|
The
Funeral
Baked
Meats
A well-bred lady
never ogles a man
from behind her
black veil, especially
during her husband's
burial. But Lady
Genevieve Mulcaster
had acknowledged
her failings in
ladylike deportment
around the time
she eloped to Gretna
Green with a bridegroom
whom she'd met three
hours earlier, and
so she watched Lucius
Felton with rapt
attention throughout
Reverend Pooley's
praise of her deceased
husband -- a man
(said Mr. Pooley)
who rose before
his servants and
even for religious
haste, went unbuttoned
to morning prayer.
Felton looked slightly
bored. There was
something about
his heavy-lidded
eyes that made Genevieve
feel thirsty, and
the way he stood,
almost insolently
elegant in his black
coat, made her feel
weak in the knees.
His shoulders had
to be twice as large
as her husband's
had been.
Recalled to her
surroundings by
that disloyal thought,
Genevieve murmured
a fervent if brief
prayer that Heaven
would be just as
her husband imagined
it. Because if Erasmus
didn't encounter
the rigorous system
of prizes and punishments
he anticipated,
he would likely
be discomfited,
if not sent to sizzle
his toes. Genevieve
had long ago realized
that Erasmus wouldn't
hesitate to rob
a bishop if an amenable
vicar could be persuaded
to bless the undertaking.
She threw in an
extra prayer for
St. Peter, in the
event that Erasmus
was disappointed.
Then she peeked
at Felton again.
His hair slid sleekly
back from his forehead,
giving him an air
of sophistication
and command that
Genevieve had never
achieved. How could
she, wearing clothes
with all the elegance
of a dishcloth?
The vicar launched
into a final prayer
for Erasmus's soul.
Genevieve stared
down at her prayer
book. It was hard
to believe that
she had lost another husband.
Not that she actually
got as far as marrying
Tobias Darby. They
were only engaged,
if one could even
call it that, for
the six or seven
hours they spent
on the road to Gretna
Green before being
overtaken by her
enraged father.
She never saw Tobias
again; within a
fortnight she was
married to Erasmus
Mulcaster. So eloping
with Tobias was
the first and only
reckless action
of Genevieve's life.
In retrospect, it
would be comforting
to blame champagne,
but the truth was
yet more foolish:
she'd been smitten
by an untamed boy
and his beautiful
eyes. For that she'd
thrown over the
precepts of a lifetime
and ran laughing
from her father's
house into a carriage
headed for Gretna
Green.
Memories tumbled
through her head:
the way Tobias looked
at her when they
climbed into the
carriage, the way
she found herself
flat on the seat
within a few seconds
of the coachman
geeing up the horses,
the way his hands
ran up her leg while
she faintly -- oh
so faintly -- objected.
'Twas an altogether
different proposition
when Erasmus stiffly
climbed into the
marital bed. Poor
Erasmus. He didn't
marry until sixty-eight,
considering women
unnecessarily extravagant,
and then he couldn't
seem to manage the
connubial act. Whereas
Tobias -- she wrenched
her mind away. Even she,
unladylike though
she was, couldn't
desecrate Erasmus's
funeral with that
sort of memory.
She opened her
eyes to the breathy
condolences of Lord
Bubble. "I
am distressed beyond
words, my lady,
to witness your
grief at Lord Mulcaster's
passing," he
said, standing far
too close to her.
Bubble was a jovial,
white-haired gentleman
who used to gently
deplore Erasmus's
business dealings,
even as he profited
wildly from them.
Genevieve found
him as practiced
a hypocrite as her
late husband, although
slightly more concerned
for appearances.
"I trust you
will return to Mulcaster
House for some refreshments,
Lord Bubble?" Since
no one from the
parish other than
Erasmus's two partners,
his lawyer, and
herself had attended
the funeral, they
could have a veritable
feast of seed cakes.
Bubble nodded,
heaving a dolorous
sigh. "Few
men as praiseworthy
as Erasmus have
lived in our time.
We must condole
each other on this
lamentable occasion."
A sardonic gleam
in Felton's eye
suggested that he didn't
consider Erasmus's
death the stuff
of tragedy. But
then, Genevieve
had studied Felton
surreptitiously
for the past six
months, and he often
looked sardonic.?
At the moment he
was also looking
faintly amused.
Surely he hadn't
guessed that she
had an affection
for him? Genevieve
felt herself growing
pink. Had she peered
at him once too
often? Think like
a widow,
she admonished herself,
climbing into the
crape-hung carriage.
"May I give
you another handkerchief,
my lady?" her
maid asked as Genevieve
seated herself.
Eliza had strict
notions about the
tears a widow should
shed during her
husband's funeral.
But Erasmus Mulcaster
had long since burned
out any affection
that his wife might
have scrambled together,
although not by
cruelty, nor by
neglect. Erasmus
was unfailingly
attentive in the
two hours he allotted
to his wife daily.
It was the grueling,
grinding boredom
of being near Erasmus,
of being part of
Erasmus's life,
that had withered
Genevieve's affection.
Six long years of
watching Erasmus
count his spoons
every night, for
he didn't trust
his own butler.
Years of turning
and re-turning garments
because Erasmus
considered women's
clothing to be an
unnecessary expenditure.
He had even dictated,
from his deathbed,
the refreshments
to be served at
his funeral: an
orange pudding,
an almond pudding
and two light seed
cakes. "Two
will be more than
enough, if you order
them cut very slim," Erasmus
had noted, raising
his head from the
pillow to make sure
that Genevieve understood.
He was certainly
right about that,
Genevieve acknowledged
when they reached
Mulcaster House
and everyone including
the vicar refused
a piece of cake.
There was general
relief when Mr.
Leeke, Erasmus's
lawyer, suggested
that they retire
to the library for
a reading of the
will. The room was
hung in limp, green
drapery, and there
weren't very many
books, as Erasmus
didn't hold with
reading. He didn't
like any activity
that hadn't a clear
monetary goal as
reward. Genevieve
loathed the room,
with all its memories
of weeping clients
and household prayer
sessions. Bubble
ushered her to a
seat for the reading
of Erasmus's will
with a solicitous
attention that made
Genevieve's skin
crawl. What on earth
had got into the
man? He had to be
sixty, if he were
a day, and yet he
was acting with
the skittish enthusiasm
of an adolescent
hoping for a kiss.
Felton sat in a
chair across from
Genevieve and Bubble,
his pale hair gleaming
in the afternoon
sunshine. Mr. Leeke
cleared his throat
two or three times
before he began. "Lord
Mulcaster's will
is not out of the
ordinary," he
announced. "I
shall just mention,
as I always do before
reading a will,
that such a document
when issued by my
firm would be extremely
difficult to overturn.
Lord Mulcaster was
indubitably of sound
mind when he established
the herein conditions."
Once, when Felton
came to dinner,
their eyes met across
the table and he
smiled at her in
such a way that
Genevieve felt,
well, beautiful.
Sometimes she feared
that her looks had
moldered away like
the green draperies
lining the casements
throughout the house
(Erasmus had obtained
an excellent price
and done every window
in the same color).
But even though
she was all of twenty-four,
she wasn't precisely
ancient. Felton
had to be in his
thirties. Surely
he wished to marry?
Yet if Felton wanted
to marry, why hadn't
he done so? He was
extraordinarily
handsome, with hair
the color of wheat
and eyes of indigo
blue. And since
he was very, very
rich (even richer
than Erasmus), he'd
been the target
of match-making
mamas for years,
from what Genevieve
could glean from
gossip columns.
"Lady Mulcaster!" Leeke
was saying. "This
section of the will
appertains to you.
Well, in fact, to
you and these
gentlemen. I know
this is a most difficult
and distressing
time for you, but
I must beg the indulgence
of your attention."
Genevieve nodded
and clasped her
hands in her lap.
"The provision
for your future,
Lady Mulcaster,
is unusual but by
no means illegal," Leeke
stated, looking
rather uneasily
at the papers he
held.
Genevieve straightened.
What on earth had
Erasmus done?
"I consider
it an excellent
arrangement," Bubble
put in.? "Lord
Mulcaster discussed
it with me at length,
and we agreed that
it was a laudable
way to ensure Lady
Mulcaster's best
interests. A widow
so young and beautiful
has need of mature
advisement," he
said with an arch
look at Genevieve.
Felton's face wore
its usual expression
of impassive stillness. "Since
Lady Mulcaster and
I appear to have
been excluded from
that discussion,
why don't you proceed,
Leeke?" he
drawled.
"To summarize,
then," Leeke
said. "The
will specifies that
if Lady Mulcaster
marries either of
Lord Mulcaster's
partners within
two years of his
death, she will
receive his full
estate. In the event
that Lady Mulcaster
either does not
marry, or marries
another person,
Lord Mulcaster's
estate will go the
Church of England,
with the devout
request that a Mulcaster
Chapel be dedicated
in St. Paul's Cathedral.
Lady Mulcaster will
receive only her
jointure. Which," he
said, looking at
Genevieve, "is
regrettably small."
Genevieve knew
that. After all,
she was another
one of Erasmus's
bargains: he took
her for nothing,
because she was
ruined. Her father
had snatched her
back from a fate
worse than death,
a Gretna Green marriage,
only to find that
she had dallied
with her husband-to-be
in the coach. And
when Tobias Darby
didn't renew his
protestations of
inebriated love,
but took himself
off to foreign parts,
Erasmus took her
second-hand. Would
Felton mind that
she was a widow?
Third-hand, as it
were? Presumably
he could marry any
beautiful young
woman in London.
She refused to look
up, in case she
met his eyes.
There was utter
silence in the room.
The only thing Genevieve
could hear was faint
barking from the
courtyard. Erasmus's
spaniel must have
treed a squirrel
again. Embarrassment
started to burn
in her cheeks. Neither
man seemed to be
eager to propose
marriage, even given
the sweetener of
Erasmus's bequest.
She would have thought
that Bubble, at
least, would lunge
at the estate. "I
receive no jointure
for two years?" she
finally croaked,
examining the darn
on her left glove.
"No. Mr. Felton
and Lord Bubble
will establish an
allowance for your
maintenance and
support during the
period."
A surge of rage
at her dead husband
flushed Genevieve's
cheeks more than
did her embarrassment.
Erasmus was a tight-fisted
old devil. But you
already knew that,
she reminded herself.
It seemed she must
find a husband within
two years or risk
destitution.
"I wish to
live in London during
my mourning period," Genevieve
stated, looking
at Leeke.
The lawyer had
a puce-colored face
and a habit of avoiding
all unpleasant subjects,
which had undoubtedly
kept his nerves
in order while serving
Erasmus. "I
should have nothing
to do with that
decision," he
replied promptly. "As
I said, your allowance
will be entirely
the responsibility
of these two estimable
gentlemen."
There was silence
again. It seemed
that she had to
take matters into
her own hands. Genevieve
straightened in
such a way as to
enhance her chest,
and deliberately
reached up to pull
back her veil. All
the black showed
her tawny hair to
its best advantage.
Then she turned
to Lord Bubble.
She didn't even
need to speak. He
exploded into a
wilderness of comments
about his utter
delight at the idea
of her hand in marriage,
how highly he thought
of Erasmus, how
exquisitely beautiful
she was, how much
his (grown) children
would love to welcome
her as a mother.
Genevieve waited,
unspeaking, until
he wound down like
a tired clock, and
then she turned,
just as deliberately,
to Felton.
He had his fingers
templed -- long,
beautiful fingers
that made her stomach
quake at the very
sight of them. "I
share Bubble's enthusiasm," he
said, in a dry tone
singularly lacking
in enthusiasm. She
waited, but all
he added was, "Naturally."
"Of course,
no such ceremony
could take place
until the end of
Lady Mulcaster's
mourning period," Leeke
put in. "Lord
Mulcaster thought
that two years was
an adequate period."
Two years of mourning!
Erasmus had high
expectations for
himself, Genevieve
thought sourly.
"So I need
not accept one of
these two gentlemen's
enthusiastic proposals
at this moment?" she
asked Leeke, with
just the faintest
stress on enthusiastic.
"Precisely
so, my lady."
"In that case,
gentlemen, I should
like an allowance
sufficient to establish
myself in London
during the years
of my mourning."
Leeke cleared his
throat. "As
it happens, Lord
Mulcaster called
in a loan just last
month and the gentleman
in question relinquished
a townhouse in St.
James' Square. His
lordship hadn't
time to sell the
establishment before
his untimely death."
St. James's Square!
Hurrah! Genevieve
nodded with widowlike
dignity. "That
will be acceptable."
"A modest
allowance and use
of the townhouse
should be more than
adequate for the
needs of a widow," Bubble
noted, "especially
one in the mourning
period."
Genevieve widened
her eyes and bit
her lip. "The
very first thing
I desire in a husband
is a generous nature
akin to that of
my dear, loving
Erasmus," she
said gently. Bubble
undoubtedly knew
that any mention
of Erasmus's generosity
was a jest: was
there another lady
within forty miles
who was wearing
a dress made five
years ago and turned
twice?
Yet Bubble wasn't
a complete fool. "You
are absolutely correct,
my dear Lady
Mulcaster," he
gushed. "Naturally
Felton and I wish
you to have a generous
allowance, such
as Lord Mulcaster
would have established
for you."
"The town
house will need
a full staff," she
noted. Erasmus may
have insisted on
maintaining only
one maid, but she
remembered how a
house was supposed
to be run, and it
was supposed to
be clean. "And
I should like a
barouche to be driven
in, and a curricle
to drive myself.
I intend to drive
in the park." Avid
reading of the gossip
pages had convinced
Genevieve that Hyde
Park was one of
the Seven Wonders
of the World.
"As long as
I am allowed to
chose your horseflesh," Felton
said unexpectedly.
She swept him a
glance to find that
his eyes were gleaming
with something very
like a spark of
admiration. "That
would be most kind
of you, Mr. Felton," Genevieve
said. She reached
up and pulled her
veil over her face
again. The subject
was closed.
 
Back
to Top |
» 
» 
Four-and-a-half
stars!
