A Sisterly Regard Read online

  A SISTERLY REGARD

  A Regency Romance

  By

  Judith B. Glad

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2007

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by Judith B. Glad

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-016-8

  ISBN 10: 1-60174-016-6

  Cover art and design by Judith B. Glad

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  For my sisters of the heart: Sandy, Marya, Joyce, Genny, Elinor.

  And once again, for Neil.

  For there is no friend like a sister

  In calm or stormy weather;

  To cheer one on the tedious way,

  To fetch one if one goes astray,

  To lift one if one totters down,

  To strengthen whilst one stands.

  ~Christina Rossetti

  Prologue

  "I wish it were not to late to change our minds about going to London for the Season."

  Lord Gifford, dozing in a chair in the corner of his wife's comfortable dressing room, snorted, then sat straighter and gaped at her. "What! What?"

  "I am afraid we have made a terrible mistake, George. I have an unshakable premonition of disaster every time I contemplate the girls' London Season." Lady Gifford watched his reflection in the ornate mirror over her dressing table as she drew a brush through her prematurely grey hair.

  "Nonsense! The girls'll go on marvelously. They've charm, beauty, and manners."

  "My love, Chloe expects to take the ton by storm and will settle for nothing less than a rich and handsome husband. Phaedra dread the whole experience and claims to be uninterested in finding a husband of any sort." She set down the silver-backed brush and turned to face him. "Chloe is certain she will be declared an Incomparable, surrounded by young, wealthy beaux, the toast of the ton."

  "Well, and why should she not?" her husband replied, pride in his voice. "Is she not the most popular young lady in the neighborhood? I swear, I have to plow my way through the callow sprigs hanging about the house, bringing her posies and poetry. Tiresome, that's what it is."

  "Oh, George, please do try to understand my concern. Chloe may be the most sought after girl in the neighborhood, but she is merely one of a few, not one of many. Her present popularity--and her reaction to it--. It has given her too great a sense of her own attractiveness."

  "First time I ever heard of a mother fretting about her daughter's social success. You're off the mark this time, I tell you, Isabella," he said. His impatience with the subject of conversation showed clearly in his tone.

  "I greatly fear that she will disregard those rules of Society she finds too confining." She put her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, George, what if she should gain the reputation of being a hoyden...or even fast? Just think how her Season would be spoiled. She would never receive an offer from anyone respectable. Even with your aunt's support, think of what might happen should one of those malicious old cats take her in dislike."

  "Enough, wife." He came to stand before her, a stocky man of middle years with laugh lines about his mouth and strong, capable hands, which he held out to her. "Our girls will do handsomely, you'll see. With you to guide them, they'll neither put a foot wrong. Come to bed, now, love, do."

  Stifling a series of yawns, Lord Gifford drew her to her feet and led her to the adjoining bedchamber with its huge bed canopied in blue.

  In spite of his reassurances, Lady Gifford continued to worry to herself after the candles were extinguished. When one was the mother of daughters about to make their debut in London, one had a right to be concerned.

  Chapter One

  "How can you be so calm, Phaedra? Our whole lives are in the balance, and you sit there with your usual blasé air. Are you not excited that tomorrow we leave for London?"

  "You know I am more than a little reluctant to partake of the Season." Phaedra replied, setting aside the book she had been attempting to read. "My whole being is revolted by the concept of the Marriage Mart. One might as well be stood upon a platform in the green and auctioned off like a black slave. Mama and Papa would save a small fortune if they were to advertise us in the newspapers."

  Chloe evidenced shock. "Advertise us. What do you mean?"

  "Why sister, cannot you see the advertisement? 'For sale, two daughters, middling attractive, having moderate dowries, and complaisant personalities. Only handsome, wealthy men need apply.' I vow, it would cost much less than a Season and would, in my case at least, have as much chance of results."

  A sidewise glance caught her sister's wide-eyed face. "If a likeness were to accompany the advertisement, the response might be better. We are not uncomely. 'Twould be even better if the prospective buyers could meet you. Your vivacity and spirit would immediately show them what a good buy they were getting. If we only let them see you; I might be sold as well. But no, that would be dishonest. Only think, the poor gentleman would think he was getting a pearl beyond price, then he would discover he had got only me."

  "Phaedra, you are incorrigible. You must know I do not believe for a second that you are serious."

  "Of course not, silly. I realize that you always know when I am funning," Phaedra lied, being aware that her sister did not share her peculiar turn of mind. "However, sister dear, you must know I am not nearly so sanguine about our Season as you. I do not expect us to be immediate successes, bursting upon the ton like the legendary Gunning sisters. I wish you would view the experience with a little more realism."

  "Well, perhaps you are not hopeful of being a success," Chloe replied with some smugness, "but I intend to take London by storm. Why, with Mama's excellent taste, our wardrobes will be beyond anything beautiful. We are not unattractive. Just yesterday Edgar, the Squire's son, said I was an incomparable beauty, and everyone says we are alike enough to be twins." She rose from the window seat and crossed the room to peer at her dim reflection in the pier glass. A pleased smile showed that she liked what she saw.

  Without turning away, she said, "We are well mannered and accomplished in all the feminine arts. We will, I promise you, be mobbed with admirers, as I have always been."

  She set her mouth in a pretty pout, one Phaedra knew had been carefully rehearsed. "If only you will be a little less serious, and cultivate light conversation. I vow, Phaedra, if you insist upon prosing on about your flowers, no eligible man will have a second look for you. Please, dear sister, try to behave more like a young lady and less like some fusty old don at University, just for the Season."

  "Will it satisfy you that I am determined to behave less seriously, for your sake, while we are in London?"

  "Oh, yes, I know you will try," Chloe said, but her brief, responsive smile quickly returned to the pout. "I know you, though. You will forget yourself and begin to query someone about the wild plants to be found at his home, or some other subject equally tiresome. Before you know it, you will have the reputation of being a bluestocking."

  She began to whirl about the room, her feet moving in time to the waltz tune she was humming. Stopping to gaze once more at her reflection, she said, "I wish my eyes were green and my hair golden, like Marianna Knig
ht's. Brown hair and blue eyes are so...so common! Oh, well, I shall think instead about our lovely gowns. I vow, my pale lavender lawn, which Mama embroidered with silver oak leaves, is positively dashing."

  She sketched another curtsy, gave one more whirl, and gracefully sank onto the window seat. "Or at least it would be, if it were not so demure. It is outside of enough that girls in their first Season have to look so...so maidenly!"

  "And how would you prefer to appear, sister? Worldly? Brazen? Loose, even?" Phaedra asked, smiling.

  "Well, I would not mind being just a little dashing. After all, I wish to be noticed and not to be merely another shy young thing amongst so many. It would not harm my reputation to be noticeable, I think."

  "You will be noticed," Phaedra said. "In spite of your merely passable looks, you have a sparkle about you that will bring you to the notice of all the Season's most eligible bachelors."

  "Passable! I am not merely passable! Oh! You are funning again."

  Chloe clasped her hands under her chin and opened her eyes very wide. This expression, Phaedra knew, was calculated to evoke feelings of protectiveness in the masculine breast.

  "Seriously, Phaedra, I do want to make a splash in London. I cannot abide the thought that I will not be married before the end of the Season. I will not come home after our Season and languish here in the country. I was made for London, or perhaps even Paris."

  "You would certainly make a splash in Paris, Chloe. Why, you might even last a full five minutes before you were clapped into gaol as a spy. Or had you forgotten that Boney is still in control in France?"

  "Well, this horrid war cannot last forever, you know. Someday I intend to go to Paris, and I must have a husband who can take me there, in style."

  A yawn interrupted her. "We should go to bed. If we do not, we will have circles under our eyes when we arrive in London and I do want to look my best."

  "For that eligible bachelor who will be awaiting you upon our doorstep when you arrive, I suppose. But you are right and I am sleepy. Tomorrow will be tiring." Phaedra ignited a spill in the fire and used it to light her candle. As she pulled the door closed behind her she said, "Good night, Chloe. Dream of your handsome prince."

  "And you will, I suppose, dream of flowers," came the tart rejoinder.

  * * * *

  The February morning was cold and crisp, a perfect day for traveling. It was not yet sunrise when the family broke their fast together, then departed to their various rooms. Shortly a wail from Chloe's room broke the silence.

  "It's gone, it's gone. Oh, where is it? I can't find it," she cried. "Oh! My Season is spoiled. I cannot go!"

  Her mother came running into the room. "What in the world?" she exclaimed. "Chloe, what is the matter? What can you not find?"

  "My pink reticule. The one with the gold embroidery, to match my favorite gown. I cannot leave without it. Mama, we will have to unpack all my trunks, because I must be sure that I have it. No, we must search the house, for I am certain that dreadful boy has stolen it and hidden it away."

  "What dreadful boy?" Lady Gifford asked, while swiftly opening and closing drawers in a golden oak tallboy.

  "Tom, the wretch. He has been taking my things and hiding them all week, just to plague me. He does not wish me to have a Season. He wants me to be an old maid and never have any happiness."

  "Nonsense," Lady Gifford replied. "Your brother may be a rascal, but he is not unkind. Where is Peggy? Did she not help you pack your things? She will know--" She broke off as a young maid entered the room. "Oh, there you are, Peggy. Where have you put Miss Chloe's pink reticule with the gold embroidery? Did you pack it?"

  "No'm, I didn't. Miss said as how she wanted to be sure she had it and would put it in her bandbox," the maid replied.

  "Well, Chloe?" said Lady Gifford.

  "Oh, I forgot. Let me look." The girl upended a bandbox and its contents fell upon the bed. She pawed through them. "Yes, here it is. I am sorry Mama," Chloe said. "I just wanted to be sure that I had it. It is so beautiful, with all your embroidery upon it."

  Lady Gifford, not responding to the flattery, gave her daughter a long look. "Chloe, if you will continue to fly into such a passion, perhaps you will not go on well in London. No one likes to see a young lady lose her composure. Try for a bit more civility, my dear, if you please."

  "I will, Mama, I promise."

  "Now, you may repack your bandbox, since you were the one to disorder its contents. Come, Peggy." Taking the maid with her, she left the pouting girl alone.

  * * * *

  The sisters reached the front door barely in time to wave farewell to the carriage carrying Lady Gifford's maid and all the luggage. Their papa was standing just outside the door, but there was no sign of Lady Gifford. Phaedra cocked an inquiring eyebrow at him.

  "Your mother had 'just one more thing' to tell Nurse. I swear, that woman was never so empty headed when we went to London before. What ails her?"

  "I believe, Papa, she is apprehensive about having two daughters to pop off this year."

  "Slang! Young lady, you've been around your brothers too much. It don't befit a proper young lady to use slang. Besides, we're not going to London to 'pop off' our daughters, but to give them experience of Society."

  "Pooh, Papa, you know that the whole purpose of a Season is to find a husband."

  "Yes, but it ain't something you speak aloud of, m'dear. You've got to watch that tongue of yours. It'll get you into trouble yet, mark my words."

  Lady Gifford bustled through the front entrance, distracting them. "Here I am, at last," she said brightly. "Come girls, get into the carriage. No, Chloe, you cannot sit there now. You know you become dreadfully unwell if you ride too long facing backwards. Let your sister have a chance to sit beside me for the short while we will be on our excellent local roads. Those nearer to London are quite abominably rough. And the frozen ground will not improve them, though it will make our journey easier than the mud we had last week."

  She turned to her husband. "Oh, my dear, I will miss you terribly. I wish you did not have to remain here for another fortnight." Her eyes filled and she sniffed. Phaedra, watching, bit her lower lip and swallowed the small lump in her throat. She was always deeply touched to see evidence of her parents' love for one another.

  Lord Gifford, oblivious as always to watching children and servants, took his wife in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. "There, there, my love. You'll go on famously without me. Why, I'd only be in the way while the three of you are sporting the blunt for all frills and furbelows. You'll not even miss me, what with fitting the girls out in the first style of elegance. I'll be in London in time for Aunt Margaret's ball, never fear." He loosened his arms and handed her into the carriage. "God be with you, love. I'll see you soon enough."

  He turned away and hurried toward the house, but Phaedra knew he'd lurk behind the library curtains, watching the carriage carrying his wife until it was out of sight.

  * * * *

  Phaedra woke from a light doze when her mother spoke. "My dear, I am afraid you must trade places with your sister now. She is looking decidedly unwell."

  Indeed Chloe's face was distinctively of a greenish cast.

  Once on the rear-facing seat, Phaedra fell again into sleep, disturbed only by the noise of the inn yard at their first change of horses. Her slumber was troubled, filled with scenes where she found herself in embarrassing situations and unable to find words. In one instance, she was entering a grand ballroom without her shoes; everyone stared at her naked toes and gasped with shock. She roused slightly and changed her position, leaning her head into the corner between the seat and the coach's side wall.

  Another dream held a tall, dark, threatening man who was saying to her father, "No, no, it's not this whey-faced female I want, with no spirit and no conversation. I want the other one, the pretty one, for my wife." Finally, when she escaped from a scene in which she struggled to free herself from grasping hands dragging her to the altar
to wed an ancient, stooped, evil-looking man, she resolved to sleep no more.

  "I was just about to awaken you," Lady Gifford said, as Phaedra tried to ease the stiffness from her neck. "We will halt shortly for luncheon. Tidy your hair and put on your bonnets, girls."

  There was a moan from Chloe. "Do not speak of food. I shall die!" She was huddled in a corner of the coach with a shawl wrapped around her head.

  "Chloe, I declare if you would not so indulge yourself, you would feel much more the thing," Lady Gifford scolded. "When you have taken some weak tea and toast you will feel much the better for it."

  Another moan was the only answer to these unsympathetic remarks. But the girl had little longer to suffer, for the carriage soon drew up to the inn, where the landlord unctuously escorted them to a comfortable private parlor. Chloe was tucked into a soft chair, with her shawl still wrapped about her shoulders, and given her mother's smelling salts. She looked pale and wan, and her usual sparkle was missing.

  "I could not eat or drink a thing," she whimpered, when their mother once again mentioned tea.

  "Yes, you shall, miss," her mother said. "'Twill do you no end of good."

  Lady Gifford and Phaedra did justice to the fluffy omelette and freshly baked bread that soon arrived. Chloe sipped reluctantly at her tea and nibbled her dry toast. She did look less unwell, however, after eating, and pronounced herself able to face the remainder of the journey. But only, she reminded them in long-suffering tones, because they were on their way to London.

  * * * *

  The sun was nearing the western horizon when the sound of pounding hooves, the rattle of harness, and frantic shouts awoke the Hazelbourne ladies. Their coach swerved violently, as Jem Coachman worked to halt the team.

  Phaedra leaned from the window to see what was happening. Ahead of their team and very nearly under the leaders' noses, another equipage sat askew of the roadway. A man was grappling with its harness, trying to calm the rearing horses. She opened the door and jumped to the ground. Her mother protested and Chloe cried out in alarm, but she ignored them and hurried toward the other conveyance, noting as she did so that it was a perch phaeton of uncommon elegance.