Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [2]
Brave girl, thought the captain. That’s her social life ruined. He put the paper down again and forgot about her.
But Lady Rose was possessed of exceptional beauty and a large dowry, so a month later her parents felt confident that her support for the suffragettes would not be much of a barrier to marriage. After all, the very idea of women getting the vote was a joke, and so they had told her, in no uncertain terms. They had moved to their town house in Eaton Square and lectured their daughter daily on where her duty lay. A season was a vast expense and England expected every girl to do her duty and capture a husband during it.
Normally, the independently-minded Lady Rose would have balked at this. She had been refusing a season, saying it was nothing more than a cattle market, when, to the delight of her parents, she suddenly caved in.
The reason for this was because Lady Rose had met Sir Geoffrey Blandon at a pre-season party and had fallen in love— first love, passionate all-consuming love.
He appeared to return her affections. He was rich and extremely handsome. Lady Rose was over-educated for her class, and her obvious contempt for her peers had given her the nickname The Ice Queen. But to her parents’ relief, Sir Geoffrey appeared to be enchanted by their clever daughter. Certainly Rose, with her thick brown hair, perfect figure, delicate complexion and large blue eyes, had enough attributes to make anyone fall for her.
But the fact was that her support for the suffragettes had indeed damaged her socially, and it seemed as if Sir Geoffrey had the field to himself. Resentment against Rose was growing in the gentlemen’s clubs and over the port at dinner parties after the ladies had retired. Suffragettes were simply men-haters. They needed to be taught a lesson. “What that gal needs,” Freddy Pomfret was heard to remark, “is some rumpy-pumpy.”
As the season got underway and social event followed social event, the earl began to become extremely anxious. He felt that by now Sir Geoffrey should have declared his intentions.
One day at his club, he met an old friend, Brigadier Bill Handy, and over a decanter of port after a satisfying lunch, the earl said, “I’d give anything to know if Geoffrey means to pop the question.”
The brigadier studied him for a long moment and then said, “I think you should be careful there. Blandon’s always been a bit of a rake and a gambler. Tell you what. Do you know Captain Cathcart?”
“Vaguely. Only heard of him. Sinister sort of chap who never opens his mouth?”
“That’s the one. Now he did some undercover work behind the lines in the war. You mustn’t mention this.”
“I’m a clam.”
“All right. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you my card and scribble something on the back of it. I’ll give you his address. Pop round there and ask him to check up on Blandon. It’s worth it. Rose is your only daughter. They say she talks like an encyclopaedia. Wouldn’t have thought that would fascinate Blandon. How did you come to make such a mistake?”
“Not my fault,” said the earl huffily. “My wife got her this governess and left the instruction to her.”
“I hear that Lady Rose is a member of the Shrieking Sisterhood,” remarked the brigadier, using the nickname for the suffragettes.
“Not any more, she ain’t,” said the earl. “Mind you, I think the only reason she lost interest was because of Blandon.”
“Well, maybe there is something to be said for love, though I don’t hold with it. A girl should marry background and money.
They last, love don’t. Here’s my card.” He wrote an address down and handed it over.
The earl put his monocle in his eye and studied it. “I say, old man. Chelsea? No place for a gentleman.