Putting on Airs Read online

  Putting on Airs by Ivy Brooke

  Copyright © 2013 Regency Pen Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  While sitting at supper with her family, Imogene Cartwright made note of the peculiar silence, and prayed for it to last. She was not normally opposed to conversation with her family, but she dreaded to think what her mother might say. Mrs. Cartwright had always been mindful of preparing her son and two daughters for the day that their betrothals would be met with marriage, trying to shape them into the spouses they would become, with—at times indiscreet—hints and reminders of their behavior. All three children had been betrothed since their infancy, and they were never allowed to forget it. However casual Mrs. Cartwright was in the past of such reminders, she had of late been more insistent and more frequent in bringing them to light, giving Imogene cause for worry and fear. She cared nothing for her betrothed—her cousin, Mr. Rupert Campbell—and was wary that the day of reckoning might soon be upon her.

  Her wariness in fact brought her to break the welcomed silence to make her feelings known. At one-and-twenty years, the time of engagement felt dangerously close, and she finally felt old enough to express herself. "Mother..." In her nervousness, her voice was quiet. "I do not know that I wish to be betrothed to Mr. Campbell anymore."

  Mrs. Cartwright dropped her fork. "What are you saying? You must marry Mr. Campbell; you cannot slight your own cousin after being over twenty years betrothed to him."

  "But we do not get on at all. Last year when he visited, we could barely speak two full sentences to one another."

  "Conversation is worthless in a marriage—it only leads to arguments."

  Mr. Cartwright remained silent and continued eating, as if he were not listening. He was an intelligent, educated man of a respected rank, and of such confidence in that he often rebutted his wife's remarks purely for the intellectual entertainment. But after being so many years married to her, he had learned that no matter how he cornered her, it all came to nothing. Nowadays, he spoke hardly a word whenever Mrs. Cartwright was in the room.

  "He is too old," Imogene continued to protest.

  "Too old? He is only six and thirty, no more than fifteen years your senior."

  "It will not do for me. How can we relate when we are from quite different generations?"

  "Imogene, when you were first born, and I saw that red hair on your head, I foresaw no hope of you ever marrying. But here is a man—your cousin, no less—a fine young man who has agreed to marry you. If you refuse him, you are not likely to find another." Mrs. Cartwright, from the first day of her marriage to Mr. Cartwright, had been concerned of the rules of entailment, declaring only a male relative could inherit the property. Not wanting her lifestyle and home entailed from her upon her husband's death, she naturally depended upon having a son, and got her wish after first bearing Imogene, then Emmeline. However, just the same, she made it her arduous task to see that her daughters would marry so as not to live on in her home, and an early betrothal for each set her mind to rest.

  "I believe her chances are good as any," Mr. Cartwright spoke up. "She has more to recommend her than her hair—it would not make any difference if it were blonde, it would still grey with age. It is her lasting qualities that will matter."

  Ignoring her husband as if he had never spoken, she continued, "It is a good thing I have arranged for Mr. Campbell to come visit us."

  "Visit?" Imogene worried aloud.

  "As well as Mr. Butler for Emmeline and Ms. Archer for Anthony."

  Emmeline listened on in silence. She was still shy and gentle at the age of twenty, and had no desire to take sides with any member of the family, if it meant siding against another. Anthony typically had little to do with any conversation that did not concern himself, as at the age of nineteen, he believed himself to be the center of importance.

  "I forgot to tell you, mother," Anthony suddenly spoke up. "I had a letter from Clarice explaining to me that she will not be able to make the visit."

  "She must come! I have not seen dear Ms. Archer for so long. I will write her at once and persuade her..."

  "That will not do. She has taken ill."

  "Then she can visit as soon as she is well."

  "Will Jane be visiting?" Imogene asked.

  "Jane? What for?"

  "She is my friend, and Mr. Butler's sister."

  "No, she will only get in the way. You are only to attend to Mr. Campbell and no one else. Did you not hear? His uncle just recently passed on and left him everything, including seven thousand pounds a year."

  Anthony, upon hearing about their cousin's sudden wealth, went on to complain that his betrothed did not have as much. His mother consoled him with the possibility of Ms. Archer's brother dying and leaving her all his money. Imogene gave up on the conversation entirely and concentrated instead on her supper plate. At any length, she knew the law of betrothal stated that only mutual agreement could breach the proposal, and that argument on the subject was foolish.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That night, just before bed, Emmeline joined Imogene in her room to express that she also had doubts in marriage. Imogene was little surprised at her declaration—her younger sister had always procured her opinions from others. At first, she always went to her mother to assist in her in decisions, but for many years now, she attached herself to Imogene and acted by her example. Imogene only sighed at her sister's latest idea and took her hand.

  "Why do you suddenly feel this way?"

  "Well...you mentioned your doubts, and I started thinking..."

  "Emmeline, you must stop copying my opinions as your own. You are twenty now—you need to form your own opinions."

  "But why should I marry Mr. Butler—because I am forced to?"

  "Because you love him, perhaps."

  Emmeline's face colored, and as her face felt suddenly hot, she glanced away from her sister's eyes. "I hardly know if I do."

  "Emmeline..."

  "It has been so long. I mean, I have seen him so often that he rather appeals to me as a brother."

  "He is modest, handsome, selfless, and amiable—therefore, he is no brother if Anthony defines the term. I see you both every time you are together; you want to marry, and so does he."

  "Do you really believe it?"

  "Yes. Now go to bed."

  They kissed and took to their beds for the night, Emmeline feeling more secure in her sister's encouragement.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next morning, at the break of dawn, a servant entered Imogene's room to wake her. Imogene rose only to dismiss the servant, insisting it was too early to rise. Then her mother entered to scold her awake. Mr. Campbell was to arrive that day, and Mrs. Cartwright wanted the servant to devote as many hours as possible to making Imogene look presentable. Knowing that her mother could not be pacified, Imogene allowed the servant to do as instructed by her mistress.

  Just after breakfast, her cousin arrived at the house. He was quite changed since Imogene saw him the year before—his hair was well-kempt in handsome gold ringlets reaching just near his green eyes, as opposed to the slicked-back look he used to wear; and he was smartly dressed in a fine green coat. Upon entering the house and seeing his cousins, he smiled charmingly and bowed much less shakily than he used to. Imoge
ne amused herself with the thought that his newly-attained wealth had afforded him new manners, and dared to hope that his visit would not be as tedious as anticipated.

  After they all made themselves comfortable in the parlor (with the exception of Anthony who instead desired to play a solitary game of billiards), Mr. Cartwright began the conversation by asking Mr. Campbell if his journey was pleasant, at which he responded that it was tolerably so. Mrs. Cartwright wanted to forgo the tedious foreplay.

  "Congratulations on your newly-gained wealth, sir. It suits you well."

  "Thank you, ma'am. I cannot believe I was ever without it."

  "What do you think of it, Imogene?"

  "I think it well," she began, "but I am certain your late uncle will be dearly missed."

  "Beg your pardon?" Mr. Campbell asked. "Oh, my uncle; yes. To own the truth, I hardly knew him." Then he changed the subject altogether. "You are looking rather well today, Imogene. Come take the horses across the grounds with me."

  Before Imogene could be persuaded to answer, the servant announced the arrival of Mr. and Ms. Butler, who immediately after entered. Mr. Butler was a fine man, though shy by nature. Even though being well-acquainted with the family of the house, he still would not speak unless spoken to, nor make himself welcome without invitation. His sister Jane, on the other hand, felt perfectly comfortable in the Cartwright house, and instantly moved forward to meet her friend Imogene, whose great relief in seeing her made her forget about Mr. Campbell for the moment.

  "Mr. Butler, how delightful to see you!" Mrs. Cartwright greeted. "And Ms. Butler as well; what a surprise."

  "Forgive me," Mr. Butler apologized swiftly, "but my sister expressed a wish in visiting Miss Cartwright."

  "I shall not stay long," Jane assured.

  "Not at all," Mrs. Cartwright replied composedly. "Of course you are welcome at anytime, Ms. Butler. Will you not sit down, Mr. Butler?"

  "How was your journey?" Mr. Cartwright asked, having the topic well at hand.

  "Quite pleasant, thank you, sir."

  Sensing that they were of no use to the conversation anymore, Mrs. Cartwright decided the time was right to leave her daughters and their suitors on their own, so she quit the room immediately, requesting her husband to follow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Imogene immediately sat down with her friend to talk, denying any memory of her cousin being present.

  "It has been so long, Jane, since we have talked."

  "Yes, but I write every week."

  "But you coming to see me today is an invaluable relief." Her eyes widened to signal her friend, who then looked over and saw Mr. Campbell sitting across the room.

  "Oh! He is very handsome! Who is he?"

  "Mr. Campbell."

  Jane's voice hushed. "Your cousin? But he seems a fine gentleman."

  "Perhaps from afar, but then he speaks."

  "What did he say?"

  "Well, he only seems able to speak of the new wealth his late uncle left him."

  "Did he not mention his poor uncle at all?"

  "When I brought up the subject, he said only that he did not know his uncle well."

  "Then, Imogene, how can he speak of someone he did not know?"

  Imogene shook her head. "I just cannot get at him at all. My cousin Katherine—his sister—has told me that when he was younger, he was obnoxious and impossible. Yet by our first meeting, when he was near eight-and-twenty, he became no more interesting than an earthworm. And now, with his deceased uncle's fortune, he has become—"

  "Imogene." Mr. Campbell was now standing at her shoulder. His look to her was almost one of scolding. "Will you not introduce me to your friend?"

  Upon being reminded of her manners by her cousin, something she took in offence, she replied in a superfluous air, "This is my friend Ms. Butler. Jane, this is my cousin Mr. Campbell."

  "I am her betrothed," he added. Imogene winced at the thought of him introducing himself in the same words to everyone he met. "Come, Imogene. I shall call a servant to prepare the horses."

  "But Jane—"

  "I think my carriage is growing impatient for me, Imogene." Jane rose to embrace and kiss her friend, promising to write, and left with a curtsey.

  ------

  The horseback ride across the grounds was much of Mr. Campbell explaining high society to Imogene, who merely nodded and looked away, trying to not let it spoil the fine weather. The lecture ended with the comment that she ought to behave as his society did if she were to be his wife. Imogene resisted declaring that he ought to behave like a gentleman if he ever expected to be her husband.

  The following morning brought another unwelcome surprise when Imogene awoke to find a stranger in her room—an older woman elegantly yet modestly dressed who was looking through Imogene's wardrobe.

  "Good morning, Ms. Cartwright."

  "I do not recall ever being introduced," Imogene replied harshly, staring in shock.

  "My name is Mrs. Agnes Barton. Mr. Campbell gave me strict instructions—"

  "Mr. Campbell sent you?"

  Mrs. Barton turned to face Imogene and scold, "Do not interrupt people while they are speaking to you."

  Imogene opened her mouth to say how one should not enter another's bedroom without invitation, but thought the better of it and kept silent to hear Mrs. Barton's explanation.

  "I will be your governess from now on, so that I might teach you how to behave in accordance with the status you will gain when you marry Mr. Campbell." Imogene sat in silent surprise, unable to think of what to say. "Your gowns are not bad, but there are a few that are quite out of date. We will go into town today and buy new ones. And this..." She pulled out a ruby red ball gown.

  "That is my favorite dress," Imogene commented, worried that something might happen to it.

  "It is not at all a suitable color for you, Ms. Cartwright. Ladies who have red hair should not wear red clothing. It will have to go." Hearing noises from the open window, Mrs. Barton looked out to investigate. She saw a tall, dark-haired man and a much younger blonde-haired girl climb out of a parked carriage. "You have visitors. You must go down and greet them. Come out of bed and get dressed."

  Mrs. Barton had picked out a silvery blue dress for Imogene to wear. And as Mrs. Barton dressed her hair, Imogene tried to think who could be visiting after Mr. Butler and Mr. Campbell were already arrived.

  Imogene was the last of the household to arrive in the drawing room to greet the guests. The girl she immediately recognized as Ms. Archer, her brother's betrothed. But as for the gentleman with her, he was familiar, but she was not well enough acquainted with him to quite remember him—she supposed him to be Mr. Archer, who appeared rather displeased.

  "This is quite a pleasant surprise, Mr. Archer," Mrs. Cartwright told him. "I did not expect you to come along, but here you are. And dear Ms. Archer, I have quite missed you since you have been away. And you look like you are doing quite well." Then, she finally noticed her eldest daughter come into the room. "There you are, Imogene. Mr. Archer, I do not recall if you have ever met my eldest daughter. She is betrothed to Mr. Campbell." Imogene's eyes wandered over to her cousin sitting at the table. He beckoned her to sit with him, and she reluctantly did so. "What was it that you caught, poor dear?" Mrs. Cartwright turned back to Ms. Archer. "I do hope it was not that horrid flu that has been going around."

  "Clarice was never ill," Mr. Archer intervened.

  Not at all believing his words, she gestured to her beloved son and explained that he told her so. Mr. Archer again denied Clarice's being ill. Mrs. Cartwright at last became suspicious. She looked to her son who was leaning against the wall, his back to the room.

  "Anthony, my darling, what is this about?"

  "Ms. Archer was never ill," he admitted scornfully.

  "Then why did you tell me she was?"

  Anthony remained silent at this question. Mr. Archer offered to explain, but Anthony rounded on him and declared in a sudden outburst that he
would say it himself. "I told you she was ill," he began to his mother, "because I did not want her to visit." All was still and silent in the room as he prepared the rest of his confession, every eye and ear waiting on him. "I broke off the betrothal."

  And as he announced it, he seemed also to break his mother's heart. "How could you say such a thing to me, Anthony?"

  Anthony viciously turned on Mr. Archer again and demanded, "Tell her why I want to break it off."

  "Very well," Mr. Archer replied composedly. "Your son discovered the connections of my ward and decided it was not enough to suit his fancy." Clarice's eyes grew teary, so Mr. Archer put a comforting arm around her.

  Everyone sat in shock, but Mrs. Cartwright was the first to declare it, "Your ward? I thought she was your sister."

  "Clarice was found in our stables sixteen years ago when she was just an infant," Mr. Archer explained. "My father took her in as a ward, and after his death, I accepted her as my ward."

  "My son...betrothed to a foundling?" Mrs. Cartwright spat venomously.

  "That is quite enough, madam," Mr. Archer warned. He continued civilly, "Now you can see why I have come. My barrister will study the betrothal contract—"

  "Your barrister? No, our barrister must handle it, lest you take everything from us."

  "Believe me, madam, when I say in strictest assurance that we would not want anything of yours," Mr. Archer resolved with a dark look to Anthony. "However, if you wish your barrister to be involved, I cannot refuse. Send him to the office in town tomorrow afternoon." With that, he bowed to the room and left with Clarice.

  "Well!" Mrs. Cartwright huffed. "What a horrible young man!"

  "He was only defending his ward, my dear," Mr. Cartwright observed.