A Most Congenial Lady

by Elizabeth Downton

  With tea completed, Helen was shown to her chamber; a large and well-furnished bedroom at the rear of the house overlooking the gardens. Mrs Harlow had assigned her a lady’s maid by the name of Mary, and given Helen’s lack of formal airs and graces, a result of her American upbringing, and the close proximity of the two women in age, they soon established a firm friendship.

  During her first week in London, her grandmother toured with her around the sights of the capital. They took tea in fashionable establishments and visited ladies of similar social standing, for Lady Anne moved only in the best circles. Sir Robert joined them occasionally and they dined out at Rules’ Restaurant where Helen was treated to the delights of English cookery, particularly favouring the steamed puddings offered by that most famous London establishment. And so, despite her thoughts of home, it did not take Helen long to settle in with her grandparents who were as kind and welcoming as she could have hoped them to be. But with that blissful first week now over, the thoughts of the household were turned to the Dowager Duchess of Dolby’s Winter Ball, at which Helen, with her tales of the new world and the excitement of New York city, was to be an honoured guest.

  ‘No, I wanted them on either side, you fool,’ the Dowager Duchess of Dolby, whose actual name was Victoria, shouted across the ballroom at the small man perched precariously atop a tall ladder, from which he was balancing a star on the tip of a very large fir tree. She had spent the previous Christmas, following her husband’s tragic death at sea, with her German cousins and had decided that the tradition of a dressed tree for the Christmas season should find itself into her London home at Malchester Gardens. She was, in her own opinion, a fashion setter and she hoped that the setting for her annual Winter Ball would be this year’s talk of the town.

  ‘You’ll have to move them and start again, I specifically said that they should go either side of the windows,’ she continued, ‘not bunched into the corner like that. Start again. We only have a few days before the ball, and I want everything to be perfect. Oh, there you are, Dicky. Where on earth have you been all morning?’

  Her youngest, and in fact only son, had just appeared in the ball room looking somewhat flustered. At only 25 years of age, he had not expected to inherit the title of Duke of Dolby quite so soon. Until his father’s death, he had enjoyed the typical life of a gentleman about town, and after his time at Oxford he had made the most of the London scene; indulging an enjoyment of drink, alongside the shenanigans of the notorious Whitehall clubs. Now the inheritance of his father’s title had given him responsibility for which he was not yet ready, nor attuned, and suffice to say he often felt somewhat out of his depth.

  ‘Oh, Mother, I was just out about on business in the town, I bumped into Sir Robert Cummins in the lobby at the club,’ Dicky said.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t spend such time there, Dicky, it’s a place of vice,’ his mother said, and then, turning the situation to her advantage, continued ‘did Sir Robert mention anything of the ball?’

  ‘He did, yes,’ her son replied.

  ‘Anything specific? Such as who is to come?’ Victoria said.

  ‘If you’re referring to his granddaughter, Helen then yes, Mother, she is apparently most excited at the prospect.’ Dicky said.

  ‘Oh, how marvellous, they say she is the most handsome American ever to grace the scene. I’m sure she will be eager to meet you,’ his mother said.

  ‘Another suitable young lady, where have I heard that before?’ Dicky replied.

  ‘A Duke needs a wife, Dicky,’ his mother replied and she was about to continue her berating when a loud crash from the other end of the ballroom signalled the collapse of the tree along with the gentleman who had been so precariously perched at its top.

  ‘Oh, you stupid man,’ the Duchess cried, striding the length of the room, inspired, as she always told visitors, by Versailles, the floor now covered in broken decorations and pine needles.

  Dicky took the excitement as a cover to escape and hurried from the room to the continued sounds of his mother remonstrating with the servants. Passing through the house, his mother’s penchant for German tradition was evident. There was not a surface which had not been decorated as if to resemble a portion of Bavaria, and it was evident that this year the dowager Duchess intended the Winter Ball to be the showcase of the season. Outside, it was getting dark and the Duke retreated to his study where a fire had been lit and official papers from the estate were awaiting his attention. He thought back to the chance meeting with Sir Robert earlier at the club and, despite his mother’s constant attempts at introducing young and eligible ladies to him, this particular young lady held something of an intrigue.

  Had not been for his father’s death while on the way to the new world to seek out business prospects, Dicky had entertained romantic notions of adventures in the American back country. He had heard stories at the club from those who had made similar journeys into the American frontier. The idea excited him, and so the prospect of meeting a young lady with first-hand accounts of such places, was at least intriguing. Settling himself down by the fire, he opened the papers and began to read, the sleepy effects of the afternoon’s drinking soon taking their toll, and thus he drifted off to sleep, thoughts of American adventure in the forefront of his mind.

  ~

  ‘What does Dowager actually mean?’ Helen asked her grandmother as they rode in the coach a few days later towards Malchester Gardens.

  ‘It means she’s the widowed mother of the current Duke,’ her grandmother replied.

  ‘She must be ancient then,’ Helen said.

  Her view of the English aristocracy was that anyone with a title must be of her grandfather’s age. In the past week she had met a variety of decaying and elderly statesman who had passed through the house on this or that account of business. All had been unfailingly dull, though charming in their own way, but Helen was desperate to meet people of her own age and she had at least hoped that tonight’s ball would provide such an opportunity.

  ‘Oh, no,’ her grandmother said, ‘she is still young, you see the old Duke met with something of an accident on the way to America. I didn’t mention it before for obvious reasons. The boat he was sailing in sank with all hands lost.’

  ‘Oh, how terrible,’ Helen gasped.

  ‘The present Duke, Dicky Dolby, is only twenty-five years of age, eligible too,’ Lady Cummins continued, her words trailing off.

  At that moment, the carriage arrived at Malchester Gardens. The house, a fine example of the period, was bedecked in lights, such that the whole street was a glow. Other carriages were arriving, too and the scene was a merry one as liveried footmen assisted the great and the good of London town towards the beginning of the winter season. In years past, the King himself had attended the ball, but tonight only a message of greeting came from the palace, the ailing monarch confined to his bed.

  As a gift from her grandparents, Helen had chosen a peacock blue dress from one of the fashionable retailers in the newly opened Burlington Arcade. She looked, according to Mary her chambermaid, like a princess, and indeed that was her Grandmother’s intended effect, she having told those charged with dressing the young lady to exaggerate her in all ways.

  Thus it was that Helen stepped from the carriage in front of the house, beheld by all who were gathering. Indeed, the street urchins, who always surrounded the area when a ball was in evidence, clapped and cheered as the beautiful American belle passed them by. Helen’s grandmother followed behind, quietly proud of the fact that her granddaughter was by far the prettiest young lady in attendance.

  The other young ladies, of which there were many, looked on with a mixture of envy, indignation and curiosity.

  ‘She’s American,’ one of them whispered, ‘you can tell by her deportment, she needs to learn how to carry herself.’

  But Helen was carrying herself just fine and, as they approached the door of the house, a liveried footman stepped forward to greet the
m and announce their arrival. They were led through the house towards the ballroom and what a sight it was to behold. The Duchess had finally got her way and the two large fir trees, which indeed became the talk of the town, were now positioned either side of the fireplace, glowing and bedecked with decorations. Around the room, greenery was cast in all directions and candles graced the walls emitting the most merry glow. It was a perfect picture of the season; the musicians were gathered, dressed in their finery at one end of the room, and the free flow of punch was much in evidence.

  As they stood at the door surveying the scene, the footman announced their arrival.

  ‘Lady Robert Cummins and Miss Helen Cummins,’ he said, his voice raised loudly above the throng.

  As heads began to turn to see the long expected arrival, the Duchess veritably flew across the room to welcome the newcomers.

  ‘Lady Anne, how wonderful to see you, it’s been far too long,’ she said, ‘and this, of course, is Helen, fresh from the colonies, I was so concerned for your crossing, my dear. My late husband, the Duke, well, I’m sure you know the story. It’s simply wonderful that you could be here. I want you simply to meet everyone, come with me.’

  And with that the Duchess swept Helen away with her to introduce her to London society, for anyone who was anyone and even some who were no one, were present at the Dowager’s winter ball that night. A steady stream of arrivals was announced, there was Lord this and his Grace that, the honourable this and less honourable that, even a princess for good measure, though her pedigree was somewhat in question. Each was announced and welcomed but it was Helen who had caught the Duchess’s imagination and soon she had met nearly the whole room.

  At eight O’clock there was a flurry of trumpets and at the door to the ballroom, Dicky appeared dressed in his finest evening wear.

  ‘His Grace, the Duke of Dolby,’ the footman declared as Dicky entered the room.

  All eyes at once turned towards him and there was a moment’s pause in the conversation as both ladies and gentlemen alike stopped to admire the young Duke so resplendent in his finery. But it was remarked, behind the ornate fans of some of the ladies that it was such a shame that he arrived unaccompanied, a man of his age, they said, must desire a wife, after all wasn’t that the goal of the aristocracy? To perpetuate the line as soon as possible?

  ‘Good evening to you all,’ the Duke said, ‘it is my joy and pleasure to welcome you here tonight, and to thank most graciously my mother, the Dowager Duchess Victoria, for her sterling work in organising tonight’s festivities.’ And taking a glass of punch, he raised it and proposed a toast, ‘To the season, may it bear us much joy and happiness, every one.’

  The toast was returned and the Duke, having done his duty, retreated to a corner where several young officers of his former regiment had congregated. Secretly, he rather detested the constant attention which he received, and the expectation that he would soon find a wife. Though acutely aware of his duty, he felt greater comfort with the familiarity of men like himself. At times, he longed to be back in the regiment, far away from the affairs of state, free to be merely an officer and a gentleman rather than his Grace, the Duke of Dolby.

  The frivolities of the ball had now begun in earnest and, despite the heat which the burning of a large log on the fire was producing, the dancing was in full swing. Gentlemen requested the favour of the ladies, who stood around the wall chatting behind their elaborate fans, and the musicians struck up the chords as the dances progressed. For the past week, her grandmother had been schooling Helen in the most popular dances of the day. In Helen’s opinion, those in New York were rather more advanced than the stuffy circles of the English way, nevertheless Helen had taken to them quickly, delighting in explaining to her grandmother that, in New York, a lady is known to simply seize the man of her choosing and spin him round for the jig.

  ‘Not in the circles you move in now,’ her grandmother said, ‘what has your mother been teaching you?’

  But it was not her mother who had taught her such things, Helen had inherited only her spirit, her actions came of personal volition. The fiery young American lady was no stranger to adventure. At times she had even disguised herself as a young man in order to sneak into those places in which it was not seemly for a young lady to be seen, or indeed where it was forbidden. For several years, she had been sneaking into the lecture halls of New York, normally the preserve of men like her father and thus she had acquired a knowledge of the world quite different to that of the young ladies who now swarmed around her at the Winter Ball and for whom she had little time. If truth be told, she dreamed not of society balls but of adventure. Nevertheless, she had resolved to please her grandmother and despite her adventurous spirit, she enjoyed the beauty of the spectacle which that night’s ball was providing.

  ~

  ‘Who will you ask to dance, then Dicky?’ one of the Duke’s fellow officers asked as they surveyed the scene from their position by the fire place.

  ‘What about the Prime minister’s daughter, she’s over there; look. In that bizarre red dress.’

  ‘I danced with her once before,’ the Duke replied, ‘once you begin, she won’t let you go. She’s obsessive, apparently she spoke of nothing else for days afterwards, besides, I don’t like her father one bit.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, what about Lady Bridget?’ the other said, ‘there by the door.’

  ‘Yes, but look who she’s with, her sister won’t let her out of her sight. She’s like a permanent attachment. I danced with her at the Summer Ball at Blenheim, the sister insisted on accompanying us for the rest of the evening. It’s all just the same set, dull, boring, society women, how does anyone find a wife?’ Dicky said, taking another sip of punch.

  ‘Well what about that one there? I’ve never seen her before, the one in the peacock blue dress, she looks utterly charming, I’ll ask her myself if you don’t.’

  Helen had finally been introduced to anyone who mattered in the ball room and was now standing meekly with her grandmother, observing the dancing which was going on. She had not yet been asked to dance, and was beginning to tire a little of the social etiquettes which appeared to grace the evening’s gathering, If this had been New York, she’d have been dancing the jig since her arrival.

  ‘May I have this dance?’ the voice of the Duke startled her.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she replied, a little taken a back.

  The Duke was exceptionally handsome, his dark hair and bright blue eyes and officer’s uniform, with its well-polished buckles and a beautiful smile, captured her attention immediately.

  She, too bore a similar attraction to him; she was different to the other ladies in the room. It was not just her dress which stood out, but her whole deportment. She was radiantly beautiful and as she smiled back at him, his heart began to melt. He put out his arm and she took it as they made their way to join the dance which was just about to begin.

  If truth be told, Dicky was not a gifted dancer; but then, after only a week of practice, neither was Helen, and the two endured the smirks of those around them as they danced somewhat out of sync with the rest of the party. But the dancing mattered not, in those few moments Dicky had fallen head over heels in love with the American girl whom his mother had promised would be coming to the ball that evening.

  Out of breath from the rigours of the dance, the two walked arm in arm to the side of the room laughing as the musicians took up another jig.

  ‘You truly are a terrible dancer,’ Helen said to him.

  ‘Do you know to whom you speak?’ he replied in a mock show of formality.

  ‘Duke or no Duke, your feet do not match your prestige,’ she said to him.

  The Duke gave her a bow to which she responded with a curtesy and the two enjoyed a few moments more in conversation. Helen found the Duke a most charming individual and he, as has been mentioned, had determined that this lady, in the first moments of meeting, had never given him cause to
feel in a such a way as she now did.

  Somewhat reluctantly, the Duke took it upon himself to perform his required duty and to take leave of Helen in order to dance with one or two others, but for the rest of the evening he could not tear his eyes away from her and whenever opportunity presented itself he returned to her side, asking whether his inadequate feet could at least once more attempt to match with hers; a question to which she happily assented.

  From the side of the room, Lady Anne and Sir Robert, who had arrived late, observed the scene, joined by the Dowager Duchess.

  ‘They’re getting on rather well, aren’t they?’ The Dowager whispered to Lady Anne.

  ‘Quite remarkably so,’ she replied, ‘perhaps a suitable match may be found here.’

  ‘It’s high time Dicky settled down and found himself a wife,’ the Duchess said, ‘we’ll see to it that they meet again. After all, the coming season presents numerous opportunities for such liaisons.’

  A fact to which Lady Anne readily agreed.

  Oblivious to these machinations, Dicky and Helen stood in conversation at the side of the room. The ball was coming to an end now, and around them others were beginning to take their leave.

  ‘I’ve greatly enjoyed meeting you this evening,’ the Duke said, ‘I do hope perhaps we will see one another again very soon.’

  ‘It has been quite an evening,’ Helen replied, ‘my first English ball, I can’t say it’s anything like those in New York.’

  ‘I should love to hear more about them and about your life there,’ Dicky said, ‘I shall take my leave of you; but I have no doubt that our paths shall cross again very soon. Goodnight,’ and with that he took her hand and placed a delicate kiss upon it before signalling a farewell and departing from the ball room to his chambers.