“Dare I asked, Lady Catherine, whether you are tolerably pleased by tonight’s festivities?”
“I’ve been told it is fashionable to protest an ennui, but truly, everything is so fine, the musicians excellent, and in short, boredom for me is to sit in the countryside with little to do.”
“An idea the most criminal, such beauty sequestered in the country unseen,” her partner said gallantly.
There was a lot more like it. Kitty enjoyed it all, did not believe a word, and danced happily as the hours chimed away. People were all so kind! For where gentlemen took an interest, the wiser young ladies exerted themselves to strike up a conversation with the fascinating new beauty who was said to be sister to a marquess.
And so it was thus that the last arrival of the evening found them: Mr. Philip Devereaux.
FIFTEEN
Arriving so late, Devereaux did not expect to be greeted. It was his responsibility to locate his hostess and make his bow. Just discernible within the card room were Lord Chadwick and his son playing least-in-sight. Immediately before Mr. Devereaux was Amelia, her roses drooping as she romped in a circle dance with a number of other very young ladies and gentlemen, the latter whose wilting shirt-collars evidenced the warmth of the room as well as the exercise.
Standing side by side in the line were Clarissa and Lady Catherine, the former looking more animated than he remembered ever seeing her. But her smile faded into politeness when the hands-across brought Clarissa in contact with her partner. Wilburfolde was concentrating on his steps, his lips moving... yes, he was counting aloud, with brow-furrowed concentration.
Lady Chadwick was seated against the wall with the more dashing dowagers, shining down half the younger generation in her Grecian robe that managed to be flattering and yet not revealing. Emily Cowper studied the embroidery through her quizzing glass, cooing compliments.
“Ah, Devereaux.” The Duke of Rutland appeared out of the crowd. “We had about given you up.”
“I could not get away before this,” Mr. Devereaux responded. “Permit me to make my bow and my pardons to our hostess.”
“’Tis the nature of spring.” His grace lifted his hand in an airy wave. “Some will say it’s not a successful evening unless they arrive late at no fewer than six balls before morning.”
Lady Cowper laughed, and Mr. Devereaux bowed over the hand of his hostess.
As always, the sight of a handsome man animated this lady, and so it was not at all with her customary languor that she welcomed him, adding with simple maternal pride, “Amelia opened the ball with your uncle. It is Hetty all over again. And my guest no less. You may call it a double success.”
Lady Chadwick had a fondness for this cousin-by-marriage, who was only ten years younger than she was. His being unmarried made her feel young again. She kept him by her side for a few minutes as the dance wound to its end, then said, “Go and dance with my daughter and my guest, and give them éclat.”
“I scarcely think either of them need it,” he rejoined with a smile and a bow, but he politely obeyed.
Kitty had not been aware of the newcomer. She only saw the crowd of Amelia’s swains part in a little disorder, through which walked Mr. Devereaux with Amelia on his arm.
They took up their places at the head of the next line. Amelia had calmed a little, as if she were on her best behavior, her uncertain glances at her partner amusing Kitty very much. Kitty could almost imagine the thoughts going through Amelia’s head—oh no, the man who hates women—Clarissa’s cousin—oh, was her hair tumbling down? For you can be certain that Mr. Devereaux was not flushed from the heat, and his shirt points were not limp.
“My dance, I believe, Lady Catherine?”
Kitty turned, and found her next partner waiting with a quizzical expression on his face. Her cheeks burned as she begged his pardon, and they took their place in the middle of the line. She was thus in an ideal position to catch murmurs of conversation—killingly correct on both parts—between Amelia and her partner, and the observations, given in a manner that did not permit of discussion, much less agreement, on the part of Lord Wilburfolde, who had unaccountably risen to dance with Clarissa again.
His occasional puzzled glances toward Mr. Devereaux made Kitty wonder if he had suspected some kind of attachment between the cousins, and Kitty mentally gave Lord Wilburfolde credit for his interest, as she gave him credit for attempting a conversation. Judging from the little she had seen of his mother, she did not fault him for uttering observations in the declarative, as if issuing a fiat. She wondered if he had ever dared a question in his life.
If only he did not make Clarissa so unhappy!
She was deep in thought as the dance ended, so much so that she performed her thanks and her curtsy automatically. Who was next?
“Lady Catherine, would you do me the honor?”
Kitty turned around—and stared wordlessly up into Mr. Devereaux’s face. Mr. Canby deferred, as this was his second dance; he gave her a sign and mouthed the words ‘next’, leaving her confronted by the gentleman she’d hoped never to see again.
“So hesitant, Lady Catherine?’ And in the softest of voices, “Am I still unforgiven for abducting my sister?”
It was said on impulse, the intent humor, but if he could have retracted it, he would have. He braced for coy bridling, or the assumption of moral superiority—any of the arts assumed by young ladies who tried to gain interest by investing trifling situations with the passions better left to the stage. He did not blame them—it was what most of them were taught—but he’d endured so many such scenes.
Kitty, however, was suffused with embarrassment and regret. She put out her hand automatically, an unconscious gesture almost of appeal, and said, low-voiced, “Though I am to blame for suggesting it, she did agree with me. How was I to know it for an untruth?”
“A fair question,” he responded, as the music started up, and they moved into line. “Yet I still wonder. If I were such a villain, would it not have been more expedient to have called for the innkeeper to come to your aid?”
“No, for of course he would be in your pay,” Kitty responded.
The unexpected answer surprised a laugh out of him.
She gave him a startled glance, and, finding no scorn or judgment, she said reflectively, “Which would require much advance planning, would it not? One would have to select the right inn to avoid having to bribe half the innkeepers in the county. Either that, or know ahead which were knavish enough to accept bribes, which raises the question... no.” She had gone unawares into Andromeda’s story, and caught herself up, blushing uncomfortably.
They walked down the dance, and then took their places at the bottom of the line, whence Mr. Devereaux prompted, “Question, Lady Catherine?”
Her brow wrinkled in perplexity. This conversation was not at all like the proper responses she had been so carefully taught by the dancing master. Nor was it like anything in the romances she had so eagerly read in order to divine how people got on in Society.
And yet she saw no evidence of satire, or disgust, and so she said, “Well, it is just that I cannot help but wonder what inspires a gentleman to wish to abduct an unwilling female, for among other things, would it not require a vast amount of work? Then there are the disagreeable aspects of one another’s company, he having to utter a string of threats, and she responding like a watering-pot. But I must suppose that is one of those mysteries that delicacy forbid ladies from inquiring further into,” she added hastily.
But he ignored the platitude. “Can it be that successful abductions require a certain amount of cooperation, perhaps covert, from the female in question? There is historical precedent, you know.”
“Are you referring to my mother, sir?”
It was the gentleman’s turn to blush, though she did not utter the question with accusation. “I did not remember the circumstances of your parents’ marriage, though I was probably told. Forgive me.”
“Oh, but it was quite true.
Mother told my brothers that she arranged everything,” was the surprising answer. “She told them she had historical precedent in Lady Mary Wortley Montague. My grandmother St. Tarval was used to offer her as an example of ill behavior, yet my brother once pointed out that Lady Mary could not have been all evil, for she was the one who brought the smallpox cure to England. At any rate, I think there may be a disagreement in terms, for a willing female elopes.” She chanced to glance up, and caught his profile, which was severe; she did not know him well enough to perceive that he was schooling himself strictly against laughing out loud.
“But there,” she said in politely colorless accents. “I suspect that this topic is not proper in the circumstance, and so, if I may shift it, how does Miss Elizabeth in Bath?”
“She is heartily bored, of course, and quite counts upon her visit to this household. How do you find London?”
She gave him a properly polite answer, making an effort to confine herself to the topics—and the language—that the dancing master had taught them were the most acceptable, and in this way, they came to the end of the dance.
They parted most correctly. He, having done his duty by his hostess, went off to dance with a dashing widow newly returned to society after her mourning period, and she to Mr. Canby, relieved that the man who hated women had been... interesting. She did not expect to see him ever again, but at least she had the comfort of knowing that her faux pas was not regarded by him as significant.
Then it was time to go down to supper. James reappeared, conscientiously offering his arm to Kitty, who was relieved to have his unexceptional and undemanding company.
Mr. Devereaux bowed to his hostess, and skillfully disappeared without raising any notice.
o0o
After waking up late the following morning, Kitty descended to find all four sisters at the breakfast table, but as yet no one else.
On side-tables surrounding them stood vases of flowers of every imaginable variety. Amelia looked a trifle bleary-eyed, and Clarissa was calm and pale as always, but everyone seemed to be in a good humor, if tired.
“Look, Lady Kitty,” Amelia exclaimed. “It is more than Hetty had last year, is it not, Hetty?”
“Of course, as there are two taken together,” Hetty said.
Eliza waved her hands. “So many of them are for you,” she said to Kitty. “Shall we help you open the cards?”
“Oh, pray do.”
Eliza and Matilda began tearing through the cards attached to the bouquets, comparing and giggling. Two gentlemen had sent bouquets to both young ladies; several had attached verses to the floral offerings. Kitty recognized about half the names. Most of the evening seemed a blur, in retrospect. The only conversation she remembered was the one with Mr. Devereaux. He had seemed almost friendly—but of course his being cousins with Clarissa would account for it.
Amelia cast a loud sigh. “Did you form an eternal passion for anyone, Lady Kitty?”
“Do you know, I had so fine a time dancing, I quite forgot that I was to fall in love?”
Amelia giggled, then began telling them of the extravagant things her swains had been saying, until their aunt entered. At once everyone confined themselves to tea and toast.
Mrs. Latchmore, however, appeared to be in an excellent mood. “A successful evening all around, was it not, girls? And Lord Wilburfolde arrived, dear fellow, exactly as one would wish. Every exertion made—so attentive to Clarissa, it bodes well, does it not?”
No one had anything to say to this, but it had the general effect of hastening breakfast.
The hour had just struck noon when Pobrick entered the room to announce that the Miss Bouldestons were waiting in the drawing room.
The young ladies found Lucretia and Lucasta standing over one of the many little tables that Lady Chadwick had placed throughout the house, examining and commenting on some miniatures of the family.
On the entrance of the young ladies, greetings having been exchanged, Lucretia said, “We are come to introduce you to Hookham’s Lending Library, Catherine, knowing you are excessively fond of books.”
Kitty turned to Clarissa, saying, “Do come with us.”
At once the Bouldeston sisters reinforced this invitation, each claiming that only the addition of Miss Harlowe could make it the most complete walk—the sweetest day ever.
Clarissa was taken aback. She was used to being left out, except when the family was invited—or when some young man wished to plead his case for her pretty sister—or when her fortune was being sought. She did not know what motivated the Misses Bouldeston (for she had heard about the completest, sweetest thing ever too many times to count such superlatives) but she read appeal in Kitty’s countenance.
There was nothing to keep her home, save the nod and smile she had given Lord Wilburfolde when, on parting the night before, he had informed her that she was tired and required rest, and that he would be reporting to his mama that he had extracted her promise to do so.
Amelia, of course, had no interest in a lending library, still less in the Bouldestons, whom she abused as encroaching mushrooms with their sweetest Catherine as soon as the four young ladies were out the door.
“You can see how much Lady Kitty detests that,” Amelia said to Eliza as the door closed below.
“Bess Devereaux had it from some girl at Miss Battersea’s that Lucasta Bouldeston hides in the chimney closet to spy on her sister and her callers if she thinks they are talking secrets,” Eliza declared, and with a toss of her head. “I should despise lowering myself to such tactics. I hate secrets and gossip!”
The sound of a heavy tread on the stair broke up this conversation, sending Eliza to the door. She peeked out, then looked back, her eyes round with horror. “It’s him,” she whispered. “Run, or we will be stuck listening to him prose forever.”
They fled out the side door before the butler could open the double doors.
Lord Wilburfolde was left alone in the parlor, to soon be joined by Mrs. Latchmore, who was always glad to see him. “The young ladies are still recuperating their beauty upstairs, I may suppose?” he asked with a ponderous attempt at levity.
“The young ladies are hardier than we old ones,” she said coyly. “The girls are somewhere about, and Clarissa is out walking with Lady Catherine and the Misses Bouldeston.”
“I do not credit what I am hearing,” he said, aghast.
Mrs. Latchmore gasped. “I assure you, the Misses Bouldeston are quite unexceptionable. Sir Henry, I understand, has—”
Lord Wilburfolde was too overset to be aware of his interruption. “It is not their identity that distresses me, it is my concern for Clarissa, if I may be permitted to use her Christian name. She promised me she would rest, and then attend to my mother’s missive, so that my mother might write to her again. I do not know what is to be done. Perhaps I may catch them up if I hasten.”
He punctiliously took his leave.
o0o
The walk to Hookham’s was conducted in apparent amity. Clarissa politely asked Lucasta about her ball, and as the latter launched into a detailed account, well-wreathed with superlatives, Lucretia quizzed Kitty on who had attended Amelia’s ball, what they had worn, and with whom she had danced.
Kitty retailed all those she could remember, adding with a spurt of self-consciousness left over from memory of her ghastly error at the inn, “And the last arrival was Mr. Devereaux.”
“Of course he did not dance. He never does,” Lucretia stated.
Kitty remained silent, and Lucretia turned her head and eyed her. “You do not mean to say that he did?”
Kitty nodded, and Lucretia’s eyes narrowed. “With you?” Her affected lisp came out rather sharp.
“Yes, but he danced with Amelia first. And then a widow, I forget her name, but the way they talked, it seems they are either connections or old friends.”
“Oh, I know, it must have been Lady Silverdale, who just came out of mourning. Lord Silverdale was a friend of Mr. Devereau
x, but he was a diplomat, and died in that horrid battle on the Nile River. It was quite four years ago, but she stayed on her estate with the two children until recently. Everyone says it is so romantical and tragic! Perhaps they mean to make a match of it.”
As Kitty had nothing to say about persons not known to her, Lucretia went on, “It was certainly in compliment to Lady Chadwick, but you may mention that he danced with you, and watch the green eyes at Almack’s. I have told you that he is a great catch, though he is known to regard our poor sex with scorn, in the generality. Here we are.”
Kitty was relieved to discover the discreet windows of the shop before them, with lampoons posted in the front window. A small crowd had gathered around one of Gilroy’s latest; from the coarse laughter and commentary of the onlookers, it was something vulgar about the wife of Napoleon Bonaparte.
Kitty walked inside, and here her emotions underwent a vast change. So many books! So many imaginations and voices! Perchance her own might be added to those shelves, handsomely bound and with gilt lettering. As she examined the newest publications laid out on a table, she wondered if any were written by a young lady waiting at home in hopes of earning a fortune to rescue her family.
Clarissa’s voice recalled her attention. She knew several of the people already in the shop. Kitty had met Miss Pennington at Amelia’s ball, and so there was a gathering, and mutual compliments offered.
When the fashionably dressed Miss Pennington finished praising Kitty’s and Amelia’s gowns, Lucretia said, “But you have not finished telling us how you enjoyed your very first ball, Catherine.”
Her voice seemed curiously penetrating. It certainly caused a silence. Kitty said, “It was very fine,” and then, belatedly, “Are you acquainted with Miss Pennington, Lucretia? May I make you known to one another?”
Lucretia touched her fingertips to her lips. “My dear, you forget that I am not newly arrived from the country. But of course you mean well by us, so I will pretend that Miss Pennington and I were not introduced at Lady Sefton’s ball last year. How do you do, Miss Pennington?”