Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Page 3

  Granville expressed his agreement with the slightest nod of his curly beaver, and they moved ahead together. Here the path was wider and permitted riding side by side. Georgiana surveyed his dark brown frock coat and white Marseilles waistcoat above fawn knee smalls and gleaming black leather-top boots with dark brown turnover cuffs. How could anyone dressed so perfectly possibly feel the doubts he had expressed last night? Surely she had misunderstood.

  The willows bordering the lake were turning yellow. Their graceful branches lapped the water, repeating the arch of the long necks of the swans gliding near the shore. The sun sparkled on the water, fish jumped at low-flying insects, and waterfowl called to each other at the far end of the lake. The two rode in silence broken only by the soft plod of hooves and the chirping of sparrows in rustling maple leaves overhead.

  “You must tell me about your life in the navy,” urged Georgiana. “It was as if you dropped from the earth when you went to sea. We have had no communication from you.”

  “Surely you didn’t expect any.”

  “Oh, not to myself, of course, but through our mothers.”

  “I daresay with all the honors heaped upon Sandon and Father and with all her compassionate work to see to, Mother could have had little to say about a younger son at sea.”

  “Do you mean to say that you didn’t communicate with your family?”

  “Oh, certainly my mother and I exchanged regular missives. I even wrote to my father—with regularity at first, until I realized how deficient he found my efforts. When I wrote home as a middy, I was informed upon receipt of the next mailbag that my letters were badly formed. Learning my lesson well, I awaited a settled day before attempting another so that no swelling wave would damage the precision of my penmanship. Unfortunately, perfection was beyond my reach. I was warned by reply mail against blotting my page.”

  “But you were so young.”

  “No excuse, my dear. Imperfection is not to be tolerated in the young, or it will grow into evil vice in adulthood.” She heard the bitter note she had detected the evening before.

  “But surely things got better as you grew older.”

  “What became better? My penmanship? Ah, yes, I fancy it did—I sweated over it enough. But I never managed to please my father, if that is what you imply. When I wrote to inform him that I had received my lieutenancy, the reply was, ‘Fine, fine, but why did it take you so long?’

  “Not that I ever held my father to be unfair,” he added quickly. “He was always quite right—I cut a poor figure in comparison to his goals for me.”

  Georgiana wanted to argue that Granville had never cut a poor figure in comparison to anything, but she knew her defense would be meaningless to him. Instead she said, “Well, now you must tell me all. You surely must have encountered some fine adventures since you distinguished yourself by becoming an officer.” She expected to see Granville’s warm smile and to be regaled with stories of drama on the high seas, but instead the shuttered, withdrawn look descended like a shroud.

  Perplexed over how her intended compliment could have gone awry, she tried again. “I didn’t mean to imply that it was all a lark but that you obviously did well in difficult circumstances. Won’t you tell me about it—such a life is so far removed from anything I know about.”

  “Your servant, madam. No gentleman could refuse to grant such an earnest request from a lady. But if she is looking for tales of valor, I fear she will be disappointed.”

  “You are too modest. But if you wish to speak of sea life in general rather than of personal experience, pray do.”

  Then her carefully held pose collapsed, and she burst into tinkling laughter that made Mayflower prick up her ears and toss her head. “Easy, girl.” Georgiana patted her mare’s neck. “Oh, Gran, don’t be so high in the instep. You dropped out of sight as completely as if you had been dead for nine years. Now you simply must satisfy my curiosity over what it was like. Were you beaten?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Nelson’s humanitarian example has much transformed life at sea for the volunteer. I never saw a serious flogging. Running the gauntlet and starting were both abolished before I joined up.”

  “Starting?”

  “Beating with a cane or rope end by the bosun’s mate.”

  Georgiana shivered. “I am glad you didn’t have to suffer that, Gran.” Then she placed her hand on her stomach. “But tell me true—were you ever seasick?”

  In the bright September sunshine with a fine mount under him and his cousin’s charming companionship, Granville seemed to relax. “Not in the way I’m sure you mean; but whenever bad weather required sealing the gun ports on middle deck, bad ventilation would cause weakness and sometimes putrid fever among the crew. Fighting the enemy is not the worst part of navy life—the war of the elements is.

  “It’s well known that the man who faces a Frenchman or Spaniard with intrepidity does not always encounter rocks and shoals with the same feeling. And the entrance to the English Channel is one of the most hazardous landfalls in the world.”

  Georgiana nodded, trying to apply these impersonal words to what must have been his daily existence. What had so changed the carefree young man she remembered? Certainly, simply growing up was part of it, but she felt it went much deeper than that. “Do you think it was because you went in at such an early age?”

  “Was what because I went in at an early age?” He drew back as if she had touched an open sore.

  “Oh, I meant, was life in general harder?”

  “I think I should have preferred it to be harder than it was. When the sons of noblemen—lads of the ruling class, as we were called—are put into the profession, their paths on the whole are made easy for them in the way of advancement. To become a lieutenant, one must spend three years at sea—two as a volunteer, one as midshipman—pass an examination in practical seamanship, attain the age of twenty, and have an appointment bestowed upon him. It’s all very natural and orderly and seems in no way connected to personal ability—it happens whether one has earned it or not.”

  Georgiana gave a puzzled laugh. “But, Gran, why must everything be earned? Why can’t one simply accept the good with the bad? Besides, no matter what you say about automatic promotions and the navy’s humanitarian reforms, I’m sure you worked very hard and acquitted yourself superbly as well as submitting to some harsh discipline.”

  “Perhaps, but I was well prepared for living by regulations. The number of times my father called me to task for failure to replace a book on its proper shelf or for wearing my jacket crooked or for giving a mumbled reply—I must say there were times when navy discipline seemed almost lax by comparison.”

  They rode for some time in silence as Georgiana tried to extract the meaning under her companion’s words. “But maybe it just seemed that way because you started it all when you were only thirteen.”

  “That, dear coz, was rather a late start. Nelson went in at twelve. But I will say that of all the ordeals the naval officer faces throughout his career, joining his first ship is probably the sternest. Nelson’s father took him as far as London and put him on the Chatham coach to face it alone. At least my father accompanied me to Portsmouth.”

  Then for the first time Georgiana saw the flickering smile of amused remembrance that she had been hoping to evoke. “I will admit that of all the trepidations of my first night on the Malta, the greatest challenge was mastering the complicated business of sleeping in a hammock. But one soon learns that a hammock is by far the most comfortable of all sleeping berths on board ship. And, of course, I received the usual christening of having a plate broken over my head and being cobbed for having the impudence to bring my name to sea.”

  “Cobbed?”

  Granville shook his head. “Forgive me for mentioning it—not a proper subject for the ears of a young lady.”

  “Oh, good. Now you’re getting to the interesting part. Tell me what cobbing is, or I’ll, I’ll—”

  “Yes?” he challenged
with an upraised eyebrow.

  “I shall tell my papa about your leaving me tied to the cherry tree.”

  “And he will order me cobbed again, no doubt, by the head groom.”

  “Most assuredly.”

  Granville returned her mischievous smile. “In that case, milady, I submit. Cobbing consists in stretching the victim over the edge of the table and vigorously applying a dirk scabbard, a long ruler, or a knotted napkin to the part of the anatomy thus exposed.”

  “Oh, my!” Georgiana giggled at the picture drawn so vividly in her mind. “I think I should consider the slate wiped quite clean for any mistreatment I received at your hands.”

  They had now reached the end of the park. Ahead were the thatch-roofed stone cottages of Little Badminton covered with rambling red roses in late bloom. On the stone wall bordering the park was the round ice house with its cupolaed roof and stone walls so thick that the ice kept all summer.

  Georgiana noted the height of the sun in the sky. “It must be past ten o’clock. Breakfast will be served soon. Let’s hurry.” She turned toward the top of the park and set Mayflower at a canter.

  When they arrived back at the house, the grooms were just pulling an empty traveling coach bearing a familiar coronet into the stable yard.

  “The Earl and Countess of Harrowby have arrived.” Granville’s comment was unaccompanied by a smile.

  Seeing the shuttered look on his countenance, Georgiana rode near her cousin. “Gran, assuredly my Uncle Harrowby is not an easy person, but why do you hold him in such dread?”

  Granville gave her a stiff smile. “Coming into his presence is always something like being doused by a sudden, cold shower or brushing unawares against a hedgehog.” He paused to look at his cousin. “Georgie, don’t look so stricken! What a fool I am to distress you with my petty complaints. Don’t pay them any heed. And be assured I meant no disrespect to my father. He is one of the most highly esteemed men in the nation.”

  She forced a smile. “I am not distressed, Gran. Just very interested. I feel as if we need to get entirely reacquainted, as if we met as strangers only last night. Pray, do go on.”

  He sighed. “The prospect of meeting my father makes me feel like a small boy again. Weekly I was required to present myself and stand rigid before him while Nurse reported on my behavior, my progress in lessons, my duty in prayers. When she said that I had acquitted myself satisfactorily, my father would demand, ‘Satisfactory? I do not want to hear of satisfaction; I want excellence! Your charge is a Ryder. Why does he not excel like his brother?’

  “There was never an answer to that. I still don’t have one. Worst of all was when she would try to excuse me for something on the ground of my deafness. I didn’t want excuses; I wanted to earn his favor.” Granville was silent for a moment. “That is, when I wasn’t vacillating between determination to succeed and the decision to give it all up for lost. Mostly, though, I was determined to be worthy of my father’s approbation.

  “But I never was.”

  Three

  Georgiana and Granville entered the dining room where the family was serving themselves breakfast from a lavish assortment of covered dishes on the sideboard. The duchess, looking fresh and radiant in a chintz morning dress with a wide white-work collar, came forward. “Good morning, my dears. Don’t bother changing from your riding dress. As you can see, my sister and her husband have just arrived, and we shall be all family at breakfast. I trust you had a pleasant ride?”

  “Quite delightful, Mama,” Georgiana replied, and Granville gave a small bow in assent, then straightened to military standards as his parents entered the room.

  “Granville, how tanned you are!” After a brief welcoming kiss, Lady Harrowby held her son at arms’ length and looked him up and down.

  “Yes, ma’am. No matter how unfashionable, it’s entirely unavoidable at sea.”

  “But it is quite handsome on you, my dear boy.”

  “And you look no older than you did the day I left.” He stood back and surveyed his mother, who was obviously pleased by her son’s words. “I think perhaps you look younger. It must be the relief of not having had me to plague you all these years.”

  The countess laughed. “My dear boy, you will turn my head. Now I shall surely blossom with my son at home.” She looked around. “But come now, here’s your father.”

  Lord Harrowby turned from his conversation with the duke and Lord Worcester to approach his son. The earl’s hair was as dark as his son’s with only touches of gray at the temples. His forehead was creased in a perpetual frown from his almost continual headaches, his mouth drawn tightly at the corners, making his features appear even sharper than they were.

  “It is good to see you, Granville. I trust you had a pleasant journey from Southampton.” He shook hands with his son.

  “Yes, Father. Thank you, sir. And your work is getting on well in Parliament?”

  “I have been constantly in London for the last seven months doing nothing. Events there have been none.” The earl frowned even more and then turned to take his seat at the long table where a footman had already placed the plate Lord Harrowby had directed him to fill from the sideboard. Others followed his example and moved to the table.

  Georgiana was seated next to Lord Harrowby, who resumed speaking. “They continue to foment controversy over the elevation of my brother Henry to the bishopric of Lichfield and Coventry. And Lord Liverpool continues to hold back on the Congé d’élire.”

  “But on what grounds does the Prime Minister refuse to grant the royal permission to elect a bishop? Liverpool has always insisted that ecclesiastical appointments be justified by merit rather than by influence, and who could possibly merit the position more than Bishop Ryder?” Worcester asked.

  “I cannot understand Liverpool’s position. As I said last week in the House of Lords, ‘If Dr. Ryder is not fit to be a bishop; Lord Harrowby is not fit to be Lord President of the Council.’”

  “And how was that received?” The duke raised one eyebrow.

  “As was to be expected, a chorus of ‘Hear! Hear!’ from our supporters and a rumble of grousing from the opposition.”

  The duchess set aside her piece of toast spread with marmalade. “And has His Majesty taken a position?”

  Harrowby guffawed. “How can a man who can’t decide which suit to wear for the day determine who is fit to be a bishop? Especially since so much of the dispute centers on such things as Bishop Ryder’s public reading of prayers—as if it is a shocking lowering of episcopal dignity for a bishop to approach his God in humility.”

  The acidity in the earl’s outburst left the party concentrating uncomfortably on their breakfast plates until the duchess observed, “From my earliest youth I have been admitted a good deal behind the curtain and have known the motives of those active in politics. I have seen that something done on right principles was often misunderstood and misrepresented. From such experiences I am led to believe that people in different parties may have differing views of a thing without their being either knaves or fools.”

  “Doubtless you are correct, sister.” The countess handed her teacup to the duchess for a refill from the silver urn in front of her. “But I must share my husband’s sentiments. Just look at what Bishop Ryder has accomplished in the dioceses of Gloucester. He has faithfully served a population of over a million souls, and his church-building society in Birmingham gained fifteen thousand pounds in subscriptions.

  “But far beyond his material accomplishments is the fact that he has truly experienced the redeeming power of Jesus Christ—such a shocking thing for a bishop to believe in a personal God, of course.” Her voice was heavy with irony. “And then when his opponents discovered his readiness to set forth the great fundamental doctrines of the gospel—well, it is all quite an impasse.”

  The duchess handed the refilled cup back to her sister. “I do pray that he will receive the appointment. No one could deserve it more. Bishop Ryder was the means of bringing
me on in the path of life. It seems that of all the Christians I have known, he is the most Christlike.”

  As the conversation continued among the older generation Georgiana’s attention strayed to the far end of the table. Her sister Charlotte, seated next to Granville, was breakfasting in a fetching morning dress of sprigged muslin. Georgiana was too far away to catch the conversation, but she could hardly miss the private look that passed between them as Charlotte laughed at something Granville said. Why had not Gran chosen to sit beside her? The thought brought a frown to her forehead.

  Then Harrowby’s voice returned Georgiana’s attention to the conversation at the far end of the table. “Wellington spoke to the king concerning Beau Brummell’s consulship in France, and the king objected, abusing Brummell, saying he was an abominable fellow who had behaved very ill to him.”

  “The old story, always thinking of nothing but himself—moi, moi, moi.” Worcester shook his head and spoke with disgust.

  “True, but after having let His Majesty run out his tether of abuse, Wellington at last extracted his consent,” Harrowby concluded.

  “Excellent!” Worcester replied. “The Beau is a deserving fellow—there is much more to him than the dandy his detractors make him out to be. Making cleanliness fashionable was no small accomplishment in itself.”

  “I fancy you also deserve credit for the decision,” the earl told Worcester. “The duke said he had no acquaintance with Brummell and only entered into the proceedings to oblige you, my Lord.”

  Georgiana heard the news with great satisfaction. Her brother, who had served as aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington on the Peninsula and was now a Member of Parliament for Monmouth, was establishing himself in the world of politics as well as in the family tradition of country sporting life. If only he would take a wife she could consider him thoroughly set up.

  Another conversation was in progress at the women’s end of the table. “…and what of your sponsorship of The Society for Promoting the Enlargement, Building, and Repairing of Churches and Chapels?” Lady Harrowby asked her sister.