An Unreasonable Match

Chapter Two

A few weeks after the trip to Northampton the weather had changed for the better. It was even quite warm. Hester Perceval paid her usual morning calls in Abbot Quincey village, then walked slowly back up the drive to the Hall, which was bathed in early spring sunshine. It was a lovely building of old rose brick decorated with a porch and pilasters of pale grey stone. A wide, graceful flight of steps in the same grey stone led up to its main entrance and two wings of rose brick curved gently to either side. Lawns and tall trees—chestnuts, oaks, ash and holly—surrounded it, though at this time of year most of the trees were bare. But there was a promise of spring in daffodils dancing along the drive, and in the faint haze of green in the hawthorn hedges on the edge of the park.

Hester gazed at it wistfully. Short of a miracle she would soon have to leave the Hall to spend two months or more in the capital. Lady Perceval, normally the most understanding of mothers, had refused to abandon her plan to take her daughter to town in an effort to acquire a husband for her. It was ridiculous! She didn’t want a husband—and what was more, she would be extremely surprised if she could find one. But however much she had pleaded, reasoned, even argued, it had been in vain. And now time was scarce. In a few weeks Sir James and Lady Perceval would leave for London, accompanied by their daughter, to take part in the annual carnival which called itself the London Season…Hester quickened her pace up the drive. She must make one last effort to bring her mother to see reason.

But half an hour later Hester was no nearer to success. Her mother was unshaken in her determination, and was growing quite upset by her daughter’s obstinate refusal to accept her decision.

“You’re a good, clever girl and your father and I love you dearly, Hester. Surely you don’t believe that we wish to make you unhappy? Or that we haven’t your best interests at heart?” Lady Perceval’s voice trembled and her daughter quickly reassured her.

“Of course not, Mama! No one could ask for kinder or more generous parents. It’s just…I really don’t want another London Season. The last one was enough for me. And surely I’m old enough to know my own mind…”

“Exactly so. You’ll be twenty-four in November, Hester! Twenty-four and not a single prospect in view. I did have hopes of Wyndham for you at one time, though he’s hardly ever been at Bredington recently. But I hear he has found someone else. And now dear India is married, and Beatrice Roade, too—both very advantageously…”

“But I don’t want a husband, Mama! Oh, I wish you would believe me. I could remain a perfectly happy spinster, leading my own life in my own way, if only you would let me.”

“My dear, I’ve heard all these arguments before, and I assure you yet again, that the only secure future for a woman is in marriage. Or would you prefer to be Hugo’s pensioner, once your father and I are no longer here?”

“In no way! Hugo and I would be at odds before the month was out! But in any case that must be a very distant prospect. And I’m sure you could persuade Papa to settle a small amount of money on me instead of taking me to London—” Hester moved over to sit down on the sofa by her mother. She took her hand and looked pleadingly into her parent’s unusually determined face. “If he would give me just a small sum—enough to give me a very modest income—I should be happy to live by myself.”

“Alone?”

“With a maid or…or even a companion if you insisted.”

“Hester, I wouldn’t even dream of passing on such a ridiculous notion to your father. And if I did he would laugh it out of court! It’s our duty to see you safely married, and a London Season is the best way of doing it.” She looked appraisingly at her daughter. “You could be quite a good-looking girl, if you would only make the effort. Your dowry, I know, is not large, but there must be someone somewhere who would want to marry you!”

This was too much for Hester’s very ready sense of humour. Her mouth twitched as she said demurely, “Why thank you, Mama! A widower, perhaps, with six children and a wooden leg? He might just be persuaded to take me on.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, as you very well know. You are a wicked girl to tease me so. But an older man might be the answer?”

Hester was instantly serious again. “No, Mama! I do not wish for a husband of any kind—old, young, widowed, single, decrepit, healthy…To put it absolutely plainly, I do not want to marry anyone.”

Lady Perceval looked helplessly at her daughter. “But why, Hester?”

“Because I don’t believe there’s anyone in the world whom I could respect, and who would be willing to treat me in return as someone capable of rational thought! The polite world is singularly lacking in such men. At least it was six years ago, and I cannot suppose things have changed very much since then. In my experience gentlemen in London only want a pretty face to pay empty compliments to, a graceful partner to dance and flirt with, a…a mirror to tell them in return how witty, how handsome, how elegant they are. And I daresay when they eventually condescend to marry some poor girl, they will treat her like…like a piece of furniture—there to provide an heir and manage the household, while they go their selfish, masculine way, hunting, fishing, shooting and gambling into the night.”

“Hester! Stop, stop! That’s quite enough of your nonsense. I won’t allow you to say such things when your father is everything that is kind and considerate—you know he is! What other father would allow you to do very much as you please here in Abbot Quincey? Many another would have married you off to some country squire long before now. As it is, he has always respected your wish to live quietly with your books. He is even proud of your work in sorting your grandpapa’s papers. He is taking us to London mainly because he honestly believes—as I do—that you would be happier with an establishment and family of your own. We wish to find a husband for you before it is too late.”

“Papa is an exceptional man, Mama, and I admit he has been very patient with me—”

“Well then,” said Lady Perceval, “why don’t you please him—and me—by overcoming your reluctance for another London Season?”

“That wouldn’t guarantee a husband for me! Men don’t find women like me attractive, Mama. I don’t have to remind you of what happened six years ago—you were there.”

Lady Perceval shuddered. “I was,” she replied with feeling.

“The so-called gentlemen made fun of me! I may have been inept and…and, yes, stupid! But they were so unkind! They made no effort to understand. They couldn’t believe that a woman might want to ask questions or debate issues which went beyond the cut of a sleeve or who was whose latest flirt.” She frowned, then shrugged her shoulders and smiled wryly. “I was foolish to try. The last thing they wanted to do was to be required to think.”

“I’ve always felt that a lot of the blame was mine, my dear. You were very young. Hugo always advised against taking you straight from Mrs Guarding’s Academy into the fashionable world, and he was right. You weren’t prepared for it.”

“Mrs Guarding is a wonderful woman. I…”

“I know about Mrs Guarding’s advanced views on educating young women. She may be a wonderful teacher, but her ideas do not exactly prepare girls for success in society! You were stuffed full of half-digested notions of saving the world. Praiseworthy, no doubt, but hardly appropriate for the drawing-rooms of the Ton. And then the scandal with Lord Canford ruined everything—”

Hester shuddered. “Please don’t, Mama! If you only knew what that episode did to my self-esteem!”

“I do know! You didn’t have a chance after that. I was never so shocked in all my life as when I heard how Canford had behaved at the Sutherlands’ ball. Thank heaven Hugo was there to rescue you!”

“He may have saved me from Canford’s attentions, but he didn’t exactly spare my feelings afterwards—especially when the noble lord aired his grievance to anyone who cared to listen.” A giggle escaped her. “Mind you, Canford had some cause. If he really believed I had encouraged him, it must have come as a shock when I emptied the glass of wine over him. His coat was ruined. What he must have felt when Hugo came in and caught him chasing me round the room…!”

“I am surprised Canford had so much vitality. He must have been sixty if he was a day!”

“He had a quite remarkable turn of speed. And then Hugo got caught in Canford’s walking stick and they both came down. Thank God neither was badly hurt. The scandal would have been even greater if such a prominent member of the aristocracy had been lamed for life by my brother! But Canford limped away quite nimbly in the end. Soaked in wine and cursing.” There was a pause. Then Hester added, “Looking back now, it was a relief that you were more or less forced to bring me back to Northamptonshire afterwards…I had had enough of London, and Hugo had certainly had enough of me.”

“He was disappointed that his efforts to launch you had failed so disastrously. He suffered too, Hester.”

“My dear Mama, Hugo was far more concerned about his own dignity than he was about my reputation. I’d apparently let him down in front of…in front of…his friends.”

“I’m sure he had forgotten that Dungarran was there when he gave you such a dressing-down. He would never normally have done such a thing in front of anyone else.”

“You believe not?”

“I am sure he wouldn’t. It was most unfortunate. You haven’t really been friends with him since, have you, my dear?”

“No. And he comes so seldom to Abbot Quincey now, that there’s never an opportunity for us to put things right. Lowell is here quite often, but Hugo never comes.”

Lady Perceval said firmly, “Hugo is like every other young man of his age—he enjoys life in society. He’ll come when he is ready—you’ll see. He’s thirty in July, and that’s when he always said he would settle down.”

“He was so unkind to me! But I miss him, all the same. We were good friends when we were young…” Hester got up, went to the window and gazed at the peaceful scene outside without really seeing it. There was a silence. Then she added bitterly, “Is it so surprising that I never want to see London again?”

Lady Perceval sighed. “I am sure things will be different now,” she said persuasively. “Canford died two years ago. And memories are short.”

“Perhaps. But men still like pretty faces, and dainty, appealing ways in the young women they marry. They don’t look for argument or debate. Well, I have never been either pretty or dainty. I’m too tall. And now I’m six years older and my bloom, such as it was, has faded. And, worst of all, though I’ve lost my passion to change the world, I still enjoy using the brains the Lord gave me in a good argument.” Hester came back to her mother and knelt down beside her. “Oh Mama, I am convinced that I would never find a husband to please me. I’m perfectly content here in Abbot Quincey. Please, please will you not speak to Papa?”

Lady Perceval shook her head. “I would not at this moment even think of making the attempt. Not while there is still time for you to see how wrong you are. Listen to me, Hester,” she went on, gently taking both Hester’s hands in hers and speaking very seriously. “It may surprise you to learn that large numbers of women with considerable intelligence are clever enough to keep themselves and their husbands happy simply by disguising the fact! At seventeen you could be forgiven for not realising this, but not now, Hester. Not now. Look around you! The idea that it is impossible to find happiness in marriage is absurd! I have always been very happy with your dear Papa. And look at Beatrice Roade—a very clever, sensible girl—but since her marriage at Christmas she positively radiates happiness!”

“No one could possibly deny that. But she was lucky. She and Harry Ravensden are exactly right for each other—and Harry doesn’t just put up with Mr Roade’s eccentricities, he positively delights in them! No, there’s no doubt about that marriage, I agree. But that does not change my mind, Mama!”

“And I shall not change mine, Hester. We are going to London for the coming Season.” There was a pause while she looked at her daughter’s downcast face. Then her voice softened. “If nothing has changed by the time we return from London, then we shall see what can be done.”

“Oh, thank you, Mama—”

“But first, you must give yourself another chance,” Lady Perceval said firmly. “Is it a bargain? Will you promise me to keep an open mind? Will you try to mend fences with Hugo, and forget any grudges from the past? Will you do that?”

“I’ll try, Mama,” Hester sighed, “but it won’t be easy.”

“There’s my good girl! And now I expect you want to escape to that attic of yours for the rest of the morning, though I’m not at all sure it’s good for you to spend so much time alone up there. Wait, Hester! Did you take Mrs Hardwick the eggs when you were in the village? Is she any better?”

“Not yet. But Dr Pettifer will come this afternoon. And the eggs were welcome. They had almost run out.”

“That’s good. Off you go, then. You might spend some time reflecting on what I have said. Marriage is a woman’s best chance of happiness.”

The way to her attic was long and took her past some of the most beautiful rooms in the house. The family lived in only a small section of the main block, together with a suite of rooms in the west wing occupied by Hester’s grandmother. The Dowager Lady Perceval was away at the moment and the rest of the house was silent and unused, the furniture under holland covers, and pictures and ornaments packed away or even sold. Perceval Hall had been built in wealthier times, but Sanford Perceval, Hester’s great-grandfather, had been a gambler and a wastrel. Fortunately he died young, before he had entirely run through the handsome fortune left him by his father. The Percevals no longer owned the vast acres of former days, but they had managed to hold on to the Hall, and their name still counted for something. They were among the county’s oldest and most respected landowners, and a Perceval could marry anyone. It was a pity, thought Hester, as she passed large, beautifully proportioned rooms and went up the handsome marble staircase, it was really very unfortunate, that since that London disaster she had been quite unable to imagine sharing her life with any man.

She came at length to her attic. This was her special place, her refuge. She had discovered it years ago, and had made it her own as soon as she found her grandfather’s comfortable old chair, and a bureau stuffed full of his books and papers stored there. And when she had returned from London in disgrace, at odds with the world, and out of charity with her much admired elder brother, this was where she had taken refuge. Her parents believed that she was putting her grandfather’s papers in order, possibly with a view to publication, and were happy to leave her to it. But, though that was how it had begun, it was far more than that.

For the last five years Hester, wary of exposing herself to yet more mockery for her “unfeminine” studies, had lived a double life. In public she did what was expected of the daughter of a prominent local family. Though she was regarded as something of a recluse, she rode and walked, worked in the still-room, supported her mother in her charitable work, had frequently visited India Rushford before her marriage to Lord Isham. She was quite often seen in company with her other cousins at the Vicarage. But whenever she could she escaped to her attic. The work on the Perceval papers was nearly finished. But this was not all she did here. And she owed her new occupation to Lowell.

In an effort to rouse Hester from her depression and apathy six years before, Lowell had taken out a subscription for her to Mr Garimond’s Journal of the New Scientific and Philosophical Society. The fact that the Society was exclusively for gentlemen was disregarded.

Even he could not have foreseen its effect. Hester read it eagerly, and then, greatly daring, sent in a short article on the use of mathematics in ciphers. Lowell had helped to keep her identity secret by delivering it in London himself. To her delight, the article was accepted and for some years now, with Lowell’s help, Hester had been sending articles in quite regularly. She called herself “Euclid”, for Mr Garimond insisted that all his contributors used the names of famous mathematicians of the past.

For the past year or more Euclid had been engaged in a duel of wits with “Zeno”, the Journal’s senior contributor. Zeno usually wrote scholarly articles on the philosophy of mathematics, but in response to something Hester had written in that first article he had set Euclid a cipher puzzle. He challenged “him’ to solve it before the month was out. This was now a regular feature, Mr Garimond acting as receiving office and umpire. Hester had just finished deciphering the latest, and it would soon go with Lowell to the Society’s offices in London.

Lowell was waiting for her in her attic. “Any luck? Have you managed to persuade Mama? I heard the discussion as I came up.”

“No,” Hester said in a resigned tone. “I’m to be frizzed and primped and dressed up and paraded in London, somewhat long in the tooth, but apparently still hoping for a husband. Why, pray? So that some man can take me off home and assume he has the right to tell me how to act and what to think. I truly think the world is mad—to condemn, as it does, half of the human race to mindless nonentity. Things will change eventually I suppose—women won’t tolerate it for ever. But it won’t be in time to save me.”

“Hold on, old thing! Not all men are unreasonable—as you ought to know.” He spoke reproachfully. She went to him and hugged him.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to me, Lowell, I’m just totally out of humour at the idea of going to London again. I’m an ungrateful beast. You’ve been wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done without you. But you wait and see! You’re only twenty-two—still reasonably young. Another couple of years in society and you’ll be like all the rest.”

“No, I won’t,” he said stoutly. “But people do change in six years, you know. Perhaps some of those fellows might look at you differently now.” Then he added casually, “I know you have this prejudice about Dungarran, but he seemed very pleasant when we met him in Northampton. He’s probably forgotten what happened six years ago.” When his sister remained silent he went on, “Hester, he can’t have been as bad as you think him. Why do you mind him so much? Or was there something more? Something you haven’t told me.”

Hester’s voice was muffled as she bent over the bureau, searching through her papers. “Whatever could there be? He was one of Hugo’s friends and he did what Hugo asked him. He was kind enough to me until it all went wrong.” She emerged from the bureau, somewhat flushed. “Did you want something, Lowell?”

“Well, I came to hear Mama’s verdict. And I wondered if you had anything for the Journal. I’m out for the rest of the day and off to London early tomorrow morning. Have you anything for Garimond? If so, I could deliver it on Friday.”

“Where are you going now?”

“To collect Henrietta from her dancing lesson. I expect I’ll spend the rest of the day at the Vicarage.”

Hester suppressed a grin. Lowell had avoided his baby cousin like the plague only months ago, but he was now fascinated by her recent transformation into a very pretty young lady of fashion. She decided not to tease him, but said merely, “I have something but it isn’t quite ready yet. I’ll leave it in your room.”

“What is it this time? Another article?”

“No, it’s a new cipher they sent me, and I’ve finally cracked it. I’m rather pleased with myself, it was quite difficult. You see this line—”

“Don’t try to explain, Hes!” Lowell said hastily. “I’ll take your word for it. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Hester looked at him in some amusement. “Lowell, however do you convince Garimond that you’re the author of these communications? You must meet him occasionally.”

“Never. He’s a bit of a mysterious bird himself. But I don’t claim to be the author. I just deliver the envelope to an elderly cove at the Society’s office in St James’s Square.”

“Lucky for us! It saves a few explanations—especially as you are so determined not to be another mathematician!”

“Lord, Hes, I wouldn’t know how! But I’d give a lot to know what those clever codgers in St James’s Square would say if they knew Euclid was a woman.”

“It would give them all an apoplectic fit! But do take care not to let it out, Lowell—I don’t give a pin for their apoplectic fits, but it would mean an end to my fun, too.”

“I won’t,” her brother said confidently. “I like a bit of cloak-and-dagger work. When will the new stuff be ready?”

“It only wants a few corrections and then I’ll write it out in my Euclid hand. I’ll put it inside your overcoat before I go to bed.”

“Right-eeo.”

Lowell disappeared with a great deal of clattering down the stairs. Hester shook her head, then smiled fondly. He was a good brother.

She sat down at the bureau, took out her papers and put on her grandfather’s spectacles which she had found with his things, and which she now found useful for close work. They never left the attic. But after a few minutes she took them off again and sat back. She was finding it difficult to concentrate. It was Lowell’s fault for mentioning Dungarran’s name. That and the knowledge that she could not avoid seeing the man again in London…Lowell was right. She hadn’t told him everything. There was one scene that no one knew of. No one but herself and Dungarran. It wasn’t surprising that she had wished never to face him again. He had appeared to be so kind, so interested in her—until she had found him out. It had very nearly broken her heart to find that her idol had feet of such poor clay…And even then she had refused to accept it. Hester’s eyes strayed to the tiny window, but what she saw was not the green fields and trees of Northamptonshire but the drawing-rooms and streets of London in 1806…

Hester Perceval’s preparation for her début at seventeen was unusual. Her talents in the drawing-room were no more than adequate, but Mrs Guarding, a woman with advanced views on the education of women, had taken great pride in Hester’s gift for languages and her agile mind. She had encouraged Hester to believe that an intelligent, informed woman could create interest in badly needed reforms, bring the rich, particularly those in London and the south, to appreciate the difficulties of the poor in the north.

An older and wiser Hester now knew better. Mrs Guarding was usually the most astute of women, but in Hester’s case her enthusiasm had overcome her judgement. Social change has been brought about by intelligent women. But such women have been mature, sophisticated matrons with an established position, women of tact and experience who know their world, not naïve seventeen-year-olds with a strong sense of mission and no idea how to handle it.

All had gone well for the first few weeks after Hester’s arrival in London in the spring of 1806. Her adored brother Hugo was ready to look after her and introduce her to his circle of friends, all of them prominent in the Ton. Feminine enough to enjoy the pretty dresses her mother had provided for her, she accepted with pleased surprise the compliments the gentlemen paid her on her appearance. Fascinated by life in the metropolis, at first she spoke little and observed much. She soon came to the conclusion that Mrs Guarding was right. Though society had been kind to her, it was all too frivolous, too uncaring. As soon as she had found her feet, she would start her campaign…

Meanwhile it was very pleasant to be looked after by Hugo’s friends. It took a little time for her to become accustomed to their languid drawls, their refusal to take anything seriously, but it was flattering to a girl not yet eighteen to be attended by some of the most eligible young men in society. Even Dungarran, famous for his reluctance to put himself out for anyone—“Too fatiguin’!” was his favourite phrase—spent time teaching her the dance steps she had ignored at Mrs Guarding’s. Elegant, handsome, with dark hair and cool grey eyes, he spoke less than the others, seldom paying her the pretty compliments she came to expect, but this did him no harm in Hester’s opinion. There was an occasional glimmer of amusement in his eyes which intrigued her, but it was usually quickly replaced by his normal, indifferent courtesy. Though he evaded all her attempts at serious conversation, Hester was certain that behind the idle man of fashion there was an intelligence, an intellect she could respect. Inevitably, sadly, she was soon on the way to falling in love with him. She found herself listening for his lazy drawl, searching the crowds for a sight of his tall figure, always so immaculately dressed, rivalling Hugo in his calm self-possession. But though he was instantly welcome wherever he went, invited to every function, he was not always to be found. He seemed to come and go very much as he pleased. And as time went on he became even more elusive. Without him, life in London soon became very boring to Hester.

After a month, finding most conversations, even the compliments, tediously repetitive, she began her campaign. She would interrupt a frivolous discussion on the newest fashion for a collar, or Beau Brummell’s latest bon mot, in order to comment on the condition of the workers in the north, or the passage of a bill for reform through Parliament. This was met with blank stares. When invited out for a drive she took to lecturing her companion on the greater role women could, and would, play in public life, or expressing a desire to be taken to the poorer districts of London in order to observe living conditions there. Needless to say, no one ever took her, but even the request caused the lifting of eyebrows…

Her mother saw what was happening but found herself powerless to stop it. Her remonstrances, her pleas to Hester to stop trying to reform society until she was better informed of its manners and customs, fell on deaf ears. Hugo warned her, his closer friends did their best to deflect her, but Hester remained obstinately idealistic, stubbornly sure that intelligent discussion could solve the problems of the world…The result was inevitable. Society began to ignore, then neglect her. The flow of compliments, the invitations to drive or ride, dried up quite suddenly as Miss Perceval was pronounced guilty of the worst sin of all. She was a bore. And not even a pretty one.