The Hemingford Scandal

‘I know, Papa,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I will give Mr Allworthy an answer soon.’

‘See that you do, it is not fair to keep him dangling. Now, if you have no pressing engagement for the rest of this morning, I need some new pages copying.’ He held out a handful of sheets covered with his untidy scrawl, much of which had been crossed out and altered between the lines and up and down the margins. He had once had a secretary, but the poor man had been unable to make head or tail of the way Mr Hemingford worked and did not stay long. Only Jane could understand it because she had taken the trouble to do so.

‘Of course, Papa.’ She took the sheets to a table on the other side of the room and sat down to work, just as if she had not, only a few minutes before, received a proposal that could alter her whole life. Aunt Lane was busy making extravagant plans and her father had dismissed it as of little consequence. Both were wide of the mark. She needed to talk to Anne.

Anne was Harry’s twin, but that made no difference; she was Jane’s oldest and dearest friend. Anne had been overjoyed when Harry and Jane announced their engagement and bitterly disappointed when Jane called it off. Several times she had tried to plead on Harry’s behalf. He had been foolish, she said, and it had cost him his reputation and his commission and caused an irreparable rift between him and their grandfather, the Earl of Bostock, whose heir he was, but it was unfair that it should also cost him Jane’s love, especially when he had only been thinking of their future together. Jane’s reaction was to quarrel with her friend so violently they had not spoken to each other for months.

They had been rigidly polite when they met in company and that had been unbearable until one day, finding themselves in the same room and no one else present to carry on a conversation, they had felt obliged to speak to each other. And talking eased the tension. Having few other friends and certainly none that was close, Jane had missed Anne, and it was not long before they had buried the hatchet, but only on Anne’s promise never again to mention Harry and what had happened.

When she told Mr Allworthy that she had an engagement that afternoon, nothing had been arranged, but she must have known, in the back of her mind, that she would go to see Anne. News as stupendous as this needed sharing.

Although she could have borrowed her aunt’s carriage the Earl of Bostock’s London mansion was just off Cavendish Square, near enough for her to reach it on foot. The Earl was extremely old and rarely left Sutton Park, his country home in Lincolnshire, but Anne, who had made her home with him ever since both parents had been killed in a coaching accident when she and Harry were very young, had come up for the Season, as she did every year. The amusements on offer afforded her a little light relief from being at her grandfather’s beck and call, gave her the opportunity to renew her wardrobe and spend some time with Jane. His lordship did not deem it necessary to surround her with retainers and so, apart from the usual household servants, she lived with her maid-companion, a middle-aged sycophant called Amelia Parker.

Jane had no qualms about coming across Harry while visiting her friend because he had left the country almost immediately after the scandal. If Anne knew where he was, she had never told Jane, perhaps because Jane had assured her she did not want to know and would not even speak of him.

She was admitted by a footman and conducted to the drawing room where Anne was dispensing tea to a bevy of matrons who seemed to think that just because she had no mother, it was their duty to call on her and give her the benefit of their advice, notwithstanding she was twenty-four years old and perfectly able to conduct her own affairs. ‘Such a dutiful gel,’ they murmured among themselves. ‘She is devoted to that old man and stayed in the country to look after him when that scapegrace shamed him and ruined her own chances doing it. Now she is too old. We must go and bear her company.’ Anne knew perfectly well what they said and often laughed about it to Jane, but there was a little hollowness in the laughter.

She came forward when Jane was announced and held out both her hands. ‘Jane, my dear, how lovely to see you.’ She reached forward to kiss her cheek and added in a whisper, ‘Give me a few minutes to get rid of these antidotes and I shall be free to talk.’ She drew Jane forward. ‘Do you know everyone? Lady Grant, Lady Cowper, Mrs Archibald and her daughter, Fanny?’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Jane bent her knee to each of them and asked them how they did, but though they were polite and asked after her father, they had no real interest in her doings and the conversation ground to a halt. Not long after that, they gathered up parasols, gloves and reticules and departed.

‘Now,’ Anne said, as soon as the door had closed on them. ‘I shall order more tea and we may sit down for a comfortable coze.’ She turned to ring the bell for the maid, then took Jane’s hand and drew her to sit beside her on the sofa. ‘You look a trifle agitated, my dear, has something happened to upset you?’

‘Not upset exactly. I have received an offer of marriage.’

‘Oh.’ There was a little silence after that, as if Anne was cogitating how to answer her. ‘Who is the lucky man?’

‘Mr Donald Allworthy.’

‘Goodness, not that sti—’ She stopped suddenly.

Jane laughed. ‘That stiff-rump, is that what you were going to say?’

‘Well, he is a little pompous.’

‘Only if you count good manners and courtesy as pomposity. And I am sure he is very sincere when he says he has a high regard for me.’

‘Oh, Jane, you are never thinking of accepting him?’

‘I have said I will consider it.’

‘But, my dear, you can’t, you simply cannot.’

‘Why not? I should like very much to be married.’

‘But not to Donald Allworthy.’

‘No one else has offered.’

‘You know that is not true. You would have been married by now, if—’

‘Please, Anne, do not speak of the past. It is dead and buried, along with my dreams. I must be practical. Papa is becoming tired and increasingly frail and I know I must be a great burden to him. Besides, Aunt Lane has taken so much trouble.’

‘You surely would not agree to marry someone you do not love simply not to disappoint your aunt. That is the very worst reason I can think of for marrying anyone.’

‘Of course it is not that, or not only that. I do not want to be an old maid, Anne.’

‘You are four years younger than me, there is still time for you.’

‘Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean—’ Jane broke off in confusion.

Anne laughed. ‘No, I know you did not, but it is true, isn’t it? I am past my last prayers and resigned to it—more than resigned, I am happy. I do not think I would make anyone a good wife, I am too independent and outspoken and I value my freedom.’

‘You think I should be like you?’ They had had this conversation before, but then she had not just had a proposal and that made the argument so much more cogent.

‘Not at all. I have never said that. You were born to be a wife and mother. I am only sorry—’

‘Do not be,’ Jane put in sharply. ‘We are not talking of that, but what I should do about Donald Allworthy.’

‘What do you want to do about him?’

‘I do not know. I have asked him for time to think about it, but I cannot keep him waiting, can I? It would not be fair.’

If Anne was tempted to say Jane had not been fair to her brother, she resisted it. ‘I cannot help you make up your mind, Jane. It is your decision. I wish you happy, whatever you decide.’

‘Then I shall tell him to expect an answer at the end of the Season.’

‘You might have a better offer by then.’

Jane laughed. ‘And pigs might fly.’

‘Jane, it is not the end, you know. It is not a case of Mr Allworthy or nobody.’

‘Anne, if you are nursing the hope that you can bring Harry and me back together, you are wasting your time.’

The maid brought in the tea tray and Anne busied herself with the teapot and cups before speaking again. ‘They have forgiven the Duke of York, you know. He has been restored as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. It was in the newspaper today.’

‘What does that signify? The Prince of Wales was always close to him, closer than to any others of his family, so it is only natural that when he was made Regent, he would reinstate his brother. They are as bad as one another with their infidelities and their mistresses.’

‘Harry wasn’t like that, you know he wasn’t.’

As she sipped the tea Anne had given her, the memories were crowding back, memories she had been pushing away from her for more than two years, memories resurrected by the day’s events. The newly commissioned Lieutenant Harry Hemingford in the magnificent blue-and-gold uniform of the 10th Hussars was proud as a peacock, grateful to his grandfather for buying him the commission, sure that he would make his mark on history.

‘Of course a lieutenant’s pay is little enough,’ he had told her. ‘But I shall soon make my way. In wartime, promotion comes fast. We shall not have so long to wait and then, my darling Jane, you will be my wife.’ And he had whirled her round and round until she was dizzy and begged him to stop.

But she had been so proud of him. He swore he had put his wild youth behind him and had eschewed the excesses of drinking and gambling that had led him into trouble and was the reason his grandfather had packed him off into the army. ‘I have turned over a new leaf, Jane.’ For a time it seemed he had; he worked hard and waited for the call to arms. The 10th Hussars, the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment, had been in the Peninsula at the time and he was expecting hourly to be sent out to join them.

‘There will be no time to arrange a wedding before I go,’ he had told her. ‘And to tell the truth, I cannot afford it. You don’t mind waiting, do you? When I come back I shall be a colonel.’ He had laughed his boyish laugh and made her smile. ‘Or even a general. Then you shall be able to lord it over all the other officers’ wives.’

She had agreed it would be better to delay. Her father still needed her to help him with his work and she could start collecting her trousseau and thinking of her future home. But Harry’s plans had been thwarted when, in 1809, the regiment was brought back to England after a series of setbacks that resulted in the army being withdrawn from Spain and, instead of seeing action, he was left kicking his heels. It was then that everything went wrong. Jane shuddered with shame even now.

Harry could not afford to marry her on a lieutenant’s pay and his grandfather, who had stood buff for his previous debts, would not increase his allowance. He needed promotion and in London the chances of that were slim. It was one of his fellow officers who told him that preferment could be gained through Mrs Mary Anne Clarke, the Duke of York’s mistress, and suggested he try that avenue to promotion, offering to take him to one of the many social gatherings that Mrs Clarke liked to organise. As a mere lieutenant he would not normally have been accepted in those circles, but the heir to the Earl of Bostock was a different matter. He was told to find four hundred guineas and the lady would put his name on a list she would give to the Duke, who would expedite the promotion. She pretended she could give no guarantee, though she intimated that the Duke never refused her anything.

Harry and Anne had both been left a little money by their maternal grandfather, but Harry had very little of his left, he had told Anne. Living the life of an army officer was an expensive business and his pay and allowance from their grandfather nowhere near covered it. And he liked to give Jane little presents, and outings. Anne had given him the money without a second’s hesitation, something Jane found hard to forgive. ‘If you hadn’t let him have it, he would not have got himself into such a scrape,’ she had told her friend when the scandal came to light. ‘I did not need or expect expensive presents and if he had been honest with me I should have told him so. And I was content to wait to be married. It is ungentlemanly of him to lay the blame for his disgrace at my door.’ But Anne adored her twin and had never been able to refuse him anything it was in her power to give him and she defended not only her actions, but his as well.

His promotion never came. The Duke had tired of his mistress and she had not taken it lying down. She had demanded a large sum of money to pay off debts she maintained had been incurred by having to live up to her position as a royal duke’s mistress; the Duke had refused to pay it and she countered by threatening to make public the details of their love affair. The wrangle had come to the attention of Parliament and it all came out in an enquiry into the behaviour of the Duke in the House of Commons at which Mary Anne Clark was the chief witness.

Every member of that august body had listened with rapt attention to details of the love life of the King’s second son, heard his love letters read aloud and learned the names of those officers who came and went to the lady’s splendid home in Gloucester Place, among whom was a certain Lieutenant Harry Hemingford. At the end, the majority in favour of the Duke was so small he resigned as Commander-in-Chief and Harry felt obliged to follow his example. Jane was heartbroken and, encouraged by her father and Aunt Lane, had told him she could not love a man who got himself involved in such disgraceful goings on and broke off their engagement.

Hard though it had been, she had tried to put it behind her, but now everyone seemed bent on reminding her. She had to tell Mr Allworthy, of course; you couldn’t deceive the man who hoped to marry you, but why did her aunt have to drag it up again? As for Anne, she felt very cross with her. She had promised she would not mention Harry again and it did not help to decide what to do about Mr Allworthy. Perhaps if she consented to marry him, it would put a period to the whole episode and everyone would stop prosing on about it.

‘I know how much you love your brother,’ Jane said. ‘And I admire you for it, but let us say no more. Tomorrow Mr Allworthy is taking me and Aunt Lane for a carriage ride in the park and I shall perhaps learn more about him then.’

Anne sighed. ‘I can see I will never influence you, so I shall give up, but promise me you will not rush into anything.’

Jane attempted a laugh. ‘I have no intention of rushing into anything.’

They finished drinking their tea and Jane took her leave, wondering if she had been right to go and see Anne after all. She should have known that Anne could not be objective about Mr Allworthy, any more than her father and Aunt Lane were. She was on her own.

She had slept badly, then worked all morning for her father until her thumb and finger were stiff from holding a pen and her head ached from trying to decipher his script. She ate a light repast and afterwards went upstairs to her bedroom where Lucy had already been dispatched and was waiting to help her change for her carriage ride. ‘What will you wear, Miss Jane? I have pressed your blue silk and your green taffeta, but it is such a warm day that I think the blue will be cooler.’

‘Yes, the blue, if you please, and the white muslin pelisse.’

Half an hour later she presented herself to her aunt in the drawing room to await the arrival of her suitor. The blue suited her and its simple style showed off her slim figure. Her hair had been brushed until it shone like a ripe chestnut and was caught up into a knot on top of her head with two tortoiseshell combs. A few strands had escaped and formed ringlets about her face, softening the rather severe style.

‘Very pretty,’ her aunt commented. ‘I am sure he will be quite entranced.’

They heard the door knocker at that moment, and a minute later Mr Allworthy was announced. He strode into the room, his hat beneath his arm, and bowed to them both. He was in grey, charcoal for his double-breasted coat, which had a high stand-up collar, dove-grey for his pantaloons. His waistcoat was lilac and his cravat tied in precise folds. His boots shone and his hair had recently had the attentions of a barber. ‘My carriage is outside, ladies,’ he said. ‘The horses are a little restive, so if you are ready…’

He escorted them out to the carriage, helped them into their seats, climbed in facing them and ordered the coachman to drive to Hyde Park.

It was, as Lucy had intimated, a very warm day and the park was crowded as it had been all Season. Whenever anything out of the ordinary took place in the Royal family, the whole haut monde converged on London and this Season was no exception. The King’s doctors had finally decided he would not recover from his madness sufficiently to rule and the previous February the Prince of Wales had at last become Regent. If those involved in the government of the country had expected sweeping changes, they were disappointed; the Regent carried on much as his father had before him, except that his love of pleasure meant there were even more balls and banquets.

Jane sat stiffly beside her aunt, facing Mr Allworthy, seeing and yet not seeing all the hubbub about her. Every sort of carriage, from high-perch phaetons to gigs, from grand town coaches to curricles, was there, getting in each other’s way as they stopped for the occupants to exchange gossip and scandal. Aunt Lane was in her element and commented on everyone they saw. It was astonishing the number of people with whom she could claim a connection.

‘There is the Countess,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr Allworthy, please stop so that I may present Jane. Her ladyship has a particular interest, you know.’

Donald’s coachman skillfully avoided a collision with an oncoming tilbury and drew up opposite the Countess of Carringdale’s coach. ‘Countess, we are well met,’ Harriet called out. ‘Allow me to present Miss Jane Hemingford. You remember, we spoke of her.’

‘So this is the gel.’ The Countess peered closely at Jane through her quizzing glass. Jane was annoyed enough to look her straight in the eye and saw a very old woman in a dark purple coat and a turban of the same colour, which had three tall plumes dyed to match waving from the top of it. Her deportment was regal, her pale blue eyes taking in every aspect of Jane’s dress and demeanour.

‘Very pretty,’ she said at last. ‘Too thin, though what can you expect from young gels nowadays, always rushing hither and thither, enjoying themselves?’

Jane thought that remark uncalled for and opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt quickly intervened. ‘My lady, may I also present Mr Donald Allworthy.’

The Countess moved her examination to Donald. ‘Mr Allworthy and I are already acquainted. Good day to you, young man.’

‘Countess, your obedient.’ He smiled and bowed stiffly from the waist.

‘Harriet, I shall expect an accounting,’ she said to Aunt Lane, and waved a peremptory hand to tell her coachman to proceed. ‘I shall wish to be informed if an announcement is imminent.’

Jane was seething and her aunt knew it. ‘Do not take her remarks to heart, Jane, dear,’ she said as they drove on. ‘She is only thinking of what is best for you.’

‘I shall decide what is best for me, Aunt,’ Jane said. ‘And I hope you will tell her so, when you see her.’

‘But should you be so adamant, Miss Hemingford?’ Donald said and, though his tone was mild, Jane detected an undercurrent of concern, which surprised her and added to her vexation. ‘Her ladyship is surely worth cultivating? She is wealthy and your kinswoman and I have always believed that family comes first.’

‘There, Jane!’ Mrs Lane said, triumphantly. ‘Have I not always said the same thing, times without number?’

‘Yes, Aunt, so you have, but the relationship is so distant, I would not presume—’

‘Fustian! If her ladyship chooses to take you up, then you should be grateful. She has no children of her own, you know, and approbation from her will ensure a place in Society for you and your husband. You will have an entrée to all the best drawing rooms.’

Jane had no intention of toadying to the Countess, even if her aunt, and Mr Allworthy too, thought she should. He was looking pensive, as if he would like to add his arguments to her aunt’s, but she forestalled him. ‘Mr Allworthy, do you think we could drive somewhere else? I find the park too crowded for comfort.’

‘As you wish, of course,’ he said. ‘We will leave by the next gate and drive back up Kensington Road to Park Lane.’

Jane was silent as they drove along; she was so put out by the top-lofty behaviour of the Countess and Mr Allworthy’s condoning of it that she could hardly speak. He seemed to sense her displeasure and leaned forward to murmur, ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg your pardon, I was only thinking of our…your interests. Lady Carringdale can make or break…’ He paused, as if realising he might make matters worse if he went on. ‘Please do not let it make any difference to us.’

She looked up at him. ‘Us, Mr Allworthy?’

‘My hope. You did say I might hope, did you not?’

She smiled a little woodenly. ‘How well do you know the Countess?’

‘Only slightly. My goodness, you did not think I connived…? Oh, my dear Miss Hemingford, I can fight my own battles.’

‘Is it a battle?’

‘A battle, to win you? Yes, but it is one I take pleasure in fighting, hoping for a happy outcome.’

She did not know what to say to that and sat back in her seat and put up her parasol, to shield her from the sun. It was as they were passing Knightsbridge barracks that she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, disappearing through the gates. The set of the shoulders, the dark curly hair, the jaunty way his arms swung as he walked, stopped her breath. With an effort, she managed to stop herself from crying out, glad that her parasol hid her face. As the carriage passed the gates, she leaned forward to look again, but whoever it was had gone.

It could not have been Harry. The man had a kind of lopsided gait that was not at all like Harry’s quick stride, and he had looked older. Besides, Harry had resigned his commission and gone into exile; he was no longer a soldier. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She had been reminded of him so many times in the last few days, she was seeing him everywhere.

‘What is it?’ her aunt asked her.

‘Nothing, Aunt. I had something in my eye, but it has gone now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite sure.’

The rest of the ride back to Duke Street, the smiles and gracious thanks to their escort, the promise to go to a musical rout somewhere or other the following evening, passed in a blur. Jane’s head was full of memories, memories she could not erase, not even when she slept. She had said it was all in the past, dead and gone, and something had to be done to make sure it stayed that way.

Chapter Two

I t was two weeks since Jane had seen the figure entering the barracks, two weeks in which she expected to come across him round every corner, two weeks with her heart in her mouth. She had not dared to visit Anne in case he was there, though she told herself a dozen times a day she had imagined him. And even if she had not, if he really had returned, did it matter? She had sent him away, told him she never wanted to see him again and had meant it.

And there was poor Mr Allworthy, still doing his best to win her, escorting her to functions, taking her out in his carriage, even walking with her to the library when she wanted to change a book and helping her to choose ribbons for her new bonnet. She did not think she needed a new bonnet, but Aunt Lane had insisted that if she was to be seen out and about with Mr Allworthy, who was always in prime rig, she must dress accordingly.

Often she had no chaperon apart from Hannah, dawdling several paces behind them, and when they were out in the carriage there was only Mr Allworthy’s coachman to give lip service to propriety. No one could fail to see that the gentleman was seriously courting Jane and many of her friends had asked her when they could expect an announcement. She had been evasive, but was she being fair to him?