Where Love Illumines (Where There is Love Book 2) Read online

  “I and my son, Francis, Earl of Huntingdon, do announce the engagement and forthcoming marriage of my daughter, Lady Selina, to Colonel George Hastings.” A murmur of approval, delighted exclamations, and a scattering of applause met the announcement, as well as a hearty “Hear! Hear!” from some of Colonel Hastings’s fellow officers.

  But the countess was not finished. She had more serious ideas for this occasion than cheering. As Lady Selina and her colonel stepped forward, both radiant with smiles, Her Ladyship held up her hands as if pronouncing a blessing and prayed, “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with His favor look upon you and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace that you may so live together in this life that in the world to come you may have life everlasting. Amen.”

  Many of the guests repeated the amen. Then they lifted the long-stemmed glasses of punch the footmen were handing around and toasted the happy couple with repeated wishes for prosperity and long life.

  Mary felt herself drawn into the warmth of Lady Selina’s radiance and for a moment felt almost a niggle of envy for her friend’s perfect happiness. Then Rowland drew her from the center of the activity to introduce her to Catherine and Philip Ferrar.

  “Your music is exquisite. I hope you’ll play more for us.” Mary smiled at Catherine.

  Catherine responded so warmly Mary put away all scruples over the woman’s nonconformity and soon the women were deep in conversation about Catherine’s life in London and Tunbridge Wells and her active brood of six children. “They are a great delight, although I’d rather not rival my mother who had twelve children.” Catherine laughed.

  But the men’s conversation was more serious. Rowland began telling Philip, who often preached at John Wesley’s Foundery for the Methodist Society, of his repeated refusals for ordination. He described that last, most cutting blow of being refused for his having preached in the Tabernacle and at Tottenham Court Road Chapel. “I suppose they would not let St. Paul, if he were to come upon earth now, preach in his own cathedral,” he concluded. Philip laughed.

  “But do not cease trying.” Philip returned to his former gravity. “I do not say that lightly. Although I had no trouble over ordination, I was removed from my first curacy for my Methodist ways, and for several years I was refused living after living until I despaired of ever having a place of my own to minister.”

  “And I despaired of ever having a husband.” Catherine joined the conversation. “He would not ask for my hand without a living, and yet with each living that was denied, I seemed to grow fonder of him. It was a most unhappy coil. But I am certain it will all come right for you if you do not give up.”

  “Perhaps someday there will be a bishop who believes in a personal God as we do, but until that day we must do the best work we can with what we have,” Philip said.

  Rowland shook his head. “I do hope I won’t have to wait for a far-off miracle before I can receive orders.”

  Mary was thoughtful for a moment. “Why have you not applied to the Bishop of Wells?”

  “No particular reason. They are all alike. He has simply not crossed my itinerary,” Rowland replied.

  That night Mary determined that Bishop Willes of the dioceses of Bath and Wells should be on Rowland Hill’s itinerary. Never mind what she thought of Rowland’s theological enthusiasm—the situation was intolerable, and she had no patience with what she saw to be a grave injustice. She wrote to her papa before she even allowed Brickett to get her ready for bed that night:

  Dearest Papa,

  To such a deplorable apostasy is the world come that young men who are steadfastly attached to the church and live exemplary lives can hardly get their testimonials signed for orders.

  I doubt not but that you can set this situation to rights, at least in the matter of our brother-in-law, Rowland Hill. You know him to be a young man of zeal, untiring labors, and excellent family. You also know the expansive benevolence of his heart. He is an extraordinary person—far too good to be left standing in a field.

  Will not you speak to Bishop Willes on his behalf? Surely the bishop can be made to see sense in the matter and forgive what others have termed youthful enthusiasms.

  We continue well at Devonshire Place. Clement is much taken up with Parliamentary matters and I am

  Yr loving and obedient daughter,

  Mary Tudway

  She went off in search of Clement for a frank for her letter, feeling exceedingly self-satisfied.

  It was only when she thought over the fine things she had said about Rowland and her own determination to refuse him that her smugness wavered. Catherine Ferrar appeared to be a woman of accomplishment and fashion, yet she was not unhappy with her unconformist husband. And Mary knew that by forcing the issue of Rowland’s ordination, she was also forcing the issue of her own commitment. He had more than once told her that when he was ordained, he would speak his heart.

  The thought of hurting him with her refusal stabbed her heart with a physical pain.

  Thirteen

  The conflict within Mary lasted several days. Then a note came from Sarah begging her to visit Osterley. “Mama is to give a musical evening en masquerade, so be sure to pack a domino and mask. Please do not delay—I have something most particular to impart.”

  The delight of returning to Osterley, of being with Sarah, and of preparing for a masquerade drove all shadow of the doldrums from Mary’s mind. Elizabeth consented with some reluctance to the plan. “Mary, I must tell you that I am not entirely happy with sending you to a masquerade. I cannot think what your mother might say to it. I expect it will be perfectly respectable under Mrs. Child’s supervision, but you must know that many seize upon such occasions to behave in a way they would not if they were recognizable.”

  “La, Elizabeth, you are talking like Lady Huntingdon. I promise not to flirt with any married men. And Spit shall be with me—he can warn off anyone who attempts to make too free.” Such a thought, delivered even in jest, shocked Elizabeth into silence.

  Clement’s coach carried Mary, Brickett, and Spit to Osterley early on the morning of the rout, complete with portmanteau bearing a long peach satin domino full enough to cover the widest hoop and a white satin half-mask on a stick in the shape of a butterfly trimmed with brilliants.

  Sarah flew to meet her friend and dragged Mary directly to her own room with orders to Stifford to send Miss Tudway’s luggage on to the yellow taffeta bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Sarah flung her arms around Mary and cried, “You’ll never guess! It’s so excessively famous—the most romantic adventure you can imagine!”

  Mary looked at her friend in bewilderment.

  “I’m to elope!” Sarah cried. She clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her squeals of delight. Mary could only stare.

  “Is it not all too marvelous! My dear Westmoreland has convinced me it’s the only thing for us. And Papa gave his permission—in a manner of speaking.”

  “But, Sarah.” Mary sank into a chair. “The scandal—it’s not at all proper!”

  Sarah gave a gurgle of laughter. “Mary, if I had thought you so starched-up, I wouldn’t have told you. But you know Papa will never give his consent to my marrying a title, and Westmoreland is quite desperately in love with me. I could not hope to do better than an earl. And Papa did say it is what he would do in the same circumstance.”

  Mary had to agree that she had heard Mr. Child say those very words at the banquet table. “But, Sarah, it will never do. You must be married in a church, not in some hole-in-the-corner. And think—you will be obliged to travel three nights alone before you can reach Gretna Green. Sarah, your reputation—”

  “La, what fustian you do talk, Mary. The Countess of Westmoreland will have no need to fear for her reputation. Besides, we shall be accompanied by Westmoreland’s man.”

  “That will hardly lend you countenance. At least take your abigail.”

  Again Sarah laugh
ed. “Next you’ll tell me to take Mama. Padlett will be needed here to avert suspicion so we may get a safe start.”

  Mary could see that Sarah was firm in her plan, and nothing she could say would shake her friend. She watched as Sarah filled a valise with necessities for the journey and then hid it under her bed. Padlett would carry it down the servants’ stairs as soon as the evening’s guests began arriving.

  Then Sarah’s concerns took second place in Mary’s thoughts when a footman arrived with a message that Roger Twysden desired to speak to her in the drawing room at her convenience.

  “Does he live here?” Mary asked as soon as the footman had departed.

  “Only during the season. He and his uncle attend all our parties. They’re excellent company, and Mama says having a bishop on one’s list is better than having the Prime Minister.”

  “But is he a real bishop? He never seems to do anything religious. Does he never visit his dioceses?”

  Sarah laughed. “Silly, of course, he’s a real bishop. He read the service in Bath Abbey—that was religious. Raphoe is in Ireland, so, of course, no one would expect him to live there.”

  She gave Mary a push toward the door. “Now go see Roger before he expires of love for you. It shouldn’t surprise me if you received an offer tonight. But, Mary, you must not breathe a word of our plans. You and Padlett are the only ones to know.”

  Scooping Spit up in her arms, Mary walked to the drawing room. Roger was waiting for her in a green suit and gold brocade waistcoat that matched the wall hangings of the room. He carried a small package. Much to Mary’s relief, he did not throw himself upon his knees and beg for her hand and heart, as Sarah’s words had made her fear. Instead, he chatted politely about the early spring weather and the delightful program their hostess had planned for the evening.

  Mary smiled and chatted and agreed with his comments, but she was finding it more and more difficult to be charming in his company. For all his exceedingly excellent fashion and ready supply of amusing gossip, she could no longer deny that his shallowness was becoming boring.

  She did not find his next topic the least bit boring, however. “And so, my dear Mary, after you told me the distressing story of losing your cherished shoe buckles to the highwayman, I wasted not a moment, but set my man and uncle’s also to comb every pawnshop in the alleys of London. Diligence was rewarded.” He held out the package. “I have the great honor to restore your buckles to you.”

  Mary was overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness. “Roger—I don’t have words to thank you properly.”

  “Words are not necessary, dear Mary.” He moved a step closer to her. “Might I make so bold as to suggest an appropriate action?” He leaned forward as if to kiss her.

  As a reflex Mary pulled back. Roger’s arms came around her. What could she do? To fight off one who had done her so great a service seemed churlish; to shout for a servant, unthinkable. But she did not want to submit to these improper advances. “Pray, sir—what if a servant should enter?”

  Her protest was muffled by his lips closing over hers. There was a sharp tang of liquor on his breath. She gave an involuntary cry of protest.

  But Mary’s demur was drowned by a much louder cry from Roger, followed by a snarling and barking from Spit.

  Roger began hopping around the room on one foot, holding his ankle in his hand. “That beast bit me! If he’s put a hole in my stockings, I’ll—” Spit held his ground firmly in the middle of the floor with continued yaps and snarls. Roger glared at him. “I’ll teach you some manners, you mongrel!”

  Forgetting that he was holding his injured foot, Roger attempted to kick Spit. He fell hard on his backside, making a bull’s-eye landing in the center of the sunburst pattern of the carpet.

  In spite of her concern for her friend and her pet, Mary couldn’t help laughing. Then Spit added to Roger’s discomfort by running up with wagging tail and licking him on the face. “Mary, call this brute off!” Roger scrambled to his feet and began shaking out his ruffled coattails. In an attempt to regain his dignity, he made a stiff bow. “I shall see you at the musicale this evening, Miss Tudway.”

  Just as the door closed on his departure Mary cried, “Wait, Roger, I haven’t thanked you for restoring my buckles!” But he was gone, and Mary was free to hug Spit in her arms and collapse into the nearest armchair to laugh until her sides ached.

  The Childs and their house guests dined en famille in the rose and aqua eating room reigned over by pictures of the god Bacchus. Then all departed for their rooms to don their disguising dominos and masks. Sarah’s flowing hooded cape was of the brightest scarlet, trimmed with gold lace and a gold feathered mask. Mary wondered at her friend’s choice of so remarkable a disguise when she hoped to slip off unnoticed. And Westmoreland was no less conspicuous with his great height swathed in lime-green silk.

  Upon entering the long gallery, Mary had a brief conversation with Bishop Twysden and admired his royal purple domino and matching silk stockings shot with silver thread. He told her he had them woven especially for the occasion. Then she fell under the spell of the Chamber Orchestra de Milano performing at the north end of the room.

  All worries over Sarah and Westmoreland’s plans fled from Mary’s mind. She found an empty chair next to a woman in an emerald domino, who turned out to be Lady Anstine. So the evening passed quickly as she gathered titbits of court gossip in one ear and strains of Vivaldi in the other.

  During a break in the musical program, Mary accompanied Lord and Lady Anstine to the buffet set in the hall. They had progressed less than halfway down the table lavishly set in three tiers when Lord Anstine’s groom came to him. “Beggin’ your pardon for the interruption, my lord, but I thought you should know. After I ’ad everything settled all right and tight in the stables, I thought I oughter make sure of your pistol—things being as they are on the ’eath these days. Beggin’ yer pardon for mentionin’ the matter, ladies.” He bowed to Lady Anstine and Mary.

  “Yes, yes, get on with it, man.” Lord Anstine looked at the delicate slice of roasted peacock cooling on his plate while his servant prattled on. “What is it?”

  “Well, like I said, I checked your firearm. Your charges ’as been drawn, sir.”

  “My gun unloaded?” Lord Anstine frowned. “Impossible. I made certain it was cleaned and reloaded just before we left home.”

  “Bare as a garden in winter ’tis now, sir.”

  “Well, see to it, man. You know what to do. Borrow some shot from Mr. Child’s head groom if you need to. Gillam, I think his name is.”

  “Yes, my lord, I’ll see to it. I thought you oughter know.” The servant backed his way out of the room, bowing.

  “Sorry for the interruption, my dears.” Lord Anstine turned to the ladies and escorted them the remaining length of the table.

  When they returned to the gallery, the Italian musicians were playing a highly ornamented suite by their countryman Luigi Boccherini. Mary looked around her, hoping to find Sarah. Ah, yes, there by the door was the scarlet and gold domino. Perhaps she had had second thoughts about her mad scheme. It was no wonder his friends called the earl Rapid. Mary twisted the stick in her hand, making her mask wave in greeting to her friend, and Sarah signaled back. Relieved of that worry, Mary relaxed in her chair.

  After the next number Mary began to feel restless and told Lady Anstine she thought she’d take a stroll around the room. Lord Anstine and many of the men had by that time withdrawn to the eating room where card tables were set up. Mary could not see Westmoreland’s tall form, nor had Roger made himself known to her the entire evening. She supposed he was too chagrined to show his face.

  She approached Sarah. “Would you care to get a glass of ratafia with me?”

  The gold-feathered mask tilted, and Mary gasped. It wasn’t Sarah’s lustrous brown eyes behind the mask, but Padlett’s pale blue ones. Mary grasped the maid’s arm and pulled her around the corner into the passage. “Where is your mistress?”

&n
bsp; “Gone, miss.” Padlett curtsied.

  “With his lordship?”

  The maid nodded.

  Mary didn’t know what to do. By rights she should inform Mr. and Mrs. Child, even though they were occupied with their guests. But she hated to betray her friend, no matter how improper she believed Sarah’s behavior to be.

  Mary was spared having to make a decision, as at that moment Mrs. Child came into the passage. “Sarah, my dear—” She paused and frowned. “Stand up straight, Sarah. You know I cannot abide slouching! Now, Sarah, have you seen your papa? I must speak to him. I have been told our guests’ firearms have been tampered with.”

  She started to move on and then stopped. “Sarah, why are you so silent?” She pulled away her daughter’s mask and gave a small shriek. “Padlett! What are you doing in your mistress’s disguise?”

  A footman was dispatched to fetch Mr. Child from his library, and in a few moments a sobbing Padlett had confessed all to her master.

  “Faith and troth! Is this the way my daughter obeys my orders? We’ll make short work of this scheme!” He strode off to the stables to order his horses put to. But as several of his guests were in various stages of departure, the stable yard was choked with horses, carriages, and servants. It was some time before the Child carriage could be readied to leave.

  Mrs. Child bade farewell to her departing guests, including Lord and Lady Anstine. Then she turned to Mary. “You must go with us, my dear. You have such excellent sense, and perhaps Sarah may be persuaded to listen to you, as she has already demonstrated she won’t be guided by her father or me.”

  Mary did not want to tell Mrs. Child she had already failed to influence her headstrong daughter, so she hurried upstairs to change her domino for a traveling cloak. She was back in the passage again when a ball of brown and white fur came bounding after her. “All right, Spit, you can go too. It may be a long night, and I shall be glad of your company.”

  Mr. Child and the carriage were waiting just beyond the courtyard. “I sent Gillam ahead. He can make far better time on horseback. He’ll know how to delay ’em!”