Whilst this meant that his lordship resumed much the same life he had as a single man, paying for his pleasures with a succession of attractive but demanding and expensive barques of frailty, his lady had become a lonely figure among the young matrons on the social circuit. It was some years afterwards that she came into the orbit of a charming but casual lover, with whom, despite the advice of older and wiser heads who warned her of his reputation, she had enjoyed a passionate and barely concealed alliance. He had treated her as the centre of his universe for one whole Season, but at its end, however, he had dropped her as if they had never been upon more than terms of nodding acquaintanceship. She withdrew to Tyneham Court, broken-hearted and carrying a child whom everyone believed was not her lord’s. Since the fruit of this illicit union was only a girl, Tyneham was content to appear ‘generous’ and keep both his spouse and the child, whom he saw as a constant reminder to his erring wife of the penalties of infidelity. To the world he announced his paternity, and dared them to say otherwise. They did not say, but they whispered, and Lady Tyneham did not return to London again, even after her husband died, some thirteen years later.
It might have been assumed that she would have resented the little girl, but with her son sent away to school, and a husband who largely ignored her, but who kept her almost exclusively in the country, she focussed her love on the only person left to her. Susan was indulged. Susan was never reprimanded. Susan became the ‘household god’ whom none dared gainsay. She seemed to have inherited more than suspiciously dark locks, which gave the lie to the sandy-haired baron’s protestations. Her character, unrestrained, was wayward, selfish and bold to the point of being heedless. Upon the death of Lady Tyneham, some eighteen months previously, her elder brother had been put in the difficult position of guardian, and had taken the line of least effort, leaving his sister in the care of the last, and most resilient, of her governesses. Pretending she was just a child helped, but in the locality of Tyneham Court, Miss Tyneham was regarded as dangerous.
Now Aunt Chelmarsh was going to bring Susan out, and hopefully find her a husband who could assume the burden of responsibility for her. Tyneham would be so very glad to wash his hands of his troublesome sister. She was a beauty, and he would ensure that she came with a sizeable dowry, so it ought not to be too hard to find a man who would overlook her faults, thought Lord Tyneham, gazing dispassionately at her, as long as he did not know her too well.
They arrived in Hill Street a little after four. When the liveried groom assisted Miss Tyneham from the carriage, she threw him a look which would haunt his dreams for weeks, and made his insides go weak, and she swept into the house with a smile lurking in her eyes. Men were so easy.
Lady Chelmarsh greeted her nephew with mild pleasure, and her niece with barely concealed trepidation. Susan made her curtsey prettily enough, but as she raised her eyes to her aunt’s face, Lady Chelmarsh could see the spark of rebellion in them. She reached automatically for her vinaigrette.
‘Susan dear, how much you have grown,’ she murmured, weakly.
‘Indeed, Aunt, I am most certainly not a child any more.’ Susan’s words, delivered in her low, and irrepressibly sensuous voice, made her aunt clutch the little silver box more tightly.
‘I leave it up to you, ma’am, to rig my sister out in suitable style. Just let me know the figures involved, and I will let you have a draft upon my bank.’ Lord Tyneham ignored his sister’s implication.
‘Yes, er, of course, Tyneham. Are you staying up in Town?’
Sophy entered, trying her best to look pleased at Susan’s arrival, and made her curtsey to her older cousin.
‘I shall remain in London some time, yes.’ He addressed Lady Chelmarsh, but his eyes were on Sophy. ‘Your servant, cousin.’
‘I hope you are in good health, Augustus.’
‘Thank you, yes. I had a bad chill at New Year, but thankfully it did not settle upon the lungs. Doctor Chislet advocated plenty of goose grease for the chest and I have to say it worked, though I was initially sceptical. One cannot be too careful with chills.’
He answered her prosaically, and she controlled the urge to smile. She had merely asked out of politeness, not expecting details of his most recent ailment. Susan looked at her brother with ill-concealed disdain.
‘Being ill is just boring. Most of the time one may avoid illness simply by refusing to admit its existence. I do not count wounds, of course. They are romantic.’
‘Foolish girl. Romantic indeed, what idiocy.’ Tyneham snorted. ‘You have never seen a wound.’
‘If I did, I would not swoon. You went as white as paper merely over a nosebleed.’
‘I was very fortunate not to break my nose, and Doctor Chislet said that it is possible to exsanguinate through a nosebleed.’
‘Pah! He says anything to please you because he enjoys the way you call for him at the first hint of a sore throat.’
Sophy was at a loss. This was clearly a spat between siblings, but that it should be conducted in front of their aunt, whom they did not even know very well, struck her as unpleasant, and Susan was clearly the one goading.
‘Some people are very susceptible to a putrid sore throat. My own Aunt Dorothea died of one.’ Lady Chelmarsh tried to pour oil upon the waters.
‘I thought that was the diphtheria,’ remarked Sophy, without thinking, and received a look of reproach.
‘How much more putrid could a throat get?’ countered Lady Chelmarsh.
This was unanswerable. It did, however, cause a break in the hostilities between brother and sister, and Sophy, keen to make amends for her unhelpful comment, drew the conversation into something less contentious.
‘It is fortuitous, Susan, that you arrive the day before we have an appointment with Mme Clément for Harriet’s new gowns. I am sure you will come away with your head full of the most ravishing designs.’
‘Oh yes. The trouble is that all the nicest dresses are for those who are married, or at least not in their debut season. All those gowns recommended for their “simplicity and charm” tend to be so very dull and lacking in dash. Who would wish to wear white and pearl pink when there is bronze green and magenta. It is not so bad for you, cousin, since you count as quite old enough to be among the matrons.’
Whether this was merely a thoughtless remark, or one designed as barbed, Sophy still coloured. Susan seemed to comprehend that she had caused offence and made an attempt to negotiate her way out of the awkward situation. All she did was dig a deeper hole.
‘I am sorry, that did not sound kind. It is only that you have been out for so long …’
‘You would look very nice in white, Susan, with your lovely dark hair.’ Lady Chelmarsh declared quickly, and rather loudly. She was getting desperate.
‘Do you think so, Aunt? I wondered if it might not make me look sallow.’ Susan, diverted onto her favourite topic, herself, immediately forgot Sophy.
