by Joan Smith
“I might have known!” was Monstuart’s first speech, said in a loud, angry voice.
“Good evening, Monstuart. Come to read me a lecture? It is not necessary. Mr. Peacock has already told me he has no character. When a gentleman has such a ready tongue and pleasing wit, however, it can be overlooked. One can’t have everything.”
“I doubt it’s his pleasing appearance that drew you to him.”
“The attraction was initially on the gentleman’s part. I confess I find him amusing. You imply it is his lack of character that draws me?”
“No, Miss Hermitage, I acquit you of any girlish sentiment in your affairs. My implication is that it is his fortune that appeals to you.”
A bright smile beamed. “What delightful news you bring. So unlike you! I made sure the man was a pauper. The interesting ones usually are. Who would have expected an eligible parti to be so charming?”
“He is not eligible.”
“Now, that is more the sort of thing I expected to hear from you. You have come to tell me he is married, with a dozen children. He beats his wife and starves the children.”
“The man is a bachelor, so far as I know.”
Sally cast a laughing look at him. “You’re slipping, Lord Monstuart.”
“The word eligible has a dual connotation. It includes decent birth, along with fortune. You must not let your interest in the latter blind you to propriety.”
Her eyes snapped at this thrust, but she refused to argue in public. “Peacock is a good old name.”
“That’s probably why he borrowed it.”
“You mean it is not his real name?” she asked, more intrigued than dismayed.
“He says himself he only took it for a jest. He came sailing home from India a month ago with a fortune in his pockets. Some part of it, I hear, was made from the opium trade with China. As for the rest of it, it is as shady as his parentage.”
Sally was shocked to hear it but assumed a bland face. “It is odd one should meet him in the home of the First Gentleman of Europe, is it not?”
“It is exactly where I would have expected to meet him. Money is the requirement to sit down to cards with the Prince’s set. Once a man has a pocketful of his chits, invitations to such dos as this have a way of popping up in the post. You have made an engagement with Peacock?”
“What big ears you have, Lord Monstuart. Yes, we are going out tomorrow.”
“I would not repeat the outing, if I were you.”
“We shall see,” she replied, looking about the room in a way that clearly finished the topic.
A flush of color stained Monstuart’s swarthy cheeks. “You came here to make a profitable match,” he said. “Peacock is not your man. He would no more marry you than he’d give up gambling. You won’t find him nearly so biddable as Derwent.” The look Sally directed at him would have shriveled a bowl of greens, but Monstuart remained unwilted. “Stick to your callow youths, still wet behind the ears. You will find them easier to lead.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Monstuart. Peacock is not unobtainable. He has plenty of money, which is of course the only thing of interest to me. I can supply the breeding and connections. At least we shan’t be dull.”
“Nor even respectable, for very long.”
A flash of green fire lit her eyes. “An odd subject for you to choose, milord. How respectable would you be if my father hadn’t pulled you out of the suds?” Monstuart gave a conscious start. “Have I caught you off guard? Don’t worry. Your five hundred guineas bought the family’s silence. We would not dream of betraying your little lapse from respectability, and as Lady Dennison appears to be remaining in the country, you might pass for a gentleman of character. If you can restrain yourself from any further unwise impulses, that is to say. The Hermit is no longer here to protect you.”
Monstuart’s nostrils quivered in outrage. “I can’t imagine what Willowby is about, bringing you to this place.”
“I am inclined to agree with you. I haven’t met a single gentleman who is completely respectable.” Her skimming gaze included the present company.
He ignored the taunt. After a few moments’ silent sipping of champagne, he continued in a calmer tone. “How are the finances coming along? Have you outrun the grocer yet?”
“I only spend the money, I am not the accountant. Ask your nephew. When the keeper of Debtors’ Prison comes after us, Derwent is the one they’ll carry away.”
“He knows where to find me,” Monstuart said. “Would you care to stand up for a dance, Miss Hermitage?”
“No, thank you. I am going into the refreshment parlor—to save on groceries at home, you know. Every little bit helps.”
“Some restraint in personal adornment would help even more,” he pointed out as his eyes ran over her white gown.
Sally was secure that he would find no flaws. “Oh, but I most particularly promised you I would update my toilette, when you urged me to at Ashford.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Are you enjoying your Season?”
“Not much, till this evening. But I think now things are taking a turn for the better,” she told him with a smile that was a shade too demure to trust.
“That compliment does not refer to your present partner, I think.”
“You are clever.”
“You’ve been warned. I’ll say no more on the subject of Peacock.”
“Good. I am relieved you don’t mean to become repetitive. A word to the wise is always considered sufficient.”
Sally looked about for Peacock after Monstuart left her. She knew that some of the gentlemen had retired to a parlor for cards, and as he was not to be found, she assumed he had joined them.
As the family went home, she said to Willowby, “What do you know about a man called Peacock, who was there tonight?”
“An amusing rascal. Well inlaid, but he flies too high for you, Sally. Stick to your own sort.”
“I stood up with him. He seems to think I may be his sort.”
“Ho, get a promise from him in writing before you throw your heart at that one. If you can get it in writing, I’ll hold him to it. Never worry about that. I know my way around a contract as well as anyone. Wretched meal, was it not?” he asked, turning to Mrs. Hermitage.
“Who could eat in that heat and glare?”
“No braised capon, no savory pies. I didn’t see an edible sweet on the table. It is always like that when Prinny goes on one of his demmed diets. Then he has Carème bring a tray to his room before he retires. He served us cold sandwiches and water at Brighton last month. If he don’t smarten up his table, he will be dining alone. Reminds me, I am taking you all to dinner at the Clarendon after that do at Almack’s on Thursday. You are going to Almack’s, I trust?”
“Countess Lieven has promised vouchers,” Mrs. Hermitage was happy to inform him.
“You won’t find the likes of Peacock there,” Willowby told Sally. “The other lad, Parkes—he is the young fellow for you.”
Sally had no intention of pursuing “young” Mr. Parkes, but began to realize Mr. Peacock was not quite the thing. A date for the outing to the Park was already made and would be kept, but she would not go out with him again.
Chapter Ten
A drive in the park with Mr. Peacock proved amusing. His conversation was more frivolous than intellectual, but his carriage was the finest to be seen and his team of matched grays above reproach. To add a touch of respectability to the outing., Sally arranged to meet her sister and Derwent there and walk around the grounds with them. She was worried to see how well Derwent and Peacock got on together. Before they had gone ten yards, the ladies fell behind while the men set a brisker pace ahead.
Mellie soon wanted to rest on a bench, and the men disappeared from view. When they returned, there was talk of the four of them going “on the town” that evening.
“We are to go to Almack’s, Ronald,” Melanie reminded him.
“That dull place? Peacock says we’l
l have a livelier time at the Pantheon masquerade.”
“It has all been arranged,” Sally said, and considered the matter closed.
“We must drop in and say how do you do,” Ronald agreed. “That is no reason we must stay all night. We’ll get together later, Peacock, around eleven.”
But things were not really lively at Almack’s before eleven. “I shan’t be leaving Almack’s,” Sally said firmly.
Peacock regarded her with a laughing eye. He was not the sort to be put off with a little reluctance. “I’ll bring along an extra domino, in case you change your mind. I highly recommend a lady employ all her prerogatives, and changing her mind is one of the most common.”
His persistence began to seem ill-bred to Miss Hermitage, and she decided to give him a set-down. “Saying no is also a prerogative—one that a gentleman accepts without argument, Mr. Peacock.”
“That depends on the gentleman,” he parried, still in good humor. “I accept your refusal—for now. But another time—a picnic to Richmond Park, perhaps.”
Ronald gave his tentative agreement, but no firm plan was made. Sally and Melanie soon asked to be taken home. They wanted to make a careful toilette for their important first visit to Almack’s.
King Street was lined with carriages disgorging passengers when they arrived at the club. Sally found herself scanning the row of vehicles in vain for Monstuart’s. A maximum of seventeen hundred of the ten thousand could be accommodated at the club at one time, and nearly that number appeared to be present when they entered. It took her all of two minutes to find her quarry, halfway down the one-hundred-foot ballroom. One black jacket looked much like another, but as he happened to be looking toward the entrance, she recognized him.
Monstuart nodded briefly, then turned his shoulder and continued talking to his partner. His cool behavior put Sally in a bad mood before she ever stood up to dance. The evening at Almack’s established the Hermitage ladies as being accepted by the ton without adding much to their pleasure. Mrs. Hermitage had the best time of them all. She was singled out for a brief flirtation with the Prince Regent, who told her, and several other matrons, he had only come for a cose with them. Melanie could not be entirely happy when Derwent checked his watch every quarter hour and asked if they could leave now.
For Sally, the party was much like any other. She was besieged by young puppies and Sir Darrow’s cronies, while gentlemen of the right age and station in life looked at her from the sidelines. She felt in her bones it was Monstuart who deflected their advances. He was among them and could have introduced her to any number of partis, but he did nothing of the sort.
She took the idea he was even disparaging her in some manner. Soon she had evidence of it. Silence Jersey, another of the patronesses, led a new gentleman forward to make her acquaintance. He was one of Monstuart’s set who decided to break ranks.
“This fellow has hounded me to death to be presented to you,” she said. Her bright eyes darted between them, curious to see if she was arranging a possible match. “He has done nothing but harass me since he got here. He finally found the way to cajole me; he has promised to invite me to his next houseparty. Sir Giles’s parties are top of the trees, Miss Hermitage. At Stonecroft, you must know, his estate in Hampshire. He breeds ponies, and tells me you are the likeliest filly he has seen this season. It sounds a great insult, does it not? But these horse breeders take such talk for compliments. Don’t let yourself be put off by it.”
That Lady Jersey, top of the trees herself, was angling for an invitation to Sir Giles’s estate confirmed that the gentleman was high in society. His dark eyes and smile showed his interest in Sally. He was exactly the sort of parti she had hoped to attract, and she set herself to charm him.
“You must know horses are held in the highest esteem in England, ma’am. So long as Sir Giles doesn’t try to put a bit in my mouth, I have no objection to being likened to a filly.” As she spoke, she swept a graceful curtsy.
“A ring on your finger is more what the gentleman has in mind, I believe.”
“I really had not planned to make the offer till we had said ‘How do you do,’ Miss Hermitage,” Sir Giles answered, “and perhaps even stood up for a dance together. I won’t expect you to canter or gallop, despite my fondness for cattle.”
“I am relieved to see you have no saddle in your pocket,” she riposted. “But it is a set of waltzes that are coming up, and we debs, you know, are too innocent for such lively dissipation.”
“Rubbish, minx,” Lady Jersey decreed. “You may waltz with my blessing. There, Sir Giles, I have done all in my power to advance your case. The rest is up to you. Don’t forget, now, I am on your list for Stonecroft—June the sixth, is it not?”
“I shall send you a special invitation,” he promised. Then, as the music began, he took Miss Hermitage into his arms for the waltz. “I hope you are impressed with what pains I have taken to meet you,” he said. “I have held Lady Jersey at bay for two seasons.”
“But she is monstrously amusing!”
“Her tongue never ceases running. It’s four pence to a groat she’ll soon hint that the Countess Lieven would like to join us, and that is as good as saying the Prince will come along, for he is always in the Lievens’ pocket.”
Sally enjoyed the waltzes, but she did notice that Sir Giles held himself inordinately high. To denigrate such celebrities as the Lievens and the Prince Regent came perilously close to toploftiness. Sir Giles was attracted by her appearance, but Sally suspected that if she displayed any trace of either rusticity or fastness, she would be dropped without hesitation.
Monstuart, who had not so much as spoken to her throughout the evening, came forward as soon as Sir Giles led her from the floor. She was happy to have such an unexceptionable acquaintance to add to her consequence in front of Sir Giles. Monstuart’s first utterance showed her how far this was from his intention.
His face was stiff with disapproval. “Did you not realize you’re not allowed to waltz, Miss Hermitage?” he asked.
“Lady Jersey graciously gave us permission—for a price,” Sir Giles said. But Monstuart’s question cast a doubt on her being up to snuff. “Now that the secret is out, I suppose you are come to snatch Miss Hermitage away from me, Monty.”
“My partners have been selected already, but I will be happy to try to find Miss Hermitage an escort for the next set.”
“That will not be necessary, thank you, Monstuart,” Sally said. Her frosty accent was all the reproof she dared risk.
“Your usual escort, Peacock, is not here, of course. They are rather careful of the clientele at Almack’s.”
Sir Giles looked startled; whether at the name Peacock or the rude tone of Monstuart’s conversation it was difficult to tell. He looked at Sally askance.
“Mr. Peacock has no wish to attend the club,” she answered hotly.
“No, indeed, it is much too respectable to suit his fancy. Gambling for chicken stakes, and not a drop of brandy or blue ruin on the premises. Why, truth to tell, Miss Hermitage, I am surprised to see you honor us with your presence.”
“My brother-in-law, Lord Derwent, wished to come,” she said, to let Sir Giles know of the connection, “And, in any case, it is an interesting contrast to Carlton House last night,” she said, to inform Sir Giles of that glory.
Sir Giles did not consider Monstuart overly nice in his acquaintances, and if he was displeased with Miss Hermitage, she was obviously not his sort. He withheld the request to call on her that he had planned to make. “Thank you for the waltz, Miss Hermitage. Delightful.” He bowed and left.
Sally turned a wrathful eye on Monstuart. “I hope you’re satisfied!”
Monstuart lifted a black brow in simulated surprise. “Sir Giles is excellent ton. One cannot complain of his attentions. I hope he persists in them.”
“A vain hope, I fear, when you were so solicitous in bringing Peacock’s name forward.”
“Don’t raise your voice,” he growled.
He grabbed her elbow and led her off to the spacious gallery of the supper room. “I hope this convinces you that Peacock is not a suitable companion for you. When his very name sends a decent man running for the hills, even you must realize what sort of creature he is.”
“I can do without Sir Giles Little’s notion of decency. You might be interested to know he also looks down his chiseled nose at the Prince Regent, and the Lievens and the Jerseys. Why, I come to think the man can find no companions worthy of him except Monstuart and God.”
Monstuart’s lips twitched in amusement. “Not necessarily in that order.”
Sally noticed his softening mood. “You discouraged him on purpose. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“Certainly I did. The hasty wedding between Derwent and your sister showed me you played with no holds barred. I was also afraid Sir Giles meant to subject you to one of his dreadful houseparties at Stonecroft.”
“They are top of the trees! I would love to have gone!”
“You only think you would have enjoyed it. His mama, a formidable Puritan dowager, is the Mistress of Ceremonies. Her idea of hellraking is a grueling session of Pope Joan, followed by an obligatory tour of the gardens, during which you admire her roses and she disparages your family connections.”
“Why does everyone want to go, then?”
“Why does everyone want to attend Carlton House and Almack’s? They are good ton but demmed poor entertainment.”
“Whereas Mr. Peacock is bad ton but demmed good entertainment.”
Monstuart’s eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened imperceptibly. “He is bad ton, in any case, and an unprincipled gambler.”
“I shall be sure not to sit down to cards with him, then.”
“It is clearly not money he’s after in your case, nor marriage either. The man’s a womanizer. Naturally you may see whom you wish, but I won’t have him fleecing Derwent.”
“Why tell me? I don’t manage your nephew.”
He gave her a blighting stare. “That is news to me.” Then he hunched his shoulders and strolled away, leaving her alone.