Dorothy Eden by Lady of Mallow Page B

Italian brocades and carpets from Turkey. I advise you to keep your mouth shut. You may think it wicked to see the Mallow fortune being disposed of like this—what’s left of it after my husband’s love affair with that house in Kensington—but my daughter-in-law doesn’t enjoy either advice or opposition. She wants to cut a dash. Her first opportunity, if you ask me. She can’t hold her own without expensive trappings. Strip her and you’d find a straw figure blowing in the wind. Where did she come from anyway? A shack that would collapse in a hurricane, I’ll be bound. Ask my son. He won’t tell me. He’s loyal to his wife. But there’s the new Lady Mallow for you. She can scarcely wait to get her hands on everything she can.’
    So Blane had his hands full already with two jealous women, one who may have been his mother, and the other who certainly was his wife.
    ‘What time is dinner, Lady Malvina?’
    The old lady’s eyes met Sarah’s suspiciously.
    ‘You think I talk too much. Perhaps I do, but I must talk to someone, and Bessie hasn’t a brain in her head.’
    ‘You have your son home now,’ Sarah pointed out. Again the suspicious glare was on her. Did it hold a hint of uneasiness?
    ‘My son is a busy man. He has all the estate affairs to manage. I waste as little of his time as possible. However, what am I complaining of?’ The irrepressible vitality was back in the pouchy old face. ‘I have my grandson now. We shall teach him everything, Miss Mildmay. Riding, shooting, fishing, hunting.’
    ‘And his letters, I hope.’
    ‘Ah, I like you, Miss Mildmay. You’re not afraid of me like those silly goggling maids. I hope you’ll stay here a long time.’
    ‘I shall stay as long as I need to, Lady Malvina.’
    ‘You mean until you get a husband. Well, you’re an attractive young woman. But who are you going to marry, my dear? Governesses fall between two stools, you know, the gentry and the working classes. But don’t despair. We may eventually be able to do something for you. I could persuade the vicar who’s an old friend of mine to get a young marriageable curate. And if it doesn’t work out, then I shall give you a present, at least. Not a gown, but a ring perhaps, or a brooch. But a husband would be the most welcome, eh?’
    It was impossible to dislike the old lady who had a streak of earthiness and vulgarity that certainly did not belong to these prim times. Sarah imagined her face when Ambrose came home, and things were as they should be. Would Lady Malvina ever forgive her? It would be sad if she did not.
    Nevertheless she dressed for her first dinner with the family with some nervousness. If Lady Malvina was feeling bored, or at odds with Amalie, she was likely to say anything she pleased. The results might be either entertaining or embarrassing.
    It was dark now, and lamps had been lit on the stairs, making yellow pools of light and leaving the high ceilings lost in darkness. The house was too far from a town to have had the new gas fittings installed. Now it smelt pleasantly of beeswax and candle-smoke. The heavy curtains, frayed at the edges, had been drawn across the long windows and the sound of the dying wind shut out.
    In the drawing-room a fire crackled on the hearth, its flames leaping up the cavernous chimney. Amalie was there already. She stood facing the fire, the light shining on her ice-blue gown. She was a slim graceful figure with her bent head and tiny waist. One would have imagined Blane to be very proud of her, and not seeking reasons to sleep in another room.
    But when she turned Sarah saw that the sulkiness was still in her face. Her dark eyes glittered.
    ‘Well, Miss Mildmay, is Titus settled?’
    ‘Very well, Lady Mallow. And he likes the new nursemaid.’
    ‘Splendid. Though what he likes or dislikes is not here or there according to my husband. He must not be spoilt. And he’s such a little boy still. I’ll go up to him presently. Ugh! What a draughty