#fanny marling

[lothiriel84]

Ever a Soft Corner for a Rake

To say that Lady Fanny Marling had not been best pleased to learn about her nephew’s hasty marriage at one and the same time as her daughter’s impending nuptials to the veriest nobody she had packed her off to France to forget was nothing short of an understatement.

A Devil’s Cub ficlet. Background Vidal/Mary and Comyn/Juliana. Part of my The Green Fields of England series.

To say that Lady Fanny Marling had not been best pleased to learn about her nephew’s hasty marriage at one and the same time as her daughter’s impending nuptials to the veriest nobody she had packed her off to France to forget was nothing short of an understatement. No sooner had she finished reading Justin’s extraordinary missive that she succumbed to a fit of the vapours so strong as to very nearly induce her son to summon the family physician.  

“I daresay that horrid creature meant to have Vidal all along, and I wish her joy of him, for he will certainly prove to be a devil of a husband,” she declared in outraged accents as she consented at last to recline on a settee with the hartshorn in her hand and a glass of ratafia in readiness at her elbow. “But for Juliana to marry a plain mister when she could have had her pick of titled gentlemen – I swear it is too provoking.” 

“I believe Mr Comyn is heir to a baronetcy,” Mr John Marling pointed out for exactitude’s sake, though he was not by any means enamoured with his prospective brother-in-law. 

“And what does that signify, pray? Vidal is to be a duke one day – though I daresay his morals would shock any decent girl, but what can one expect from a family like that? I should have thought Justin might have seen to extricating his precious cub from the clutches of an unprincipled harpy, though the boy deserves no lesser a punishment if you ask me – but that he has the audacity to felicitate me on the acquisition of so worthy a son-in-law when he knows full well I cherished rather different plans for Juliana’s future, it is quite enough to drive me to distraction.” 

“You will never permit me to speak a word against Uncle Justin, mother, but you must admit that he is disagreeable that way,” Mr Marling observed with some asperity, which only prompted Fanny to reach for the ratafia the better to steady her nerves.  

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Several months as well as an extended visit to Sir Malcolm Comyn’s Gloucestershire estate proved at last to be successful in curing Lady Fanny of the better part of her distaste for her daughter’s mésalliance. Despite the misfortunate circumstance of his birth, Mr Frederick Comyn was as well-mannered a gentleman as one could wish for, and Juliana was so radiantly happy as to remind Fanny of the early days of her marriage to her darling Edward.  

As for her nephew, she understood him to be touring the sights of Italy with his bride, and was determined not to think of him unless absolutely necessary. Her admirable resolve was however tested by her sister-in-law increasingly frequent calls; Léonie was always so full of praise for the – as yet unseen – Marchioness of Vidal’s admirable sense and how famously she and cher Dominique dealt together, as to make Fanny quite weary of the subject. Not that she credited above one word of this whole nonsense about Vidal being madly in love with the chit, and she of him in return; Lady Fanny was quite certain Vidal had never cared for anything or anyone in this world except his mother, and having had the dubious pleasure of meeting the new Marchioness’s scheming mamma, she was positive no thought of love had entered the girl’s head. 

When the invitation came for her grace’s supper party in honour of my Lord and Lady Vidal’s return to England, Fanny was sorely tempted to decline it; in the end, it was her curiosity to see for herself if there was any truth to the rumours surrounding her nephew’s marriage which prompted her to accept – though she could not induce her son to accompany her also, on account of his disapproval for his cousin’s outrageous behaviour and departed morals.  

Her first impression upon being introduced to her ladyship was that she could not at all imagine how Vidal had been persuaded into marriage on so little inducement; the girl had a fine figure, it was true, but was scarcely beyond the common – unlike the sister, whom Fanny had heard described as a great beauty, though her character was quite a different matter. The Marchioness curtsied very properly to her new relation, enquiring politely about her health; her quiet, well-bred manners did leave a favourable impression with Lady Fanny, but still did nothing to explain why Justin had chosen to countenance the match rather than quietly arrange for the girl to be married off to someone more befitting her station. 

As for Vidal, he did appear to be the same as ever; he greeted his aunt with the same air of arrogant insolence she knew of old, bowing over her hand with exaggerated formality, and promptly took himself and his wife to the refreshment table at the other end of the room. A moment later, his grace of Avon had sidled up to the couple, and possessing himself of his daughter-in-law’s hand raised it to his lips with so noticeable a hint of a smile in eyes as to very nearly astonish the watching Fanny. 

“She is the dearest creature, isn’t she?” sighed Léonie at her side. “Monseigneur is quite fond of her, too – which makes me very happy, enfin.” 

Lady Fanny was on the verge of reminding her sister of the former Miss Challoner’s unfortunate connections, but caught herself just in time. She supposed that being Sir Giles Challoner’s granddaughter must be a point in her favour, and that it would never do to bring more scandal upon the family by opposing an alliance her brother had permitted in the first place.  

As the evening progressed, however, Fanny grew interested almost against her will in the dealings between Vidal and his marchioness. Several times over they had been accosted by some distant acquaintance, clearly eager for some scandalous detail to feed the town’s gossip; but although her nephew had shown clear signs of his lamentable temper being roused, one word or look from his wife was often enough to placate him into the desired level of civility. When Rupert had insisted on drinking to his nephew and niece, Vidal had raised his glass to ‘Dijon’ – which did not baffle Fanny near as much as the laughter dancing in his eyes, and the unwonted tenderness with which he caught hold of his wife’s hand and pressed it to his lips.  

“You promised you would behave, my lord,” Fanny caught the whispered murmur across the table, and saw the accompanying gleam in Mary’s eye. 

“Why, I have been as dour as your friend Comyn, I believe,” the Marquis of Vidal replied with as haughty a raise of his eyebrow as Avon himself could have contrived, though the heated look in his eyes told a different story altogether. 

Lady Fanny suddenly discovered herself quite unequal to bearing witness as her nephew made secret love to his wife under the very nose of his mother’s illustrious guests, and found no better recourse than to turn her attention to the exceedingly dull conversation carried on by the faded lady at her side.  

Wonders shall never cease, she pondered as her gaze unwittingly landed upon her sister-in-law leaning over to whisper something – truly outrageous, by the faintly amused look on Justin’s face – to her doting husband. Well, perhaps not so inconceivable, after all, she amended, and touched the glass to her lips. 

[lothiriel84]

In Want of a Wife

Mr John Marling received the news of Miss Sophia Challoner’s shamefully hasty marriage to the Vicomte de Valmé with remarkable equanimity.

A Devil’s Cub ficlet. One-sided John Marling/Sophia Challoner. Part of my The Wild Boys series.

Mr John Marling received the news of Miss Sophia Challoner’s shamefully hasty marriage to the Vicomte de Valmé with remarkable equanimity; he made a point of informing his outraged parent that he counted himself fortunate for escaping a disastrous alliance with so unprincipled a female, even went so far as to express his belief that any scandal attached to the Saint-Vires need not concern those bearing the Marling name. Then he betook himself to the modest lodgings where he had lately installed the woman he had been visiting for the past few years – a most discreet creature, and always so accommodating – and was not seen again until late in the afternoon on the following day.  

Upon his return, he had the misfortunate to walk straight into what had all the appearance of an impromptu family gathering; even on a good day, John could scarcely support his impossible brother-in-law, and as for Aunt Léonie, she had already made her opinion abundantly clear on his nephew’s lack of charms for the fairer sex. Only Juliana greeted him in her usual manner, and he had no compunction in shunning his aunt in favour of his sister; he had the uncomfortable suspicion that Mr Comyn had a very good notion of whence he came from and the exact reason which had driven him to seek his mistress with far less than his customary discretion, and detested him all the more for it.  

“Eh bien, I think this will be a very good lesson for my cousin Bertrand,” Aunt Léonie was saying – quite unfeelingly, his nephew thought, though he was mindful of the necessity to present a carefully blank expression for the benefit of his mother. In his blind infatuation for the fair Sophia he had been all too willing to overlook her past indiscretions – as well as Vidal’s affrontery in attempting to persuade a female of her standing into becoming his light o’ love – but he could scarcely forget the way she had spurned his honourable proposals as beneath her consideration merely because of his want of a title, and seeing her wed to the heir of a countship was too sore a blow for his pride. 

Curse Vidal and his damnable luck, John thought quite uncharitably; his degenerate cousin had behaved in the most outrageous manner since he was barely out of his long coats, yet had still ended up wed to a young lady of unimpeachable character – and entirely devoted to him, by the look of it. The worst of it was, Mr Marling would never have permitted his fancy to dwell upon a female of Miss Sophia’s estate, had it not been for Dominic’s marriage to her sister; and while he congratulated himself on being spared the indignity of bearing as tainted a name as that of Alastair, he could not but resent his mother’s side of the family for continuing to bring nothing but shame and misery upon his unwilling head. 

Mamma could complain all she cared about Mr Comyn’s estate and her disappointed hopes to see Juliana as the future Duchess of Avon; but as much as John disapproved his sister’s choice of a husband, at least he need not live in fear that Frederick Comyn might cause any breath of scandal to be attached to the Marling name. Why, one could almost infer from the young man’s discourse that any such arrangement as was widely understood for a gentleman was distasteful to him, and that he had come to the marriage bed very nearly as untouched as his bride – something Mr Marling could scarcely credit, but for Mr Comyn’s exasperating punctiliousness in every other aspect of his character. 

No sooner had all the undesirable guest been persuaded to take their leave that John collapsed into an armchair by the fire, and took possession of the bottle of claret thus left unattended. He felt his mother’s eyes upon him and instinctively straightened himself, cursing his past lack of forethought in removing his recently purchased book on the Phlogistic Theory to his apartments rather than leaving it here at his disposal. 

“Poor dear Léonie,” Lady Fanny sighed at length, and reached for the hartshorn. “I am so very fond of her, but indeed, she cannot be brought to see how bad this sort of scandal is for us all.” 

“I daresay she knows, and does not care one whit,” John shrugged irritably. “Faith, between her running off to France with Uncle Rupert, and Hugh Davenant forever kicking his heels upon their doorstep, it’s a wonder she’s so well received everywhere she goes.” 

Lady Fanny pushed the hartshorn away, a prodigious frown creasing her brow. “Whatever can you mean about our dear friend Hugh, John?” she demanded rather dangerously, causing her son to berate himself for his slip of the tongue. “Surely you cannot be suggesting that dear Léonie – this is too provoking, and I shan’t hear another word of it.” 

Mr Marling regarded his mother in puzzled silence for a long moment. “Mamma, surely you cannot be entirely ignorant – of course I did not mean Aunt Léonie, Davenant would no more think of it than Uncle Rupert ever would – as you must be well aware.” 

“I most certainly do not,” his mother retorted with unusual fervour. “And neither do you, let me tell you.” 

John blinked, his bitter disappointment over the former Miss Challoner’s latest escapade momentarily forgotten along with his bruised pride. “Uncle Justin’s reputation is hardly a secret, mamma,” he made to protest, only to subside under Lady Fanny’s imperious glare. 

“How dare you – dear Justin has been a perfect paragon since he married my poor Léonie, and if you think you have the right to meddle in his concerns, John Marling, you are quite mistaken.” 

Their eyes met, and held for one interminable moment. In the end, it was John who first averted his gaze. “I beg your pardon, Mamma. I own I am rather tired, that must be the reason why I misspoke just now.” 

His mother’s countenance softened almost at once. “That wretched girl was never worthy of you, my dear. You are destined for someone far better, I am sure of it.” 

Since Mr Marling’s filial piety prevented him from remonstrating with such a statement which he happened to find rather offensive to his sense of dignity, he elected to ignore it altogether. “If you excuse me – I have been meaning to get on with my book, which I believe I was so careless as to forget upstairs.” 

“I will see you at dinner,” Lady Fanny smiled encouragingly, even as her son took as hasty a retreat as was decorous for a gentleman of his standing.  

Curse Sophia Challoner’s impudence and all the hateful tricks common to her sex, Mr John Marling thought to himself – there was nothing for it now but to seriously turn his mind to the issue of procuring himself a suitable bride. Once he was safely wed there would be no cause for the world to remember the slight he had received at the hands of so unworthy a female, nor to pity him for his disappointed hopes concerning the matters of the heart. 

For now, his book would suffice. Tomorrow, he would once more go and visit the little woman in Cheapside, and strive to forget he had ever fancied himself in love with any female, respectable or otherwise.