AN: Hi! Here is the first chapter of the promised Regency fic. It isn't all written yet, and updates might be slow at first while I find my way around this. Hope you enjoy...
London, 15th April in the year of our Lord 1812
"Dearest Auntie!" was the cry that flew from Miss Elizabeth Bailey's lips as she burst into the library with most unladylike haste. Her Aunt Ruth rose from the table, where she had been engaged in a book of some sort, her lips slightly parted in alarm, only to be enveloped in a tight embrace. Beth squeezed her shoulders and then released her, blue eyes brimming with happiness. "Aunt Ruth, Captain Levendis has just left!"
Her aunt raised a cultured dark brow, surprised that such intelligence could have drawn anything but severe disappointment from her sixteen-year-old niece, and murmured, "I wasn't aware Captain Levendis had even called, Beth." Her niece huffed impatiently and nodded, blonde curls bouncing as she did so. "Yes! He was here for an hour, and more, and what do you think has happened, aunt?" Characteristically, Miss Bailey made no attempt to allow her aunt time to answer, but rushed on with her news. "He has made me an offer! And I have accepted!" Ruth's eyes widened in surprise and delight. Dimitri Levendis had been introduced to Elizabeth a year ago, at the first ton party of Beth's first season, and the pair had slowly formed a deep attachment. Ruth had noted the army officer's growing love for her niece with quiet approval - while her brother had noted, less quietly, the competent fortune left to Captain Levendis by his Greek mother upon her death three years ago - but even she could not have predicted that an offer would come so soon.
"That is indeed wonderful news," she smiled softly, reseating herself at the small round parlour table. Elizabeth twirled herself around giddily, the pale blue skirts of her morning gown swirling around her legs, and laughed. "Oh, Aunt Ruth, you're always so very staid. 'Wonderful news?' We shall be the happiest of couples – it has all been decided upon. A July wedding, at St. George's Chapel, before Dimitri must rejoin his regiment in the Peninsular." Ruth's brow furrowed disapprovingly at the mention of Spain. Captain Levendis' profession was all that could make her wish her niece's attachment to him less profound. A life following the drum in the Peninsular was not one she had ever coveted for Elizabeth, and nor did she derive much pleasure from the thought of all the potentially mortal injuries that were attendant on such a man as Dimitri Levendis, with his captaincy in an infantry regiment that saw regular action.
Elizabeth looked down upon her, her own smile fading for a moment, as she recognised the expression upon her aunt's countenance. "You mustn't worry about me, Auntie," she murmured reassuringly. "I cannot be quite easy until I know I have your approval. I believe I will like being a soldier's wife above all things! Even a ball at Almacks'." That surprised a laugh from Ruth, who nodded and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Then I suppose," she replied wryly, "I must give my consent. Although, it is your father's approval that really matters, Beth." Her niece flapped her hand impatiently. "Fustian!" she snorted rudely, eliciting a strong glare of disapproval from her aunt. "All Papa cares about are his books and papers. He gave his consent as soon as Dimitri asked. Everyone knows that you are my real guardian."
Her aunt considered this for a moment. It was in part true, of course. Elizabeth's Mama had been Ruth's sister, Miss Susannah Evershed, before her marriage and early death just a few days after Elizabeth's birth. Ruth, the spinster sister unwanted by her widowed, and then remarried, mother, had leaped at the chance to move into her brother-in-law's home and take charge of his four rowdy children, dealing with Elizabeth's older brothers as well as with Beth herself. A bluestocking by choice rather than necessity, Miss Evershed had had no qualms regarding undertaking the education of her niece, although the boys had all followed their father to Eton, and later to Cambridge. Ruth recalled feeling a little less than happy about this arrangement – after all, her own father had attended Harrow and Oxford, and had later become a highly respected London physician until his death, from a combination of ill-health and a wife who had no control over her purse-strings or her rather lashing tongue, when Ruth had been just eleven years old.
Shaking off these unpleasant reminiscences, Ruth inclined her head, submitting to Elizabeth's rather accurate appraisal of their circumstances, but whatever she was about to say in reply was drowned out by the sound of the grandfather clock in the hall striking the hour. Changing her mind, Ruth reminded her niece, "You had better go upstairs and change, Elizabeth. We are due to call at Lady Radford's in an hour."
Elizabeth, eyes still alive with the delight of her betrothal, did not even linger to complain about the inconvenience of calling on elderly widows, as she would usually have done. With an obedience both endearing and childlike, she ran from the room. Miss Ruth Evershed watched her niece go and gave the grey cat resting by the library fire a wistful smile. "Oh, Fidget," she whispered, shaking her head. "I had hoped I would not lose her so soon..." After all, with Beth married, and her brothers well past the age where feminine care was at all necessary, Ruth would once again become superfluous, a hanger-on in another's home, a dependent – in short, the very thing that she had once sworn to herself she would never become. She gave a short, bitter chuckle. "I suppose there's always governessing," she addressed the cat again. "Or being a lady's companion." The cat yawned and Ruth shook her head, passing a weary hand over her eyes. "Or perhaps I shall find some kind clergyman in need of a housekeeper, who is willing to marry for the privilege," she announced. Fidget yawned again and trotted over to rub himself comfortingly against her legs. None of the options, Ruth had to admit, sounded particularly appealing.
"Miss Evershed and Miss Bailey, ma'am," announced Berry, Lady Radford's indefatigable butler, as the two ladies crossed the threshold into her ladyship's morning room. A tall neat man with greying hair, Berry gave the impression (as all good servants must) that, were the Devil himself to knock upon the door, he would merely ask for the gentleman's name and take his coat. His mistress was likewise unflappable, a woman of medium height whose subtly elegant mode of dress and expression made her appear far taller than she actually was. Lady Connie Radford (nee James) was renowned for being closely acquainted with all the patronesses of Almacks', and permission to call upon her ladyship was accordingly almost as highly prized as vouchers for that esteemed establishment. New debutantes found her at once terrifying and awe-inspiring, established bachelors even more so. But she greeted her visitors with all the ease of an old friend, kissing Ruth's cheek and commenting, in her refined way, that Beth looked very much in bloom, as her ladyship's other guests rose to curtsey to the new arrivals. For old friend she was, to Ruth at least, being the only other person who remembered her dear departed papa with any degree of affection, Lady Radford having been his mother's oldest and dearest friend. She was also, through her father's influence, Ruth's godmother.
The three women sat and talked for a few moments upon inconsequential matters, before Lady Radford stated, as was her wont, "I'm sure Elizabeth would much rather be conversing with her young friends than with us, Ruth dear." Beth protested, and, at a nod from Ruth, escaped. Then, drawing her chair a little closer to Ruth's, on the pretext of retrieving her embroidery from a table, Lady Radford commented quietly, "I understand Captain Levendis has made Elizabeth an offer." Ruth showed no sign of surprise at her companion's apparently preternatural knowledge of something which had occurred so recently, and merely glanced around to ascertain whether any of the other ladies had overheard. Lady Radford was renowned for being the person in London with the most awareness of these matters, after all, so why should Ruth, who had been acquainted with her since childhood, be surprised? Satisfied that the room's other occupants were far too engrossed in their various conversations to have been paying any attention, she nodded. "He called upon my brother-in-law this morning and asked for his permission. Of course, Elizabeth has accepted." Her voice shook as she completed her sentence, and Lady Radford, dragon though she was, laid a comforting hand upon her arm.
"You are disappointed." It was not a question. Ruth bit her lip, wondering how to explain her feelings. At last, she smiled wryly at her old friend.
"Not with the man," she countered quietly. "I like the Captain very much, and he is just the man I always planned for Elizabeth to marry." Ruth paused. Lady Radford set a stitch in her embroidery. "But?" she prodded, when Ruth did not immediately continue. Ruth twisted her hands in her lap, a habit her mother had always detested as being evidence of a weak, graceless character, and eventually explained, "His profession worries me. Elizabeth is very young, and she does not yet seem to have grasped the implications of marrying an army officer. The separations, the worry, the possibility of some accident… I do not want her to get hurt." Lady Radford inclined her head, accepting Ruth's words calmly. Her needle worked away swiftly for several moments, before she replied. "Perhaps he will sell out, now that he is betrothed. The word about town is that his mother left him enough of a fortune to allow for him settling down."
Ruth shook her head. "He has mentioned nothing of it to Elizabeth, if that is the case. Indeed, she expects him to rejoin his regiment after the wedding, taking her with him." Her face creased into a deep frown of anxiety. "I know the dangers of a military career, ma'am. Elizabeth sees the honour and the glory of it all, and forgets the less palatable aspects. She is a mere child, after all."
Lady Radford glanced towards Ruth's niece, buried in a circle with two friends, avidly discussing a hat one of the girls had purchased from her modiste earlier that week. "You could speak to Edward. Permissions for betrothals have been retracted before now, I believe, some of them many months after the event. No announcement has been made." Ruth sat up straight and cast a scandalised look at her ladyship.
"Impossible!" she ejaculated insistently. "Edward would never agree, and Elizabeth would never forgive me for making the attempt. But I cannot help feeling that I should put her on her guard. God willing, she will not suffer by his career, but - " Ruth forced herself to stop speaking. Her face closed up and she lowered her eyes. Clearly the conversation had strayed into dangerous territory. Softly, Lady Radford reminded her, "Captain Levendis can hardly be compared to Peter, my dear." Her goddaughter's head shot up in distress and she briefly closed her eyes against painful recollections.
Her brother, Peter, a naval officer, had been killed at Trafalgar nine years ago - an honourable death by anyone's standards. But Ruth had been there when Edward, acting for her mother, had received a visit from one of Peter's fellow officers. She had insisted, with what her brother-in-law had later described as shocking wilfulness, to remain and hear the manner in which her beloved brother had died, and Ruth could only blame herself for hearing a tale not to her liking. Lieutenant Evershed had imbibed rather too much wine at table the night before the battle, and had thus been rather the worse for wear the next morning. With only half his wits available, Peter had not been able to command his men, or throw himself out of the way when a round-shot had hit the ship on which he was serving, killing him and five others. Five other good sailors, who had only been within harm's way in a foolish attempt to save their officer from certain death. Ruth had cried, of course, and then she had locked Peter away in her memory, avoiding the mention of his name wherever possible. Edward had kept his brother-in-law's disgrace secret, for the sake of his wife, and her sister, whom he would have rather married, and no one else, except Lady Radford (involved as she was in all the family's nearest concerns), could understand why Miss Evershed was always so reluctant to speak of her naval hero brother.
With a sigh, she returned to the present. "You are right, of course. I'm a foolish old spinster, who worries far too much," she concluded, forcing a tight smile. Now it was Lady Radford's turn to frown. She uttered an impatient noise and tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her stern wooden chair. "That," she scowled, highly irritated, "is utter nonsense, and I won't have such words spoken about you in my house, Ruth. No one could accuse you of being foolish - your poor dear papa prevented that. As for being an old spinster, you are six and thirty years old. I have known far plainer women than you be married at a far more advanced age, my dear." Ruth smiled indulgently at her godmother's partiality, and reminded her, with her customary pragmatism, "And all those women had far greater fortunes than I have, ma'am. I have no hope or expectation of marrying - or marrying in the manner I would like to, at any rate - so I must content myself with remaining as I am. I shall leave Edward's house, of course." Remaining under the same roof, alone, with the man she had refused to marry on several occasions before his betrothal to her sister, was undoubtedly impossible. Her duty to her dead sister had brought her to Upper Wimpole Street sixteen years ago - a finer feeling than reluctance to see Edward, and a more worthy one.
Lady Radford clucked her tongue impatiently at her goddaughter's fastidiousness; to her mind, Edward Bailey owed his sister-in-law far more than the meagre thanks she had thus far received. "Where will you go, my dear? To your mother's house?" Involuntarily, Ruth shuddered. She had never shared so much as a scrap of fellow feeling with her mother, and her mother's dislike of her middle, shyest child had only increased with the death of Ruth's father, the husband to whom she had been so indifferent. Ruth had been banished to a detestable boarding school in Bath, with only nine-year-old Susannah and her father's much loved copy of Homer's Odyssey for company, there to remain for the next five years, learning to play the pianoforte (badly), dance (even worse) and sew (only just well enough to be able to make many of her own gowns), while her mother found herself a rich husband, and Peter was left to shift for himself in the navy. The only bright points in this period of her life had been the holidays, always taken with Lady Radford, whose late husband had seen and nurtured the spark of intellectual fire, ignited by her father, in his wife's elder goddaughter, educating her in Latin, Greek, history, mathematics and science - as much for his own amusement as for Ruth's improvement. A few London seasons had followed, again under Lady Radford's influential wing (by this point, Ruth's mother had all but forgotten her two daughters), Susannah's marriage to a man who had first proposed to, and been declined by, her elder sister, and a calm, if melancholy, existence in a corner of her stepfather's house, until Susannah's untimely death, a year after Elizabeth's birth, and her call, as maiden aunt, to the aid of her sister's four motherless children.
"No," Ruth replied firmly. "I shall advertise as a governess, or a lady's companion, and live very quietly and usefully, and not be a burden. It is what I always planned to do, after all. It was merely delayed, while the children were growing up, not put off forever, ma'am." She tried to smile, and failed miserably. Lady Radford's hand twitched towards her smelling-salts at the mere thought of her dearest goddaughter entering such a life of servitude and drudgery. Governesses and companions were little better than domestic servants, after all - why, Ruth might just as well become a scullery maid! "Impossible!" she stated, equally firmly, echoing Ruth's cry of a few minutes ago. "My dear Ruth, your father would turn in his grave were you to enter such a profession!" Ruth closed her eyes - her father was another family member of whom she could not speak without pain - and reminded her godmother wanly, "Papa would turn in his grave to know that I had become dependent on Edward, or any of the family. He gave me the gift of independent thought, dear ma'am, and it would be an insult to him if I did not use it." Ruth was usually so self-possessed that few people who saw her briefly would have given her credit for such decided opinions. But anyone who took the trouble to speak to her for a few moments saw quick wit and a keen sense of humour in her bright blue eyes, and more than a touch of dignity and elegance in her posture. Such a woman was not to be argued with by any mere mortal. But Lady Radford was a dragon.
"I find myself rather lonely for much of the time, Ruth," she began, after a moment's pause in which Ruth flattered herself that she had won this particular battle. "Perhaps I shall advertise for a companion." Her goddaughter refused to take the offer that was being obliquely made.
"This is a conversation for another day," she murmured, in a conciliatory voice, sensing the movement of several skirts behind her. Lady Radford sighed, but rose too. "Very well. But, my dear, you must be sure of my support, as always. I only wish that you will postpone this plan of yours until after Christmas, perhaps, and make your home with me until then." Her goddaughter flashed her a grateful smile, and pressed her hand in the way she had done since childhood. She did not, however, choose to answer her godmother's last words, merely saying in sincere accents, "Truly, ma'am, I shall never be equal to finding the words to thank you for all you have done for me."
Lady Radford's drawing room emptied quickly, once everyone had taken their leave, and her ladyship was, at last, at liberty to sit down and think. Ruth's plan was, of course, impossible. Lady Radford was one of the enlightened few who shared Mrs. Wollstonecraft's ideas on the education and value of women, and felt sure that, in some future age, it would be an unremarkable occurrence for a young lady to be educated in the same style as a young gentleman, and even for her to go to one of the universities, but for now that was impossible. She pursed her lips tightly at the highly irksome thought that the only avenue open to one such as Ruth, with her intelligence and other remarkable qualities, who had eschewed marrying the first, and only, man who had made her an offer, was a life of drudgery as either a governess or a lady's companion. If only something could be done about it all. Grimly, Lady Radford seated herself at her writing desk, and pulled a sheet of letter paper and a pen towards her. Something had to be done.