A Spinster No More by Rose Pearson
Chapter Ten
“Well, that wasn’t how I imagined such a thing would likely go,” Henry joked nervously, showing uncharacteristic anxiety, as the brother’s got into their carriage and made their way to the Forteus Club to meet with Bertie Wilson. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so concerned that a thing might not come off.” Everton smiled, but he too had begun to think that their arguments just might not work to convince the rather intransigent Mr. Spencer. But things had gone about as well as could possibly have been expected. Everton could only hope that this next rendez-vous would be as successful as the one they had just left.
“I must confess, I had always thought such a thing – even with you - would be at least a little bit more romantic,” Everton said to his brother with a shake of his head and a wry grin. “I remember when I asked for Katherine’s hand, things were considerably easier.”
“He really did want a title, didn’t he?” Henry marveled. “I’ve never really understood the desire for one myself. Everyone I know who has one wishes they didn’t.”
“It can be a burden,” Everton agreed. “Carrying the weight of expectation of generations.” He thought about how hard his dear friends, Claveston St. John and William Pierce, had struggled to come to terms with the lives they had been destined to lead from before they were even born. To be the son of a nobleman was a heavy burden for some. They had both struggled but had come out on the other side – happily wed and content with their futures.
The brothers were quiet for a few minutes, both lost in their thoughts, as the carriage trundled through the streets from Kensington towards Bond Street, where the Forteus Club welcomed its exclusive clientele. Everton came rarely, but Henry attended most days when he was in London. He was greeted warmly by everyone, probably because he owed so many of them money. “You will do something about your gambling, won’t you, once you’re married?” Everton whispered as they walked through the marble hallway, with its vast staircase and many busts of previous members of specific importance and went into the main attending room.
The room was a complete contrast from the perfectly white marble in the entrance hallway. It was dark, the walls were wood-paneled and lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books tooled with gold leaf. The rich mahogany furniture and leather armchairs gave the place a very masculine feel. No woman had ever passed the doors of the club in its hundred- and fifty-year history. Perhaps that was why Everton did not enjoy it that much. He enjoyed the company of women, unlike Henry who had never shown much interest in them – until recently, at least.
“I gamble whilst in London because I am often bored,” Henry admitted as they took a seat at their usual table by the fire. “There is little to do here during the Season, and you know how much I struggle in company. Playing cards does not require much conversation. Even I can manage it without making some terrible gaffe – like I did at Almack’s with Miss Spencer. I am not made for the life of the Ton. I cannot do small talk. I need real things to talk about. Even working for Father is preferable than this life of forced indolence. At least one has something to do.”
Everton couldn’t help being amused. It was well known throughout their father’s enterprises just how little Henry liked any of the work he had been set to over the years. Though he and Father had tried their best to find a niche that suited Henry, it had been to no avail so far. “And you think that you will find sufficient conversation in a marriage to Miss Spencer?”
“You know, I do,” Henry said cheerfully. “She doesn’t much like people, either – but we both love logic and exploring the things that bore most others.”
Everton remembered the conversation he’d had with Miss Knorr about Henry’s love of the academic life. “Would you like me to speak with Father,” Everton asked, curious as to what Henry might answer, “about your returning to university, pursuing a career there, I mean?”
“No, I understand that there is only so far that a man can push his luck,” Henry said with a wry chuckle. “I shall be glad I’ve found a wife that they will be happy with – that I will be happy with – for now.” But his eyes had lit up at just the mention of such a possibility. Everton decided that he would indeed make enquiries on his brother’s behalf.
His thoughts, and their conversation, were interrupted by the arrival of Lord Bertie Wilson, who plopped himself down unceremoniously in the chair opposite Everton. It was hard to believe that such a puppy of a man would one day be a Marquess, and that he was heir to one of the richest and oldest estates in the land. “How the devil are you both?” he asked, as jovial as ever. Everton couldn’t help but marvel that this was a man that until a day or two ago had presumed himself in love and had been cuckolded in plain view of all of Society.
“We are well,” Everton said cautiously, wondering if Bertie was just doing his best to make things easy on everyone else – as he so often had in college. He was always the one attempting to break up the fights, to placate those vehemently opposed to one another. He liked for everyone to get along.
“Then what’s all this about? Not like the pair of you to invite me to lunch.” Bertie hailed one of the footmen and ordered himself a large brandy. “You two want one?” he asked them. It surprised Everton that even Bertie should be so unaware as to why the Cormicks might wish to meet with him.
“A bottle of claret might be more suitable to go with lunch, don’t you think, old man?” Everton said.
Bertie shook his head and laughed. “Of course, you’re right – as always. Claret it is. And chops all round?”
The brothers nodded their assent. The club wasn’t renowned for its fine dining, but the chops were always cooked well and had good flavor. The footman disappeared and Bertie looked at them both expectantly. Henry looked first at Everton, then at Bertie and took a deep breath. He leaned forward in his chair. “Thing is, old man,” he started a little nervously, “the thing is, I’ve asked Miss Spencer for her hand.”
“You have?” Bertie said, gulping a little as if trying to swallow his disappointment, but then beaming, as ever, determined to do the right thing. “Capital news. Delighted for you both. Must confess, I’m not surprised. The pair of you were thick as thieves at Almack’s. Made for each other, you might say.”
For all his bluster, Bertie was a genuinely decent man. Everton gave him a supportive smile. “I know you had hopes yourself,” he said gently.
“Yes, well. Not the first time I’ve been pipped at the post, eh, lads? Remember that race we had, second year at Oxford, I was so close to beating Ponty Bevan.”
“Yes, you were. The whole college yelled themselves hoarse for you,” Henry said, then added in a soft voice, “I do care for her. I’ll make her happy.”
“I know you will. She’s too clever for a chap like me, knew that from the start. But she seemed not to mind that I’m not all that. Still, plenty of fillies in town, bound to find someone, right?”
“Bound to,” the brothers echoed.
“You’re quite a catch, after all. They were queuing up for you, I’m sure they will again,” Everton added.
“You know, I’m glad you sorted things,” Bertie said to Henry, his big blue eyes earnest and a little sad. “I was dreading having to call you out – but I would have done, if you’d not done the right thing by her.”
“Then it is as well that all has ended well,” Henry said. “You know I’m hopeless at anything like that.”
“Yes, that was precisely why I dreaded it.“ They all laughed at Bertie’s very weak joke. Such matters demanded satisfaction, but that meant that good friends could find themselves at odds – and at the end of a pistol. It was a blessing that this time such a thing was not required.
The rest of the luncheon passed amicably. The three old friends joked and laughed together, sharing stories of Henry and Bertie’s time at Oxford and the scrapes they’d gotten into. The trio parted late in the afternoon, vowing to get together again soon. “He really is a capital fellow,” Henry said as they drove home. “Just as well it was him and not someone else.”
Everton didn’t say anything but couldn’t help agreeing. Almost anyone else of their acquaintance would have called out the duel that very night. They certainly wouldn’t have delayed for two days as Bertie had. Henry had been very lucky indeed to escape unharmed. But Bertie was loyal and sweet, and though an excellent shot and a champion boxer in his day, he was not the kind to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary. Everton didn’t doubt that Bertie was as relieved at the outcome of the affair as he himself was.
“Your Miss Knorr is rather spectacular, isn’t she,” Henry said suddenly.
“Hardly my Miss Knorr,” he protested. He respected Miss Knorr immensely, and was glad of her friendship, but there truly was nothing more to it than that.
Henry shook his head. “You know what I mean. You were the one that introduced me to her, and you and she made an excellent team back there - with Mr. Spencer, I mean.”
“Oh,” Everton said, a little relieved. “Yes, she is a remarkable woman.”
“You were trying to push us together at first, weren’t you?”
“Unusually perceptive of you, brother.”
“I have my moments,” Henry said grinning. “I could have been happy with her, I think. But I doubt she would have been so content with me.”
Such introspection was unusual from Henry. It rather took Everton aback. “What do you mean by that?”
“Miss Knorr is clever and sweet, kind and very witty. But she is also quiet and studious. Those aspects of her would have suited me very well.”
“But?”
“But she is like you. She likes people. Not to see and be seen, but she genuinely likes people. She’d want to have guests and family to stay all the time. She’d expect me to be sociable and would want to dance and play duets. I’d hate that.”
Everton laughed. It was so like Henry to think of the imposition to his personal choices that a wife would make. “Do you not think that Miss Spencer might be the same? She has danced more than Miss Knorr and played the pianoforte more often when we have been in company.”
“She’d give it all up tomorrow, she told me,” Henry explained. “She does everything she does because she knows it is what is expected. I told her she need not ever expect to have to do anything she does not enjoy once we are married.”
“And you intend for her to give you permission to do the same?” Everton raised an eyebrow quizzically. His experience, limited thought it was, with women was that they inevitably had an agenda of their own. Happiness in a marriage seemed to depend upon how closely matched a pair’s intentions were in the first place.
“I do. But you make it sound like it is a bad thing. We both like studying, are happiest when buried in a library of books – and we love to discuss our findings. I think we will find one another excellent companions in that sense. You know, she is the only person I have found, outside of my college professors, that I can truly be myself with. She likes me as I am. And I like her. Many might see her as cold, too clever for a woman, but that is to her credit, I think.”
Everton flexed his fingers and leant back against the walls of the coach. Perhaps Henry was right. Perhaps they were perfectly matched. But he couldn’t help thinking that Henry was overlooking a major flaw in his own future happiness. His brother hated working for their father. He could tolerate it for now, but in time he would grow fractious and impatient. He would rant and rail, and make both his own life, and that of his wife, a misery. He vowed to speak with their father about it, whether Henry wished it or not. There had to be a way to use Henry’s particular skills in a way that would make his brother happy and benefit the family somehow. When Henry realized the whirl of engagements that would be expected of him in the run up to his wedding, he would need something to look forward to.
Their parents did not delay their arrival in London following their receipt of Everton’s letter telling them the good news. Within two days they had arrived from Hertfordshire. Mama swept into the house as if she were a queen, beaming with delight. She covered both her sons’ faces with kisses, then insisted they tell her everything about Henry’s betrothed. They all took their seats in the drawing room, and the two brothers told their parents’ the entire sorry saga of what had happened. Everton had expected them to be a little disappointed in Henry, but it seemed that they were both too delighted that he had actually found a bride to mind how he had gone about it.
“When will we meet her?” she asked impatiently when it was clear that a description of Miss Spencer was not going to be enough.
“She will be at Lady Grey’s musicale tonight,” Henry assured his mother. “You will meet her then.”
“And is there anyone that has taken your eye?” she asked Everton hopefully.
Everton squeezed her hand. “I’m not yet ready,” he told her. “But I am making progress.”
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I am glad to hear that. Katherine would want you to look for love again, I am sure of it. She had so much of it to give. She would not wish for you to live without it.” She stood up and caressed both men’s cheeks. “Now, if I am to meet my future daughter-in-law, then I will retire for a nap, so I am rested and at my best for tonight’s entertainment.”
