Chapter Three

By the end of the first week of living with his nieces, Lord Allenbridge was closely approaching that mystical realm where one’s wits had evaporated, and insanity was staring one right in the face.

That was not to say that the twins were a nuisance, in fact, the reverse might well be said. They were unfailingly polite and well-behaved.

One of the few areas of disagreement had been over the cost of their shopping trips. Mrs. McBride had immediately reported to his Lordship that his nieces were selecting very few gowns and even fewer fripperies, and she had deduced from overheard comments that they were truly concerned about burdening their Uncle with the bill. So he had found it necessary to meet with both of them in his study and do something he had never done before—discuss monetary matters with two girls.

Of course he had not intended for that to happen, but their questions had been intelligent, and their blue eyes so full of concern and interest that before he knew it, he had disclosed a great deal of information about their current situation and the availability of funds to defray the costs of the Season.

He had even touched on their own financial dispositions and the various legacies that had been entrusted into his keeping for them. They would be the twins’ dowries upon their marriage. Pip shamelessly used this opportunity to warn both girls that they might be the targets of fortune-hunters, and had to stifle a grin when he received their best “oh really, Uncle, of course we know that—we’re not stupid” looks.

To his surprise, they had not immediately rushed back to the shops, but had continued to select their purchases carefully, although Mrs. McBride reported that they were being a little less cheeseparing.

“Never hurts to be aware of the value of things, my Lord.” A determined nod clearly indicated approval of her charges’ attitude. “There’s plenty of young ladies in town could do worse than take a lesson from our two.” She looked at the delightful tableau of Penelope and Grace rearranging flowers in the large vases on either side of the front door.

No. The girls were certainly no trouble.

It was just that they were driving him mad.

His carriage seemed to be always coming or going from the front steps. He found himself constantly at home for dinner, rather than at his club, and his secretary appeared quite preoccupied and not always on Allenbridge business.

The time Pip usually devoted to business affairs became less—there always arose some distraction that took him out of his study to see what was going on. Often it was something quite trivial, such as one of the twins had found an item of interest; or the other was playing the piano in the large salon. It needed tuning—must see to it.

Then at other times there would be questions about the house and sometimes about their parents. Both girls had an understandable fascination with the mother and father they remembered only vaguely and spent much time looking at the portraits of their family.

Then there were the visitors. Although not yet presented formally, it was impossible to keep their presence in town a secret. And the fact that Lord Allenbridge, hitherto an upright and sober pillar of society, not to mention a very eligible bachelor, had two quite lovely nieces living with him was a tidbit that blazed across the breakfast tables of the Ton faster than a forest fire through dry branches.

Almost every woman who had glimpsed His Lordship believed that now he would be looking for a wife, and surprising numbers of elegant gentlemen recalled reasons for visiting Bridgeford House.

However, few were able to claim a sighting of the lovely ladies. Runcorn was ever vigilant, and Lord Allenbridge himself was only too well-aware of the social implications of eligible young women being introduced to eligible young men. Thus, they all managed to avoid such irritating social confrontations as best they could.

Only one of his friends was permitted the honour of actually being presented to Penelope and Grace.

Sir Vivian Kerrick.

Pip had carefully reviewed his acquaintances and decided that Viv was the most unexceptional man he knew and would be an acceptable guest. A quiet and nondescript fellow, the two had met many years ago when Viv had developed a severe case of hero-worship.

Fortunately, Pip had contracted the measles at the same time, a horridly childish disease for a grown man and had, rather callously, shared his spots. So they had buried themselves down at Wensley Hall where the worship had not survived the rash.

However, a friendship was born that was felt to be mutually satisfactory. The two men found they had much in common, and it had lasted through the years and enriched the lives of both. Pip had many acquaintances, but few were privileged to call themselves his friend.

He’d watched with pleasure as Viv had matured somewhat, but retained his easygoing and cheerful manner—a welcome guest at all the Ton parties to which he was invariably invited in the vain hope that his eligible eye might rest fondly upon one of the Season’s unmarried misses.

Pip knew that this hope was cherished mostly by the mothers of those unmarried misses. The misses themselves acknowledged Viv to be a delightful gentleman and one’s premier choice of dancing partner, but none sighed for his gaze or languished away for a touch of his hand.

For Pip knew the sad truth of the matter—Viv was not romantic. He was of medium height, medium build and ordinary colouring, and the fact that his brown eyes held an amused sparkle usually escaped his partners. All too often they had observed his conservative attire and manner and written him off with phrases like “dear Sir Vivian...too kind...” while dashing away to swoon over the latest Byronic darling of Society. This quite pleased the man himself, apparently, since he commented to Pip that it was actually rather nice to enjoy a Season without the constant effort of avoiding the matchmakers.

Pip, who was himself a prime target of these industrious women, enviously agreed.

The twins, however, having matrimony far from their young minds in the thrill of exploring London, had taken Vivian to their collective breast, metaphorically speaking.

“He’s so sweet, Uncle.” said Grace. “He needs to add a bit of dash, that’s all.”

“He deserves the nicest girl, Uncle Pip,” added Penelope. “And the way he dances - well, I’m surprised he hasn’t been snabbled up already.”

The subject of their conversation stood next to the newly tuned piano, turning over music and chatting with Angus Redfearn, whose complexion betrayed their recent exertions. It was dancing-practice time, and Pip was ever-grateful to Vivian for suggesting the idea.

“For you know, my friend, these dancing-masters are all very well, but I’ll lay you odds these two have never actually danced with a real partner—and they should definitely get used to it before Almack’s.”

Pip had agreed and turned Angus over as another suitable partner. With the dancing master reduced to pianist and thumping out an energetic if inaccurate waltz, the two couples swished and swirled their way around the ballroom of Bridgeford House. Occasionally Pip would sit at the keys—a proficient pianist in his youth, he found the skill rapidly returning to his fingers and enjoyed playing country dances and other favourite pieces.

These interludes, while pleasant, only contributed to the upheaval that was taking place in Lord Allenbridge’s customarily ordered existence. So by the end of the week, it was a rather frazzled Pip who dragged Viv into his study and firmly shut the door.

“Viv—you’ve got to help me out here,” said his Lordship desperately.

“Anything, old chap. You’ve only to ask,” answered Vivian, settling himself comfortably into a leather chair. “Ahhh... nice.”He stretched his legs out in front of him with pleasure.

”It’s these girls....”

”Lovely things, aren’t they?”

”Yes, indeed they are. And that’s the problem.”

”Sorry, old toad...don’t follow?” A puzzled look creased his normally serene brow.

”They are lovely and I’m going to have to present them, and do all the Ton things, and I really can’t do it all by myself. I’m a mere mortal, and a male at that.”

Vivian grinned at his friend’s desperate tone. “Good Lord, Pip, you’ve performed financial miracles that would make Coutt’s Bank jealous. You’ve restored the family fortune, renovated and renewed Wensley Hall to all its former glory, initiated the latest in crop and farming programs to the everlasting gratitude of your tenants—I didn’t think there was anything you couldn’t do.”

“Seriously, Vivian...” begged his Lordship. “If I’m to meet my obligations to my nieces, they’ll need to be fired off properly. You know the sort of thing. There’ll have to be a Ball, here I suppose, and teas and getting them vouchers for Almack’s...”

A muffled snort from Vivian interrupted him. “That shouldn’t be any problem, given Sally Jersey’s feelings about you.”

Lord Allenbridge looked self-conscious, having spent several seasons managing to avoid that Lady’s attempts to lure him into her bed.

”Be that as it may...” he frowned at Viv. “You see my problem. I need some respectable female to take this over before I end up in Bedlam.”

“‘Tis quite simple, Pip, all you need to do is get yourself married in a few days’ time and there you are. Voila. Instant chaperone.”

This suggestion was received with an epithet more usually heard in the stables.

“Well, have you explored all the branches in the family tree?” asked Vivian logically.

”Every one of ‘em, even a few broken twigs,” said Pip gloomily. He gestured to the tome that lay open on the desk before him.

“Let’s see Debrett then.” Viv reluctantly raised himself from the depths of the leather chair.

“Right here and already done.” Pip hitched himself onto the corner of his own desk and watched his friend read the Allenbridge entries.

“Well—here you are. For a start you’re limiting your options,” said Vivian.

Pip’s eyebrows rose. “How so?”

”You’ve been poring over the Allenbridge family, haven’t you?”

“I am an Allenbridge, Vivian,” pointed out Pip dryly. “It seemed sensible.”

“Yes, that’s all well and good, but the twins aren’t Allenbridges, are they? They’re Allenbridge-Sullivans. And therefore we can turn to the ‘S’s.”Triumphantly, Viv seated himself in the large chair behind the desk, riffling the many pages of Debrett until he arrived at his goal.

An hour later, both gentlemen sat across from each other in a mood of sober abstraction.

“Well, my friend, it seems that you have two choices. The Dowager Pentwistle or the Widow Falworth. Take your pick,” said Viv with a grimace.

“I know neither of them...” began Pip, running his hands through his hair and assembling his thoughts. “The Dowager certainly has the lineage, but from all we can see, she appears to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of seventy and apparently,” he reached over the desk and thumbed to an entry in Debrett, “here I am quoting, ‘...makes her home presently in Cornwall where she enjoys the companionship of her animal friends.’”

“One has to wonder about those ‘animal friends’, doesn’t one?” asked Viv with a grin. “Two legs or four?”

Lord Allenbridge ignored his friend’s levity. “Cornwall is not the wilds of Africa, you know, and she’s probably got a score of cats or something, but it’s far enough away to pose a problem. Her association with the Ton has most likely lapsed so her ability to guide the girls would be limited, her knowledge of fashions and trends would be out of date—no, I don’t think it will do.” Pip shook his head, dismissing the Dowager from consideration.

“Then it’ll have to be Lady Falworth?” asked Vivian.

“Yes, I suppose there’s no other alternative, but Lord, I hate to think of anyone associated with that line of ne’er-do-wells coming into this house. I remember some really disgusting stories about Lord Falworth.” His mouth turned sour.

“Look at the bright side, Pip,” said his friend reasonably. “She is only a Falworth by marriage and a widow to boot. From what it says here, and I must confess I can’t recall this particular woman at all, she was a Duxcomb before her marriage, and that’s quite unexceptional.”

“Yes—true—but you must remember Charles Falworth. A nasty piece of work he was.”

”No argument there. I wasn’t close to any of his circle, thank God, I was too young, but I do recall his name coming into the conversation in association with any number of unpleasant doings. “ Vivian gazed darkly at the desk.

“Well, suppose we give this woman the benefit of the doubt? The last entry for her lists an address in...let me see...good God, Bayswater? I didn’t think anybody actually lived in Bayswater.”

“Don’t be a snob, Lord Allenbridge,” teased Viv. “There’s a whole world out there in the faubourgs of London,”

”I daresay there is, but I’m not sure I want Grace and Penelope venturing out into it,” snorted Pip.

“Look here, if I’m interpreting the lineage correctly, the Widow Falworth’s relationship to the girls is practically that of a cousin. So it would be quite acceptable for her to reside here for the Season rather than tramp back and forth wearing a path to Bayswater.”

“I suppose so,” replied Pip. “It would certainly make life easier around here.” He stood up and stretched his shoulders. “So be it, Vivian. I shall invite the Widow for tea and if she proves acceptable, then she may move here and take over the twins’ debut.”

“Always assuming she accepts, dear chap.”

“Accepts? Of course she’ll accept. What female in her right mind wouldn’t trade Bayswater for Bridgeford House?”

“I do beg your pardon, Lord Allenbridge,” supplicated Vivian with a deep bow. “Stupid of me to even consider the possibility...”

“Oh all right,” grinned Pip, “I’m off my high horse—but the idea of having some female help with the girls went to my head for a minute.”

“Speaking of the twins, I believe I am promised to take them to the Tower this afternoon. Heads on pikes, executions, all that sort of thing. Care to accompany us?” politely inquired Vivian.

“Good God, no, I thank you. If you’re leaving the house, I shall do my best to catch up on all this...” Pip gestured at a large pile of correspondence obviously awaiting his attention. “Especially as I expect you’ll be taking Angus away from me again?”

“Well, you know it’s much easier with four, and Angus is really a rather clever chap.”

“It’s all right. He deserves a change. I can manage all this quite well by myself, and I might even be able to get a note off to the widow. Let’s say we invite her on Monday afternoon?”

“Whatever you say, my friend. I’m sure you and the twins will make the right decision.” Viv’s words gave the clear impression that he, Vivian, would not be available to partake of this particular tea.

As the door closed behind his friend, Lord Allenbridge sat down at his massive desk and reached for his personal notepaper. There was no alternative, he knew, they simply had to have some respectable woman to oversee the twins’ entrance into Society. But he paused before touching pen to paper.

If he had married, none of this would be necessary. But he had to be honest with himself and admit he’d never found the one woman to whom he might have considered offering his hand or, indeed, the rest of him. He’d come awfully close once, but that had turned into a disaster, and Pip folded his lips into a thin line as he pondered the possibility that his narrow escape had soured him on women in general and marriage in particular.

He knew, deep down inside, that at some point he would have to wed and get an heir to insure the Allenbridge line—that was just the way things were done. Oh well, he had plenty of time before he needed to concern himself over future generations of Allenbridges, and his need for a chaperone for Grace and Penelope was immediate. Dipping his pen into the inkwell, he began,

“Dear Lady Falworth,

Although I cannot claim the pleasure of your personal Acquaintance, I beg

Permission to solicit your Attention on behalf of my Nieces...”