"Yes, thank you." She scribbled a note and handed it to her.
The maid passed the note to the earl's valet, who in turn took it to his master's bedchamber and delivered it. Presently, Richard Boyle made his way to his wife's private bedroom. "You wanted a word, my dear?"
"Yes, Richard. Charlie has confided in me that she has taken a fancy to William Cavendish, Lord Harrington. Now, I know she is only sixteen, but I don't think we should let this opportunity to make a dynastic marriage slip away. William might become Duke of Devonshire sooner than we think, by the looks of the old duke. The Devonshire property is even more vast than our own."
Boyle frowned. "Hartington's at least twenty-eight. Don't you consider that a little mature for a sixteen-year-old, Dorothy?"
"Maturity is a welcome quality in a husband. He's likely sown all those disgusting wild oats and is ready to settle down. I suspect he's in the market for a wife and if we don't _snare_ him, another prominent family will. If he shows the slightest interest in Charlie, we should encourage it in every possible way."
"You make it sound like setting a trap for the poor devil."
"Exactly so! No male voluntarily asks to be leg-shackled. I believe a six-month relentless campaign will result in victory!"
Bridget Gunning lost no time visiting her friend at Drury Lane Theater. "I managed to lease us a house in Great Marlborough Street
, on the fringes of Mayfair," she told Peg.
"Oh, that's a most acceptable address. I believe Lord Charles Cavendish has a house in that street, and Horace Walpole, the gossip, lives within spitting distance in Hanover Square
."
"Lord Charles Cavendish is one of the Duke of Devonshire's sons, but not the heir, correct?"
"Correct. William Cavendish, Lord Hartington, is the heir and, naturally, he lives at Devonshire House in Piccadilly. I have a copy of _Burke's Peerage_ to keep the players straight. Garrick and I have a house in Soho Square
, not quite as fashionable but handy to the theater district." Peg threw back her head and laughed. "My hat is off to you, Bridget. You've set yourself a goal to which few would dare aspire. I hope you pull it off, old girl. If I can help in any way, don't hesitate to ask."
"Thank you, Peg. From time to time I intend to hire the services of some of your bit players, but I'm getting before myself. The first item of business is our wardrobe. Do you suppose one of Drury Lane
's seamstresses would be interested in coming to Great Marlborough Street
?"
"Any of them would be glad to earn extra money, I'm sure. Come, we'll go and see Mary. She works magic with a needle."
"Do you ever sell any of the garments from the wardrobe department?" Bridget hinted.
"Very seldom. The costumes are reworked again and again. But there is a marvelous secondhand shop in Covent Garden where the actresses from all the theaters buy and sell their clothes. Most of the styles would be inappropriate for young girls, but I have no doubt you could acquire some fashionable outfits for yourself."
Mary moved into Great Marlborough Street
for a week, and with the help of Maria and Elizabeth, sewed all night long, creating undergarments, day dresses, cloaks, and bonnets so that the Gunning daughters could make their debut into Society.
At the secondhand shop Bridget found some smart outfits for herself that looked as if they had hardly been worn. Admiring her slim figure in the shop's mirror, she concluded that the woman must have sold them because she had gained weight and couldn't fit into them. She bought stockings and gloves that all of them could wear, then selected three fans. They were rather shabby but she knew the sticks could be recovered with new material.
By the end of the week, the only garments lacking were ball gowns. The cost of such dresses was exorbitant, but Bridget was adamant that her daughters must have gowns from one of the best _modiste_ shops in London, rather than something stitched by Mary.
Wearing their lovely new day dresses and accompanied by their liveried footman, Maria and Elizabeth emerged into the sunshine for the first time in a week. They drew every eye as Bridget ushered them past Hanover Square
to Bond Street
where the ladies of the _beau monde_ did their shopping.
They entered Madame Madeleine's, a fashionable establishment renowned for its copies of Worth gowns. Maria and Elizabeth were in seventh heaven trying on the exquisite silk and satin creations, and each girl had no difficulty selecting her favorite. The difficulty arose when Bridget learned what they cost. It was twice as much as she had anticipated--but the solution was obvious.
"We'll take this one." Bridget indicated the gown that Maria had chosen. "The two of you will simply have to share it!"
When they arrived home Bridget confronted Jack. "Our money is melting like snow in summer. I want you to visit your family in St. Ives. Inform them of our daughters' extraordinary prospects in the marriage market and tell them bluntly that you expect them to contribute to the expense of their Season."
At last, Bridget Gunning was ready to launch her campaign, and she intended to open it with a salvo. She went to the newspaper offices of the _London Chronicle_ and paid five shillings to have a notice placed in a prominent position on the social page:
The beauteous granddaughters of Lord John Gunning, of St. Ives, and Theobald, 6th Viscount Mayo, recently arrived from Castle Coote, Ireland, to take up residence at their London home in Great Marlborough Street
. Maria and Elizabeth were recently presented to His Excellency the Viceroy, Lieutenant Governor, where their incomparable beauty took Dublin Castle by storm. They are expected to have a similar impact on London Society. The Gunning sisters, swamped with social invitations, are in great demand for the fashionable entertainments being planned for the Winter Season.
*Chapter Six*
Before Parliament opened, George n, King of England, held a levee at St. James's Palace. Now that everyone was back in London, these would be weekly events attended by courtiers, politicians, the nobility, and wealthy landowners seeking favors from the Crown.
The Duke of Devonshire, newly appointed Lord Steward of the Royal Household, stood talking with the king, graciously acknowledging the monarch's thanks for his "prudent administration" in Ireland. Devonshire's heir, William, Lord Hartington, ambitious for the post of Master of the Horse, was also present at the levee. He greeted his friend John Campbell and enquired why his brother, Henry, was absent.
"Henry was called back to active duty with his regiment."
"He's a captain with the infantry of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders isn't he? There's no trouble in Scotland, I hope?"
"Posted to the Continent as a warning to the French, I warrant."
John and Will were joined by James Douglas, Duke of Hamilton, who held a seat in Parliament. Hamilton hated the king with a passion, though he attended his levees without fail. Hamilton had courted renowned beauty Elizabeth Chudleigh until widowed King George fell in love with her and stole her affections. The blow to his pride had been monumental.
"Hello, James. You missed a damned good hunting trip to Ireland. The game and the salmon were abundant, and even the weather cooperated until the last couple of days," Will said.
"I prefer a gaming hell to the hell of Ireland, any night of the week." Hamilton had come into his dukedom at the tender age of eighteen and, as a result, led a dissolute life of drinking, whoring, and gambling. "If I want bleak weather and uncivilized company, I can always visit my ancestral seat in Scotland."
Will, who had an easygoing temperament, laughed, but John Campbell did not find Hamilton amusing. Argyll was the most powerful Highland clan; Hamilton was the leading Lowland clan, and there had always been an unspoken rivalry between the two.
John, hand on his smallsword, said, "Borderers do tend to be uncivilized." _None more so than the Douglases_!
Will laughed again, enjoying the cut and thrust of their byplay.
"At least uncivilized Borderers are
superior to barbarian Highlanders," Hamilton drawled.
"I concede they are superior at cattle raiding and whiskey imbibing," Campbell countered.
"Did I hear the word _whiskey_!" asked George Norwich, Earl of Coventry, who also held a seat in Parliament and had declined the hunting trip to Ireland. "I hope you brought a good supply of the smoky stuff back from Bogland."
"Well, Father certainly did," Will Cavendish informed him. "You can sample it at the reception we're having Friday evening at Devonshire House to celebrate Father's new appointment."
"Will your sisters be there?" Coventry inquired, constantly on the prowl for a noble wife.
"Yes, they'll hostess the affair. We can't get Mother to leave Derbyshire. She hates London only slightly less than Ireland."
"You can't fault her for loving Chatsworth. It's by far the loveliest stately home in England," John Campbell declared.
"Why, thank you, John."
"Don't thank me, Will. Thank Bess Hardwick who had the foresight to build Chatsworth two hundred years ago."
"Now _there_ was a _woman_!" Coventry declared.
"A dominant, red-haired virago, according to history."
Hamilton sneered. "A wife should be beautiful, docile, and obedient."
"That's why none of us are wed ... they're devilish hard to find! Beautiful women are often fickle and usually have a mind of their own." Coventry's words were a deliberate dig at Hamilton's loss of the beauteous mistress Elizabeth Chudleigh.
"At least you and I are free to chose our own wives since we acceded to our titles long ago, George. Pity poor Will and John who must have their brides approved by Devonshire and Argyll."
"Amen to that," Will Cavendish acknowledged, while John Campbell cursed silently because Hamilton spoke the unpalatable truth.
"Now that we've all managed to insult each other, I think we can declare the levee a success and move on to more important business. Anyone care to accompany me to White's tonight?" Hamilton invited.
"Well, since I'm already in full Court dress, why not put it to more productive use than a royal levee? White's sounds far more entertaining to me," George Coventry agreed.
"Thanks, but I have a previous engagement," Campbell declined.
"You don't have to dine with me if you'd rather go to the club," Will said as Hamilton and Coventry departed.
"My idea of an enjoyable evening isn't watching Hamilton gamble. He can't bear to lose. When he does, he proceeds to drink himself into a savage temper then visits a brothel to work off his fury."
"Well, I'm glad you're coming to Devonshire House. You can aid and abet me into persuading my sisters to invite Lady Charlotte Boyle to the entertainment Friday night. I don't want to come right out and ask them, or they will take perverse delight in teasing me to distraction about her."
"Why don't I ask them to invite her on my behalf? That way they won't suspect a thing."
"Thanks, John. I was hoping you would suggest that. Perhaps I can return the favor sometime. Are you in Town until Friday?"
"No, I have pressing business tomorrow at Sundridge. I'll be back Friday--it's only a twelve-mile ride from Kent, after all."
* * *
Hamilton and Coventry entered White's club room for a drink before dinner. Though both nobles wore formal attire and powdered wigs, the similarity ended there. Hamilton, of medium height, had the stocky build and hazel eyes of his Border ancestors, while Coventry was tall and slim with narrow shoulders. The paneled room with its comfortable leather chairs provided its members with all the London newspapers published each day. Hamilton ordered a double brandy then idly picked up the _London Chronicle_ to scan its headlines. "The front page is full of Devonshire's appointment," he said with disgust.
"Will you attend the entertainment Friday night?"
Hamilton glanced over the top of the newspaper. "I think not. All the kowtowing to Devonshire would make my gorge rise."
Coventry leaned forward to read the social notices on the back page. It was filled with names of the _beau monde_ who had returned to Town for the fashionable Winter Season. He tapped the paper with his quizzing glass. "Did you see this, James?"
Hamilton turned over the paper, and his eyes scanned the names.
"The 'beauteous granddaughters'?" he questioned.
"Yes ... 'their incomparable beauty took Dublin Castle by storm.'"
"The Gunning sisters. Have you seen them, George?"
"As a matter of fact, I have," Coventry lied, taking perverse pleasure in stealing an advantage over Hamilton where a beautiful woman was concerned. "At the theater last night," he improvised.
"Did you meet them?" Hamilton demanded.
"No, James. I simply paid homage to their beauty from afar."
Hamilton downed his brandy and ordered another. "Ten guineas says I manage to procure an introduction before you do, George!"
"Do you always associate females with _procuring_, James?"
"To procure for promiscuous sexual intercourse ... why not?"
"Let's get this straight, James. Are you betting me ten guineas that you gain an introduction before I do, or that you bed one of them before me?"
"I'll wager you ten guineas on the introduction ... ten _thousand_ guineas that I fuck one of them before you do, Coventry!"
"By God, you're on! You never could resist a beautiful woman."
Rachel and Cat Cavendish poured over the guest list for the entertainment they were giving at Devonshire House to celebrate their father's appointment as Lord Steward of the Royal Household. They had made sure that invitations had gone out to the guests of their own choice who would further their marital ambitions. Rachel was being unofficially courted by the Earl of Orford, nephew of Sir Robert Walpole, the late Prime Minister. Cat, however, fancied herself in love with John Ponsonby, who had no title, much to her chagrin.
"The Earl and Countess of Burlington are on the list, but not Lady Charlotte. I had no idea she was old enough to be included in social functions." Cat picked up a pen and blank invitation.
"Will and John Campbell said she was among the _debutantes_ presented to Father in Dublin, so she must have turned sixteen."
Rachel bit her lip and tried not to feel jealous. For the last two years she had attempted to engage John Campbell's attention, but he still treated her as a sister. She knew she must stop holding off the Earl of Orford and make a sensible marriage. Becoming a countess was nothing to sneeze at. "Why don't we pay a call at Burlington House and drop off the invitation?"
An hour later, the Cavendish sisters stepped from their carriage to the portico of Burlington House. The majordomo admitted them to the reception hall and took their calling card to the countess.
"Lady Rachel, Lady Catherine, how kind of you to call!" Dorothy Boyle kissed their cheeks. "Come, you're just in time for tea."
"Thank you, Lady Burlington. Actually, we came to address an oversight. We forgot Lady Charlotte's invitation for Friday."
"Oh, Charlie will be thrilled to receive a formal invitation to Devonshire House." She turned to the liveried majordomo. "Ask Lady Charlotte to join us for tea."
When Charlie entered the drawing room Rachel Cavendish was shocked. The dark-haired Charlotte was pretty enough, but she was a short five feet and looked no more than fourteen years old. _Surely John Campbell cannot be interested in this child_! Rachel hid her surprise and handed over the invitation. "Lady Charlotte, I understand you were presented to our father at Dublin Castle?"
"Oh, yes! I had the most marvelous time! His Grace was so kind to me, and I danced with your brother, Will... I mean, Lord Hartington." Charlie's cheeks colored when she said his name.
The Cavendish sisters exchanged a glance. "Yes, at dinner last night he and his friend John Campbell spoke of meeting you there."
"John Campbell partnered my friend Elizabeth Gunning. We all had such a wonderful evening."
"Gunning? Where have I seen that name recently?" Cat puzzled.
"It was in the soc
ial news of the _London Chronicle_ yesterday," Rachel supplied. "It announced that the Gunnings have arrived from Ireland and taken up residence in Great Marlborough Street
."
"Truly? Elizabeth Gunning is here in London?" Charlie asked, unable to hide her excitement at the prospect.
Rachel turned to Charlotte's mother. "Are you acquainted with the Gunnings, Lady Burlington?"
"Yes ... a charming couple. Your father met them. Bridget Gunning is Viscount Mayo's daughter. We hit it off instantly! I am delighted they are in London for the Winter Season."
Rachel felt an insatiable curiosity to see this Elizabeth Gunning whom John Campbell had partnered in Dublin. "Why don't I send the Gunnings an invitation to Devonshire House for Friday?"
"Why, that would be delightful, Lady Rachel. You are too kind."
* * *
An hour after dawn, as John Campbell rode over his own acres at Combe Bank Manor, Sundridge, he realized how much he loved Kent and how much he'd missed it. The county had a rural tranquillity that belied its close proximity to the City of London. He stood in his stirrups to admire his lovely valley and took in a deep, appreciative breath, detecting the scent of hops on the breeze.
After his ride he bathed, donned fresh clothes, then went down to his library to go over the accounts of the estate, read letters from Argyll, and sign business correspondence prepared by his secretary, Robert Hay. Shortly, his house steward announced the visitor he had been expecting. He stood and cordially shook hands with William Pitt, whom he'd invited to Combe Bank when they met at the king's levee. Pitt had been in Parliament for twenty years; though he was a magnificent orator and popular with the people, King George and the Whig party leaders heartily disliked him. "Thank you for coming all this way, Mr. Pitt."
"Far better that we meet here, my lord, where I may speak bluntly, away from prying eyes and ears." He accepted a glass of claret. "Hostilities have again broken out in Europe and, at the risk of speaking treason, the king agitates for war with France."