by Regan Walker
Freddie resumed his flute playing as she sniffed and headed for the door.
“Do not tarry overlong!” she slung over her shoulder. “The guests will soon be here. And bring Aunt Hetty!”
She loved her brothers and her sister, and held them especially close since their parents and eldest brother, William, had died. Both her father and Wills had been soldiers, her brother having served in the Coldstream Guards. Thankfully, neither Richard nor Freddie showed any interest in a military career, their only swords those that formed a part of a gentleman’s attire.
As she entered the parlor, a small group of musicians in one corner had begun playing a piece by Mozart. Relieved to see no guests in sight, she scanned the room to make sure all was ready.
The ivory silk brocade chairs and settees had been neatly arranged around the edges of the room, per her instructions, to allow the guests to circulate freely and reveal more of the elegant floral design of the Axminster carpet.
On the walls hung the familiar portraits of her father, mother and grandmother. The room was ablaze with light from the candles set in sconces and the brass chandelier hanging from a medallion in the center of the scrolled ceiling.
On the sideboard, a tray of glasses filled with champagne, brandy and wine awaited the first guests.
The servants had followed her instructions; all was ready.
Checking her appearance in the golden-framed mirror hanging above the sideboard, Joanna touched the narrow band of lace around her bodice and pulled on the lace at her cuffs. She smiled as she recalled her modiste telling her the delicate lace had come from a French smuggler’s warehouse on Guernsey.
“’Tis one of ‘the French islands’.” the woman told her. “Though I cannot imagine why they call them that when they are under the Crown.” Joanna was certain the modiste’s revelation of the source of the lace had been designed to shock her, but Joanna had not been shocked. Instead, her first thought had been to ask Zack to add lace to their next order.
It had taken her maid much time to fashion Joanna’s thick head of hair into something approaching acceptable but, with a parting glance in the mirror, she was pleased to see the denizens of the ton would find no fault with her mound of curls. She might spend her nights in breeches, meeting ships carrying brandy and tea, but no one would suspect a darling of English Society—the image she encouraged—had a secret life as a smuggler.
The frippery might be her best disguise.
“There you are!” Richard exclaimed as he strode into the parlor. Tillie was at his side, some of her long red curls dangling to her shoulders. “The guests will be arriving any moment. Where are Frederick and Aunt Hetty?”
“On their way, I expect.” She gave her brother a studying perusal. Beneath his fine attire, Richard announced his restlessness by fidgeting with a gold button on his waistcoat. She brushed a speck of lint from the sleeve of his black coat. Trimmed in gold, it complemented well his powdered and queued hair.
Tillie’s brown eyes glistened, her smile wide. “Oh, Jo, won’t it be glorious to meet the leaders of the new government? I can hardly stand still! Freddie told me Prime Minister Pitt and his friends, Mr. Eliot and Mr. Wilberforce, are all young and unmarried!” Tillie’s pink silk gown, heavily adorned with lace and ruffles, rustled with her petticoats. The gilding suited her perfectly and might attract one of those men. Though at nineteen, she could look forward to more than one Season before Richard accepted some swain’s proposal.
“Don’t let them see your enthusiasm for the leg-shackled state,” Richard chided their younger sister, “or you will have them running for the door. Right now, Pitt and his friends care only about politics. If you find you cannot follow their conversation, just look pretty and smile sweetly and you will attract your share of suitors, I’ve no doubt.”
Tillie pouted at Richard and flounced out of the room. Joanna knew her sister would not pout long. Her enthusiasm for her first Season was too great.
Richard frowned at Tillie’s departure and then turned to Joanna.
“Do not fret, Brother. All will be well. Tillie is in her element and will, no doubt, charm your guests.”
“Joanna,” his tone turned serious, “it is not Matilda I would see betrothed this year, but you. I think you should come with me to London now that the Season’s on. Aunt Hetty will be acting as chaperone for Matilda, so you can be free to attend the events you desire. Make tonight’s reception a beginning. Many men of your rank will soon be arriving. Some will be looking for wives. Do manage to encourage one of them, won’t you? At five and twenty, I cannot command you to find a husband as you are of age, but ’tis nevertheless time you wed.”
She shook her head, trying to discourage him, but he continued.
“I have it on good authority the family of Lord Hugh Seymour is looking for a bride for him.” She listened with one ear. “Now that peace is here, Seymour has taken up with Prince George and the two are capering about London together. I understand Seymour’s family would rather he were settled.”
“Capering about with Prince George,” she repeated, “no doubt drinking and debauching, for which the prince is famous. Excellent qualifications for a suitor, I’m sure.” The last bit she had spoken with intentional sarcasm.
“Well, Lord Hugh will be here tonight and he has much to commend him: he is young, considered handsome of face, well mannered and, as you would prefer, a man of good height. Too, he acquitted himself well as a naval captain in the American War as a part of the Channel Fleet.”
“You forgot to mention he is a rake.”
A storm was brewing on Richard’s face. “He may be that now but, with marriage, he might well reform.” At her doubtful look, he added, “If Seymour doesn’t appeal, there is Henry, Lord Hood, who is a mere half-dozen years your senior.”
“Stop!” She held up a hand. “I will hear no more of your matchmaking.”
“Oh, and there is also Henry Bankes, the MP for Corfe and a great friend of Pitt’s. He would have you to wife in a minute, were you willing. Just think; you could live in that great mansion he is remodeling. Why, ’tis larger than The Harrows.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” She shook her head. “The Harrows is more than adequate for me. Besides, I consider marriage a dull affair punctuated by moments of misery. I would avoid it, perhaps forever.”
Richard gave her an astonished look. “How can you put the epithet ‘dull’ to a state so many seek?”
“The men you list come to mind, Dear Brother. Besides being dull, marriage in the ton is often arranged and, therefore, poses great risk. I have observed the sad state of many women who marry. Few are happy. Many men do not take seriously their vows. Dare I mention Lady Worsley, forced to become a courtesan to survive because her husband, who does not want her, cut her off and will not grant her a divorce? Or my friend, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire? A beautiful woman with an indomitable spirit and a quick mind, yet you told me yourself the duke spends his nights at Brook’s playing cards. And those are the nights he is not with his mistress. And then there is—”
Richard held up his hand, stopping her diatribe, a pity as she had only begun. The list of poor marriages in the ton was a long one.
“I’ll not defend the nobility who carry on as if their vows mean little, Joanna, but best not to mention the duchess this evening. Her unwavering support for Fox in the election did not endear her to the Prime Minister.”
“I would never do so, Richard, but back to my point, as you are still unwed at seven and twenty, you can hardly wag your finger at me.”
“I’ll not be a bachelor for long. Now that I have the title, I must wed. I do not seek a love match, but the Earl of Torrington must have an heir.”
She let out a sigh. “How romantic.” Then with greater enthusiasm, she leaned toward him and smiled conspiratorially. “I shall keep an eye out for a prospective broodmare with good teeth.”
His brows drew together. “I can find my own wife!”
She had
hoped to amuse, but it was clear she had only irritated him. “Very well,” she quipped. “But, in the meantime, you need me at The Harrows.” Joanna did not mention that the villagers of Chichester counted upon her, but it was the truth. Seeing to their welfare gave her life more purpose than did all the parties and balls.
Richard let out an exasperated sigh and set his jaw.
Joanna’s protests were having no effect. He had become an immovable force. It was so like Richard. Their older brother William, despite his being the heir, had always been “Wills” to the family. Then there were Tillie and Freddie. And she was Jo. Not even their parents had called them by their full Christian names, except for Richard. He had always been “Richard”, seemingly too proper to have garnered a nickname. And now he was Torrington. The title fit him like a glove, formal and without the possibility of a sobriquet.
Sensing his growing impatience, she decided to be agreeable. “If it pleases you, Brother, I shall consider marrying when you do.”
He opened his mouth to say something when their butler Carter stepped into the room.
“My Lord, the first guests have arrived.”
Joanna had met William Pitt before on one of her trips to London, but she had not observed him with his two closest friends, who were also of an age with her. A head taller than William Wilberforce and Edward Eliot, Pitt made a commanding figure in his black frock coat and ivory waistcoat.
Neither Pitt nor Eliot wore wigs, though both had powdered their brown hair. Wilberforce’s dark unpowdered hair curled over his forehead and around his ears, the length of it carelessly tied back with a ribbon.
She and Richard greeted the three men and a footman offered them a brandy. Pleasantries exchanged, Pitt and his friends began to recount their travels in France the previous autumn. Eager to hear of their trip to the Continent, Joanna drew close.
Pitt launched in. “We first went to Reims. Only because the letter of introduction we managed to acquire at the last minute named a Monsieur Coustier there. Unbeknownst to us, the man is a grocer who lives behind his shop.”
Eliot laughed. “We did well enough until the Lieutenant of the Police discovered our whereabouts and, because of our humble lodgings, thought us English spies in hiding.”
Joanna was envious of their trip. Although she spoke French as well as any lady, she had not been to France or anywhere outside of England. Only young men of the aristocracy and wealthy gentry made the Grand Tour of the Continent. Not that a single trip to France was a Grand Tour, she consoled herself, but at least it was some foreign travel.
“Once the lieutenant learned Pitt’s father was the Earl of Chatham,” chimed in Wilberforce, “we were invited to dine at the palace of the archbishop where we enjoyed a good meal and were finally able to practice our French, which had been one of our goals.”
“The abbé, only forty, was most gracious,” offered Pitt. “To my delight, I learned the leaders of the French church are not so somber as our clergy. For one thing, they share my love of golf.”
Wilberforce rolled his eyes toward Eliot. “We next went to Paris where it seemed the English were in possession of the town. Pitt promptly deserted us to go off stag hunting while Eliot and I took a carriage to Fontainebleau.” He smiled at Joanna. “We had a desire to see the French king, who was there at the time.”
She well understood. The French Court, about which she had heard much, was more a draw for her than hunting stags in the woods.
“We also had the chance to meet General Lafayette,” put in Eliot, “the French aristocrat and celebrated general for the Americans.”
“’Tis obvious why,” Richard said. “He did them much good. But what was your impression of King Louis?”
Wilberforce exchanged a knowing look with his two companions. They must have heard his thoughts on the French monarch before. “When I first met him, I thought him a clumsy figure in immense boots. But I quite liked the queen. Marie Antoinette welcomed us heartily. As for the French Court, the opulence is overwhelming.”
The Prime Minister nodded his agreement. “When I finally got to Fontainebleau, I, too, was taken with the magnificence of the place. You cannot imagine—”
“And the French were taken with you,” said Wilberforce, “crowding around to hear your every word.”
Eliot winked at Joanna. “Pitt responded with great spirit, as always.”
The Prime Minister looked up, a droll expression on his face. “I paid a visit to Dr. Franklin, the American statesman in Paris. Now, there is an interesting man.”
The conversation continued as the men turned to London’s politics, still riding on the crest of their victory. “We have much to do,” said Pitt. “And being so near the coast tonight, I am reminded of the free traders who keep us afloat in tea. The East India Company complains of lost profits and the government of lost revenue. I shall have to do something about the rise in smuggling.”
“Stronger enforcement?” suggested Richard.
Joanna’s ears pricked at the suggestion.
Pitt pondered the idea. “I don’t think that would change the situation overmuch. There is simply too much coast and too many smugglers. No, something different is called for.”
Joanna could not hide her passion for the issue. Despite her inner voice urging caution, she had to speak up. “The East India Company’s monopoly on tea keeps the price far too dear for many. That and the high duty only serve to increase the demand for cheaper tea. What more incentive does a starving laborer or an out of work sailor need to become a free trader? They can earn more in one night of smuggling than they can in a week of toiling in the fields or plying their nets.”
The four men turned to her, astonished, as if a bird had alighted on her head. She pressed her lips together, knowing she had said too much.
“When did you gain an interest in the price of tea, Sister?” asked Richard, raising a brow.
“I read the newspapers and I am not immune to the talk in the village. ’Tis common knowledge.”
Pitt smiled at her. “Your sister is correct. The trade in smuggled tea is so great, the vast majority of the British people drink the smuggled brew. And brandy is no different. Why, even the cognac we drink tonight might be the result of such an enterprise. And without you being aware, Torrington.”
Joanna stifled a gasp and took a drink of her Madeira, forcing herself to display a calm appearance as if she was unaware the Prime Minister had just spoken the truth.
Richard sputtered, nearly spewing his drink. “I’m quite certain that is not the case.”
“You’ll find a way to stop the free traders,” Pitt’s friend, Eliot, encouraged him.
“First, I must apply myself to reducing the country’s debt,” said Pitt. “The American War has left our economy in shambles.”
Eliot, Wilberforce and her brother nodded, agreeing with Pitt’s assessment of the dismal state of the country’s economic affairs.
Joanna lost interest, as the men reached for other topics. She sipped her Madeira, glad for the security it represented against what she expected to be a dull evening of polite conversation.
She had already heard the most interesting news.
After a bit, Pitt and his friends were drawn away, leaving her alone with Richard.
Henry Addington, newly elected Member of Parliament for Devizes in Wiltshire, came to join them. “Nice party, Torrington.” Like the other men, he dressed in black, offset by a white waistcoat; his hair was powdered a dark gray. Tonight, Addington had arrived without his wife, who he told Richard had remained in London with their young children.
Joanna had met him several times before, as he was a good friend of her brother and a childhood friend of the Prime Minister. She thought him a bit pompous, but her brother appeared relieved to have his friend’s approval.
Addington droned on about some new bill he intended to propose. Of an age with her brother, he sounded much older than his years. She was barely listening when a man in a Royal Navy uniform
passed them. Joanna considered the tall man with mild interest.
Richard broke off of his conversation with Addington. “Commander Ellis, welcome!”
The commander paused and inclined his head to her brother. He smiled faintly at Joanna. His uniform was that due his rank: a white-lapelled dark blue coat trimmed in gold with gold buttons, a white waistcoat and dark blue breeches with white stockings and gold-buckled shoes. To her mind, he had not yet reached thirty. He had an attractive face framed by dark hair. His eyes were clear blue, and his long aquiline nose was that of an aristocratic Englishman.
“Joanna, may I present Commander James Ellis of His Majesty’s Royal Navy?”
She offered her hand and Ellis bowed over it. “Lady Joanna, a pleasure. You grace the room with your beauty.”
A flatterer. “Thank you, Commander. Most kind.”
Addington greeted Ellis in perfunctory fashion. Richard introduced Addington as the new MP from Devizes.
“I know Devizes,” said Commander Ellis. “’Tis just east of Bath.”
“What is your ship?” Joanna interjected. “Is it stationed nearby?” She awaited his answer with a sense of foreboding.
The commander turned his blue gaze upon her. “As of this past November, I command the HMS Orestes.” His pride obvious, he said, “She’s an eighteen-gun sloop of war stationed at Southampton. Our mission is to intercept and check smuggling on the south coast.”
“Oh.” Taken aback, Joanna had never expected to meet the captain of a revenue ship and was surprised at how benign he appeared. But then, he had no idea she was among those he hunted. “And have you encountered many?” she asked innocently.
He indulged her a smile as if addressing a small child. “Why, yes. Some are only small luggers, but other larger ships carry as many guns as we do. At those times, it is much like a battle at sea during war.” He gazed beyond her to a group of men surrounding the Prime Minister. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I must speak to Mr. Pitt.”