supervise the coming out of Matilda, his great-niece, Louise reluctantly goes to London to take part in the season for the first time since her soldier husband was killed three years before.

  Matilda is difficult and rebellious, but Louise finds she can enjoy meeting old friends and the balls and parties.

  Louise by Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2015 Marina Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

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  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at

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  Author Note

  The task of a duenna is never easy, especially when the debutante is wild and the duenna not a great deal older.

  Louise

  Chapter 1

  Lady Rushton glanced up from her book as the chaise came to the outskirts of Bath, and sighed. She wouldn't now be able to finish this delightful new tale by this clever author. She had only received it from her friend in London a few hours before her grandfather's peremptory summons came and had brought it along to while away the two days of the journey from her home near Dartmoor. Her maid Peg, while an excellent dresser and clever with her hair, had no conversation, and two days confined with her in the chaise was not to be borne.

  She began to ponder again why her grandfather had sent for her. Could he be dying? He was over seventy, imagined he suffered from an astonishing range of ills, and had on more than one occasion decided he was on his deathbed and wanted his only remaining relative beside him. Yet the letter had been written in his own hand, and the words were as firm as ever. Pride and Prejudice did not apply to old Joseph Hoyland. He'd never had any pride, as his brother Frederick had always told him. When his nephew took over the various business interests of the Hoyland family twenty years before, old Joseph had been put out to grass, and had retired in some dudgeon to Bath. As for prejudice, he was full of it, and had utter disregard for anyone else's convenience. Now his brother and nephew were dead and the business interests sold. Joseph had a substantial income, both from his dead wife and the business, but he was miserly apart from when his own interests were concerned.

  The chaise rolled to a halt outside the house in Laura Place. When he was well enough to walk to the Pump Room, he didn't want to have to be struggling up mountains, he said, nor did he want his chairmen to expire from exhaustion when he had to be carried there. This was not due to consideration for them, but inconvenience to himself should one of them collapse.

  It was almost dusk, and the setting sun threw long shadows across the open Place, but no light was visible inside the house. Did that mean her grandfather was out, or that he was indulging in a fit of parsimony and forbidding candles in any but his own rooms? Well, she'd soon change that. Her footman helped her down from the chaise and went to hammer on the front door. Rather to Lady Rushton's surprise it was opened at once, and her grandfather's butler peered out.

  'My lady! Thank goodness you've come! The old gentleman's in such a twitter, expecting you some hours since.'

  'Is he well, Duston?' she asked as she went into the hall and took off her hat and shawl, handing them to Peg. 'Am I in my usual room?'

  'Yes, the usual. Oh yes, he's well, though he complains of gout and palpitations and several other things. But he's been uncommonly busy, sending off letters all over the place, and Littleton, his man of business, was sent to London last week and then, I think, was to go to Yorkshire. He's been fretting he's not heard from the man since three days ago.'

  'Well, I'll soon find out. Now, for goodness sake light some candles, I can't stand this dreadful gloom. Or has he forbidden you to use any?'

  Duston sighed. 'Yes, my lady. Only tallow dips and only where absolutely necessary. Except in his library and bedroom, of course, where he still has the finest beeswax.'

  'And the tallow dips smell and need replacing within an hour! I'll go and see him, when I've washed. And ask someone to bring wax candles to my room!'

  She went up the stairs slowly. It was still light enough, the westering sun shone through the large window on the landing. Why had the old man sent for her in such a pelter? What was he up to, sending messages all over the place? Was the journey to Yorkshire connected with the old business concerns? The lawyer who had looked after the Hoyland business interests, and still, she supposed, did some work on trusts and so on, including her own, was in Yorkshire. Well, she thought as she stripped off her gloves and the mannish cloak with several capes that she wore for driving, which had belonged to her dead husband, and washed her hands, she would soon discover it.

  *

  'I'm going to London, London, Lon-don Town,' sang Matilda, loudly, and her companion suppressed a wince. Despite the efforts of several music teachers Matilda's voice was harsh and loud. 'How soon shall we be there?' she demanded.

  'We'll be three more days on the road, dear. Now, if you are tired looking at the scenery, I have a travelling chess set. We could have a game.'

  'No thank you. How much money do you think my great-uncle will be giving me for new clothes? I hope it will be plenty, for I mean to cut a dash! And after all, I am an heiress.'

  The girl thought of little but money. She would soon discover there were other heiresses, some with far greater wealth than her own, in London, but to say so would precipitate a fit of the sulks and make this tedious journey all but unbearable.

  'You mustn't be mercenary, child. I'm sure he will provide sufficient.'

  'But I have to dress well if I'm to make a splendid marriage, and surely that's why he's sending me there.'

  'Yes, Matilda, but fine feathers do not – '

  'Oh, I know that, Miss Pudsey, but when I have had to be satisfied with gowns from provincial modistes, in places like York and Harrogate, I long for more sophistication.'

  Miss Pudsey considered attempting to explain to her charge what she needed to do in order to attain some sophistication in her behaviour, but decided it would be a waste of breath. Thank goodness, once she had handed the chit over to her next unfortunate duenna, she could leave without feeling guilty, and seek another situation. This time, she thought, she would try to obtain a post with young children. They were far less strain on her nerves than a girl of seventeen.

  'If I have modish gowns I'm sure to attract offers, for I'm beautiful as well as rich,' Matilda went on. 'Why, when I attended those provincial Assemblies, I was never without a partner, and I know my great-uncle received several offers for my hand, but none of them were suitable.'

  And I doubt you would have received any but for your money, Miss Pudsey said under her breath. You are pretty, but not out of the ordinary. Matilda had dark curls and a plump, babyish face. Her figure was plump too, but as she grew older would probably fine down.

  After a blessed silence Matilda spoke again. 'Do you know London, Mayfair?' she asked. 'Do you know Half Moon Street, where Great-uncle Joseph has hired this house? Is it as grand as Grosvenor Square?'<
br />
  'I don't know it, but houses in the big squares are bigger than those in most of the streets. It will be large enough for you and your cousin, I'm sure.'

  'But if it's small there might not be a ballroom! How can I give magnificent balls without a ballroom?'

  'At first you will not be acquainted with many people, so you could not fill a large ballroom,' Miss Pudsey tried to explain, but Matilda tossed her dark curls.

  'I'll soon know everyone important. They'll ask to be presented when I'm riding and driving in the Park, and at the theatre, and the ballet, and we'll go to the Chapel Royal and meet the Dukes. I'll be invited to balls and routs and breakfasts, and soon everyone will know me. Do you think I should drive a perch phaeton? It's so much more exciting than a curricle!'

  Miss Pudsey shuddered. 'Do as your cousin advises,' she said faintly. The vision of Matilda upsetting the gig into a ditch only a week before was still vivid in her mind. Reminiscently she rubbed her knee, which had been wrenched in the fall.

  By the time the travelling coach drew up in front of the house in Half Moon Street Miss Pudsey had a raging headache and was hard put to it not to scream every time Matilda opened her mouth to repeat her questions and observations. One hour, and she could be on her way to her sister's house in Chelsea, and blessed peace.

  *

  'No, Grandfather, I won't do it!'

  'But Louise, I've been explaining all through dinner how important it is to get the chit married off.'

  They were sitting in the library. Old Mr Hoyland was still good looking with his thick grey hair and bright grey eyes, eyes she had inherited, though her own hair was a deep blonde, had a decanter of brandy on a small table by his chair, and his gouty foot on a footstool. Louise put down the glass of ratafia she had been given, and making sure Duston had left the room, she poured herself some brandy.

  'It's quite impossible. How can you ask me to leave everything and dash up to London at a moment's notice, for several months, to chaperone that wretched girl? I've never met her. And apart from the gown I travelled in, this is the only one I have with me.'

  'And very outmoded it is too.'

  Louise swallowed a hasty retort. Her gowns were made by a modiste in Exeter who was expert at copying the fashions illustrated in La Belle Assemblée, and this evening gown had been made just before Christmas. It was green silk, with finely pleated tucks and cream lace, and she wore with it a Norwich shawl of the same green.

  'You can order as many as you wish when you get to London. You'll have to go tomorrow, she arrives the day afterwards and you can't leave her with just that governess of hers, who's off to another post anyway.'

  'I can't!'

  'It's all arranged,' Mr Hoyland went on in a wheedling tone. 'Littleton has hired a house, paid the rent for six months, hired servants, and even hired stables. He'll come up to London once a month and pay all the bills and the wages. All you need do is keep the bills and hand them to him.'

  'I can't leave Rushton Manor for six months, without even letting people there know! They'll think I've been abducted.'

  'No they won't. I'll send a man off with a letter tomorrow, and if there's anything you want brought to London, he'll see to it. And your mother-in-law lives there, doesn't she? She can look after the place.'

  Her mother-in-law had been trying to get Louise to take more responsibility ever since she had lived at the manor. After two brief months of marriage, when she had been just eighteen, Richard had been recalled to the army. His mother had made Louise welcome, and when the young bride had confessed she knew nothing of managing a large house, had promised to teach her. When Richard had been killed at Ciudad Rodrigo the older Lady Rushton, suppressing her own grief at the loss of her only son, had moved back from the Dower House to be with the distraught young bride and, since the women had become close friends, had agreed to stay until Louise felt able to manage on her own. Every time she attempted to move back Louise begged her to stay. Somehow they had divided their responsibilities amicably. Her mother-in-law could manage perfectly well without her.

  'You can spend as much as you like,' Mr Hoyland said.

  Louise looked at him suspiciously. 'It's not like you to set no limit.'

  'Well, I want to get the gal settled, before I die.' Suddenly he sounded weak, and Louise looked at him suspiciously. He's always been adept at stirring her emotions. 'I'm her guardian and trustee, and if I die before she's wed her silly mother will soon run through her fortune.'

  'Just whose money are you willing to spend?' Louise asked. 'Not your own, I'm sure.'

  He laughed. 'Of course not. What do you take me for, a nincompoop? That money's for you when I go, so I'm not wasting it on young Matilda. It's for her benefit, after all. Right now, this is what you'll do. You'll have to set out early in the morning. Take your own chaise, and change horses as often as need be.'

  'I always travel with my own horses,' Louise protested, and began to think she was losing the argument.

  'Well, this time you can't. If you want them in London leave your groom with them to bring them on by easy stages.'

  'So I'm to waste Matilda's money on my own clothes, am I? Should I also purchase suitable jewels to go with them? After all, I haven't brought my jewel box with me.'

  My Hoyland hesitated. 'No, of course not. When Littleton gets back I'll send him off to Rushton to collect your own and take them to London. Send a letter to your Mama-in-law to explain. I seem to recall your husband lavished jewels on you, he was so besotted.'

  Louise felt the tears start. She hadn't cried for Richard for almost two years, but she suddenly remembered this was his birthday.

  'It's time you looked about for another husband,' Mr Hoyland said, and there was a catch in his voice. Perhaps he did care for her after all.

  It was time, she knew, to stop grieving for Richard. He would not want her to waste her life mourning for him, though she did not want another husband. But a few months in London, which she had not seen since her marriage over five years ago, might help her move on her life. Her mother was always inviting her to visit. Slowly she nodded.

  'Very well, I'll do it. Now, where is this house you've hired?'

  *

  'I'm perfectly well, could go back tomorrow,' the Earl of Newark said, and defiantly drained the brandy in his glass. 'Wellington needs every officer he can get.'

  'When was your last blackout?' Sir Arthur Warton asked, and removed the decanter from the Earl's reach. 'Brandy won't help you.'

  The Earl scowled at him. 'Two weeks ago,' he admitted, 'but it was for just a minute, nothing much.'

  'Just a minute during a battle could make all the difference between a sensible order and chaos,' Sir Arthur said. 'I've had other patients with these blackouts, and sometimes they get worse with extra stress.'

  'Yes doctor!' The Earl sighed. 'I am your patient, so I suppose I have to obey orders. It's damnably frustrating.'

  'You are being useful at the War Office, Rupert, from all I hear,' the older man tried to console him. 'They don't have many currently serving men with your experience, and you are fluent in German too.'

  'I'm not currently serving, haven't been for half a year, and I get only the same reports as everyone else.'

  'And the German dispatches too. 'You can interpret them better than most.'

  The Earl was still frowning. 'And it does no good, they won't send what's needed.'

  'Then forget them, enjoy the Season. It's time you found yourself a wife.'

  'And an heir! I know, unless I do my dear cousin Cedric will inherit, and no one wants that, least of all my dependants! But I have this odd notion that I cannot marry unless I love the girl. Why don't people understand this?'

  'You're not likely to find a suitable bride amongst the camp followers in Spain, or a Senorita.'

  The Earl gave a crack of laughter. 'No, but there were some damn fine lightskirts there. Bore the conditions like troopers, they did. Better than some of the troops,' he added with a remin
iscent smile.

  'You need a well-born bride, young, pretty, and if possible with a fortune.'

  'I don't need to marry money, I have sufficient.'

  'You are unusual to admit it.' His tone was dry, and the Earl suddenly recalled the latest rumour about his uncle, his mother's brother, that he had lost money with investments in the Americas.

  'Do you need a loan?' he asked abruptly.

  Sir Arthur laughed and shook his head. 'Thank you, but my losses are not so great as some would have you believe. I can still buy my bread and an occasional bottle of Madeira.'

  'It's you who ought to be seeking an heiress. And a step-mother for your children, before they grow too old to accept her.' Sir Arthur had married late and his children were still in the nursery. 'Let me see now, you are five and fifty, a fashionable doctor even though you have never needed to earn that bread and Madeira, with excellent contacts in the ton. You are almost as good looking as I am, though you don't have a romantic scar where a bullet grazed your cheek. Some might count that an advantage.'

  Sir Arthur grinned. He, like Rupert, was tall and dark, but Rupert had a better profile and more shapely, muscular legs. His were getting old and flabby, since he rarely rode now.

  'And another in a more delicate place that only the lightskirts and your future wife will know about. As for that almost as good looking, I'll have you know Lady Barlow might disagree.'

  'She still has a husband.' The Earl sounded worried. Since his wife had died three years ago, when his younger son was born, his uncle had shown no interest in other women. Surely it was time he might think of another marriage?

  'But a damn fine woman, you must admit. Don't worry, my friend, I'll not cut you out, I'm not looking for a wife. But I must go and make some professional calls, and earn a few more guineas.'

  *

  By the time the chaise halted outside the house in Half Moon Street Louise wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Three days of constant travel had wearied her to screaming point. For five years she had rarely travelled more than a few miles, just occasionally to Bath when summoned by her grandfather, and then she went slowly, with her own horses. She felt battered by the speed of this journey and had to brace herself to meet the inhabitants of this house.