by Mira Stables
This permission readily granted, he rose to take his leave. They bade him farewell with repeated expressions of gratitude. As the door closed behind him, Honor, in most unladylike fashion, ran across to the window and from the shelter of the curtain watched his tall figure stride swiftly down the road and disappear in the direction of Trim Street. “I wonder where he is putting up,” she said. “He did not seem to me to be in very affluent circumstances—his dress so plain, and no jewellery. Just the gold pin in his neckcloth. And the hotels in Bath are very expensive, are they not?”
But Miss Helmore could by no means agree with this assessment. “Lack of vulgar display is to be admired,” she pronounced sententiously. “And though his dress was plain it was of excellent quality. For my part I thought his manners and bearing very pleasing. It is plain that he has been about the world a deal and extremely fortunate for you, my love, that you should have fallen into such unexceptional hands, for I am sure that we may perfectly rely upon him to speak no word of your shocking scrape. What is puzzling me is that I have the notion that I have met him before. I cannot have done so, I suppose, for I must have recalled so unusual a name as Jocelyn, leaving aside the fact that he is not the sort of man that one would easily forget. I wonder if he is married? He did not speak of a wife but that has nothing to say to it And he is, perhaps, a little old for you, my dear. Thirty five at the least, I would say. But would it not be charming if your rescuer should become your husband?”
It seemed to Honor that the sherry must have induced a mood of maudlin sentiment in her aunt. She hoped that it would not prove necessary to estimate the matrimonial potential of every gentleman she met in this outspoken fashion. However she was thankful to have escaped a well-deserved scolding for her rashness so she merely said equably that she did not think thirty five too old in a prospective husband and that Aunt Thomasine must remember that she was not, herself, in the first blush of youth. Miss Helmore was so well pleased with the calm good sense of this reply that she abandoned the scolding altogether, merely exacting a promise that Honor would not again venture out unescorted, and then reverted once more to the much more interesting topic of Mr. Jocelyn. His appearance, his voice, his manners were all passed in review and pronounced to be unexceptionable. It only remained to be discovered whether or no he was a bachelor and if he was in a position to support a wife and there could be little difficulty about that. Someone among her growing circle of friends in Bath would be sure to know all about him and more than willing to tell.
Mr. Jocelyn’s morning call, punctiliously paid next day just after eleven, did nothing to diminish the esteem in which Miss Helmore was inclined to hold him. For, having complimented Miss Fenton on her evident good health and expressed the hope that Miss Helmore had recovered from the severe shock to her nerves, he begged permission, as one who might, in some sort, claim acquaintance with the family, to offer advice to two ladies who had no masculine counsellor to support them. The summoning of a chair, for instance. It really would not do for defenceless females to be subjected to the impudent demands of some of the chair men. Many were honest, it was true, but there were also some lusty rogues among them and when there was no man to take order— He shrugged. The choice of a livery stable too, if they should wish to order a carriage, was surely a matter for male guidance. If the ladies would consent to be advised by him he would have a word with Goodborn on such matters and ensure that they were reliably served.
Miss Helmore was warmly grateful for such thoughtfulness. It would add considerably to their comfort to know that they could rely on masculine support. Mr. Jocelyn then turned to Miss Fenton. He had discovered, he said, that his business affairs would necessitate his remaining in the city for some days. Was it her intention to attend the Tuesday ball at the Upper Rooms? And, if so, might he solicit the favour of a dance? The minuet, if she wished to take part in that form of ordeal, or at least one of the country dances. As Miss Helmore had already promised her niece that she should make her first formal appearance at the Tuesday ball, this invitation was most welcome and was accepted with every appearance of innocent delight. But Honor was a little chary of undertaking the intricacies of the minuet. It was true that she had been well taught in her school days but that was years ago, she said frankly, and it was not as though everyone would be dancing, so that a mistake might pass unnoticed. It was still customary for each couple in turn to take the floor alone. Miss Helmore tried to persuade her, saying that nothing could more markedly present her as the cynosure of all eyes. Honor retorted that this was just what she was afraid of. But Mr. Jocelyn had better success with the happy notion that he and Miss Fenton should try out the steps together and see how they suited before the fateful Tuesday. If he remembered aright there was a gallery on the first floor leading from the head of the staircase to the small parlour that would be ideally suited to this exercise. Miss Helmore acknowledged that this was so but did not see how they would manage without music. However, both the lady and the gentleman felt that this lack should not be allowed to mar so promising a scheme and Mr. Jocelyn thereupon engaged himself to call upon them the following afternoon, since the driving dress that he was wearing at the moment was scarcely suited to the elegant posturings of the minuet. He then took his departure, lingering for some considerable time in the entrance hall in conversation with Goodborn before the front door finally closed behind him.
“My love!” exclaimed Miss Helmore as soon as their caller was safely out of earshot. “Was ever anything so fortunate? I declare I am almost thankful that you chose to walk that dreadful street and so chanced to meet Mr. Jocelyn. I was at my wits’ end as to how to procure a suitable partner for you on this first appearance. Afterwards it will not matter. Your looks will ensure that you have plenty of beaux. But it is all a matter of proper precedence, you know, and though you are of gentle blood you cannot claim to be of the first rank. Mr. Jocelyn must have been at pains to get on good terms with Mr. Dawson—the Master of Ceremonies. If he had not set down his name in the book and made a handsome subscription, he would never have ventured to suggest dancing the minuet. I believe that he must be a man of some importance—either by rank or wealth. Did you notice, too, that he is perfectly familiar with this house? How else should he have known about the gallery? He must have been more intimately acquainted with Lord Melborne than he gave us to understand. But such reticence does him credit. Do you remember that odious Mrs. Thacker who was forever claiming those friendships with various nobilities? And then we found out that her father had been in trade and that she only knew of them from the society columns of the papers? But I do wish we knew if he is single. We cannot afford to waste time on a married man. And his very thoughtfulness for our comfort makes me sadly anxious on this head. Only a man who knew a good deal about the female sex would so perfectly understand our difficulties. Perhaps he is a widower,” she ended more hopefully.
Since Honor was unable to offer any helpful comment on this critical question, Miss Helmore resumed her cogitations. “He is certainly becoming rather particular in his attentions,” she said thoughtfully. “Good breeding might have sent him to call upon us this morning but there was no necessity for him to have asked you to dance, still less to suggest tomorrow’s visit. You must have made an uncommon good impression on him.” A horrid thought occurred to her. “Unless your boldness in venturing out alone yesterday had given him quite a false notion of your quality! He could not—surely he could not—have formed the opinion that you might accept a carte blanche?”
Here at least Honor was able to reassure her, describing in some detail the scolding that she had received from the gentleman, so that Miss Helmore was able to enjoy her early dinner with a mind full of pleasant speculation as to Mr. Jocelyn’s interest in her niece. One further scrap of information was to come her way which was designed yet further to stimulate her curiosity. Goodborn approached her with the news that he had carried out Mr. Jocelyn’s instructions with regard to the chairs that the ladies would be n
eeding for Tuesday’s ball and that they need have no anxiety as to the honesty and reliability of their bearers. “And a great pleasure it was to me, ma’am,” he added, “to see Mr. Jocelyn again. Remembered me, too, he did, and called me by name. But that’s the quality for you. Not like some of these new-sprung mushrooms that think themselves too fine to know one serving man from another.”
Only the recollection of the impropriety of questioning a servant prevented Miss Helmore from immediately seeking the answers to those burningly important questions that were vexing her mind. As it was, she merely added another layer to the tissue of glamour with which she had invested Mr. Jocelyn, for after all, she told Honor, no one recognised the quality more accurately than servants such as the Goodborns who had spent a lifetime in studying their ways.
Mr. Jocelyn’s behaviour at next day’s dancing rehearsal, however, sadly reduced the hopes she had nourished that he had already formed a decided tendre for Honor. He proved to be a stern task master. Again and again his pupil must correct the tilt of her head, the curve of an arm, the depth of her curtsey. Fortunately the girl was just as anxious as her teacher to perfect her performance. Miss Helmore found the watching tedious in the extreme and could detect nothing lover-like in Mr. Jocelyn’s manner. It seemed strange that he should put himself to such pains if he had no personal interest in her niece. She wished he would pronounce himself satisfied so that she could snatch a much needed nap before she must dress for the evening’s concert.
Since all her attention was focussed on the gentleman she did not notice how the lady had abandoned all formality in her dealings with her tutor, claiming his approbation for a well-executed movement with all the freedom of an eager child, and once, most shockingly, putting out the tip of a little pink tongue when she felt herself unfairly criticised. Miss Fenton, in fact, was beginning to feel herself very much at home with Mr. Jocelyn. He paid no fatuous extravagant compliments, such as once or twice had put her to the blush when she had accompanied her aunt to the Pump Room, but when, at last, he granted her a word of moderate praise, she felt that it was sincerely meant and glowed with pleasure, looking so lovely that Miss Helmore blinked at her in surprise and decided that the air of Bath must suit her niece’s constitution for never had she seen the girl in such high bloom. If she could look as well on Tuesday, despite the nervousness natural in a debutante, she must most assuredly make a hit.
Chapter Five
For once Honor raised no objection to the amount of time that Jennet deemed necessary for the proper accomplishment of a lady’s toilet, and Jennet herself, quite carried away by the excitement of the occasion, constituted herself personal maid. A little anxious, was Jennet, for she had been allowed to have her own way in choosing the style that Honor should adopt and she knew that she had taken a slight risk. Rules of dress at the Assembly balls were still fairly strict and only the bolder spirits dared to run counter to convention. In persuading Miss Fenton to wear a polonese rather than a formal saque dress or an Italian night gown, Jennet had thought more of the girl’s appearance than of the views of the Master of Ceremonies. But then she had never dreamed that an insignificant newcomer would be invited to dance the minuet. For the minuet, hoops were still considered de rigueur. It was just possible that Miss Fenton might be invited to leave the floor and limit herself to the contre dances. But not, thought Jennet hopefully, if her prospective partner were on sufficiently good terms with Mr. Dawson. In recent months a good deal of latitude had been permitted, provided that the ladies’ dresses were both seemly and decorative.
No one would deny that Honor’s dress was extremely decorative, though possibly the very high sticklers would have declared that it was anything but seemly, since the under-dress of soft satin in a delicate shade of green certainly permitted an excellent view of a pair of slender ankles. There could be no denying, though, that the darkly glowing green brocade of the over-dress was exactly the colour to bring out the golden lights in the girl’s chestnut brown hair. For this formal occasion she had permitted Jennet to dress it higher than usual, gathered into a graceful top-knot from which the gleaming curls fell loosely to her shoulders. Aunt Thomasine, who had felt that pale pink or blue would have been more suitable for a girl making her first formal appearance, even if she was twenty four, confessed at last that Jennet had been right to insist on the dark green. By contrast the girl’s arms and bosom looked ethereally fair. And when the diamond necklace was fastened about that slim white throat the effect was magnificent. Aunt Thomasine actually sniffed and blinked back an unwonted tear and Jennet sighed with relief. No Master of Ceremonies, surely not even the great Beau himself, had he still been alive, would ask such a dazzling vision to leave the floor.
“Just one patch, miss?” asked Jennet hopefully. “Here, at the corner of the mouth?” But Honor shook her head. Already she felt quite unlike her usual self. The dress was lower cut than any she had previously worn and although she could not help knowing that she looked her best she felt oddly shy and nervous. Her fingers crept up to touch the talisman necklace. Perhaps it would lend her courage. Aunt Thomasine, misunderstanding the gesture, bent to satisfy herself that the fastening was secure. “For it would not do to lose the thing,” she said gruffly. “Seeing that everyone sets such store by it.”
Riding in a sedan chair was another new experience for the country maiden. Once she became accustomed to the strangeness of being shut in alone she found the sensation quite pleasant though she could not help remembering all the tales she had heard of careless or inebriated chair men who shook and battered their burdens until they suffered all the qualms of a sea voyage. These men were evidently both strong and skilled. She hoped that Aunt Thomasine was enjoying an equally pleasant journey.
The ballroom looked enormous. Aunt Thomasine’s descriptions had not prepared her for its magnificence, nor for the brilliant light cast by the great chandeliers. For a moment panic took her and she would dearly have loved to be safe at home in peaceful Trowbridge with Mama and the twins. There were so many people and they stared so and the murmur of hundreds of voices made her feel quite dizzy. Then Mr. Dawson came up to them, bidding them welcome with a warmth and empressement that were quite heartening. He stayed with them for several minutes, assuring himself that they were comfortably placed where they could see well and informing Miss Fenton that he looked forward to her attendance at all the season’s functions with quite an unusual degree of pleasure. He spoke of next week’s Cotillon Ball and of a display of fireworks that she might enjoy. “But there,” he concluded, with a certain archness in voice and expression, “I know that I can depend on the persuasions of—er—Mr. Jocelyn and I vow they’re more like to succeed than mine.”
Honor thanked him in a shy little voice and was thankful when he took himself off to welcome a party of late arrivals. He had put himself out to be pleasant, she supposed, but she had not liked the sly humour in his tone when he referred to Mr. Jocelyn. As though some understanding existed between that gentleman and herself. She was better content to sit quietly watching the company, realising that there had been a deal of good sense in her aunt’s methods and that it was very comfortable to be able to exchange bows and friendly smiles with a number of the ladies who were occupying the chairs on the edge of the dancing floor.
The music began and she watched the first pair perform their minuet with all the confidence of long familiarity. Though she did not know the lady it was plain to see that here was no novice. Indeed she danced with an air of mild boredom that must have been galling to her partner. He was a handsome young man, too, a good deal younger than the lady and a graceful dancer. Honor thought that they did not seem to be enjoying themselves very much, but it was pretty to watch. So absorbed was she in watching each successive couple and in comparing the degree of skill that they brought to the performance that she forgot to look for Mr. Jocelyn and when presently a gentleman bowed before her and craved the pleasure of leading her out on to the floor she was almost betrayed into
a stare of blank amazement. For a moment she scarcely recognised him. Gone was the unassuming gentleman whom she had suspected of being rather purse-pinched. He had chosen to dignify the occasion—or to honour his partner, and even in her surprise and agitation she found time to wonder which it was—by appearing in magnificent dress. From snowy wig to satin small clothes and buckled shoes his attire would have graced a throne room. It could only have been chance that had made him choose the golden bronze tint that set off Honor’s green brocade to a nicety, but had he chosen deliberately he could scarcely have done better. They made a striking pair though fortunately Honor did not realise how much attention they were attracting. She was wholly occupied in thinking, rather inconsequently, that she had not known that his eyes were so deep and dark a blue nor realised how tanned was his skin until she saw it now against the snowy froth of lace at his throat. Almost before she was aware of it, in the confusion of her thoughts, they were pacing out the stately measure. She performed her part with serious concentration until, as the movement of the dance brought them together, he said softly, “Head a little higher, please, Miss Fenton. Remember that it is you who are honouring me.”