Cygnet

by Hiatt, Brenda

  Deirdre had been so tired upon their arrival at Penrose House the night before that she had formed no firm impressions of anything beyond her bed, but Celeste, who had slept for much of the trip, awakened her sister at first light, so excited was she to find herself at last in London.

  "Didi, is it not famous?" she cried, flinging back the rose-coloured draperies surrounding Deirdre's four-poster to allow the wan light from the windows to fall upon her face. "We are well and truly here! Do you suppose Mama intends taking us round to the modistes this morning? I do hope so!"

  Deirdre shielded her eyes with one hand, squinting up at her sister. "What time is it?" she asked groggily.

  Celeste took no notice, but continued to chatter. "And we shall no doubt see Althea before the day is out, for she said in her last letter that she would be in London before us. I am certain she will have some grand entertainment already planned! Oh, how can you sleep on such a day?"

  "Obviously, I can't," replied Deirdre, but she was smiling now. This Season meant so very much to Celeste, and Deirdre hoped that she would not be disappointed. "Let us go down and see if any breakfast is to be had."

  Half an hour later they descended to the dining-room, clad, with Marie's help, in their best day dresses from the country. Deirdre looked about her with interest, for she had never visited Penrose House before, though she had heard much about it from her mother and two eldest sisters. It was built on different lines from Rose Manor, of course, being tall and narrow rather than rambling. It seemed nearly as large, however, with the family bedrooms on the second floor, the main drawing-rooms and a fair-sized ballroom on the first, and the dining-room, morning-room and another parlour on the ground floor. She assumed that the kitchens must be located somewhere below.

  "Does not the house look fine?" asked Celeste, joining Deirdre in her inspection. "I do hope the ballroom will be large enough, though."

  "It accommodated Althea's and Beata's balls, Celeste, so no doubt it will be equal to yours as well," said Lady Penrose, coming down behind them. She, too, was eager to get an early start on their first day in Town. The country was well enough, in its way, but one always felt so much more alive when one was in London, she thought.

  Over a breakfast which indicated to the Baroness that the cook she had engaged sight unseen would need to be replaced, and quickly, Lady Penrose enlightened her daughters as to her plans for the day. "First, of course, we must call on Althea, who is already in Town. Beata, I believe, is not to arrive until next week."

  "Beata is to be in London this Season?" broke in Deirdre eagerly. She and Beata had been close before her second-eldest daughter's marriage three years earlier, Lady Penrose recalled.

  "Yes, Geoffrey is well over a year old now, and she seems willing to bring him along. I can scarcely wait to see my first grandson, I must admit, and begged her most shamelessly to come. And, of course, we shall see little Theodore this very morning!"

  The aforementioned Theodore was Althea's son, born a month after Beata's, to his mother's chagrin. Althea, however, had not found it necessary to immure herself in the country last Season on the feeble grounds of possessing a new infant, as Beata had, and therefore had let no Town connections slip. Lady Penrose thus expected her eldest daughter to be of more use to their purposes than Beata might be. Also, she had ever found Althea's temperament, very like Celeste's, easier to understand than Beata's, who tended toward an ironic, double-edged wit which often left her mother and sisters at a loss.

  "As you must know, the Season will not be fully underway for another week or two, and many of the best families will not have arrived yet," she continued.

  "So there will be no ball, or rout, or levee, or... or anything tonight, Mama?" broke in Celeste mournfully.

  "Certainly not, my dear. We came early so that I could get the two of you properly outfitted before the invitations begin to arrive. And levees do not occur in the evening, Celeste, kindly remember. Besides, there are your hairstyles to consider, a dancing master to engage and any number of other details to attend to before either of you will be properly ready to enter Society."

  "Why, what is wrong with my hair? And I already know how to dance, Mama, as you know perfectly well. At the last ball in Bedford I never sat out once!" Celeste was clearly affronted at this implied criticism of her beauty and accomplishments.

  "Yes, yes, darling, you dance well enough for our little country gatherings, but a London ball is another thing entirely. And poor Didi has never learned at all."

  "Must I, ma'am?" Deirdre was startled. She had not thought of dancing as something which might be required of her in London, though of course she should have, she realized belatedly.

  "Well, certainly you must!" exclaimed her mother and sister together.

  "Think how it would look if you sat among the dowagers at every do," Lady Penrose suggested.

  "Oh, yes, Didi, it would embarrass me to death!" added Celeste artlessly. Deirdre gave in reluctantly but gracefully and her mother continued elaborating on her plans for the day.

  * * *

  Althea, now Lady Thumble by virtue of her marriage to Sir Bruce Thumble three Seasons ago, lived in an elegant three-storey town house on Clarges Street. It had not been quite so grand as Penrose House upon her marriage, but she had overseen extensive renovation and redecorating and turned it into quite a showcase. She had also managed, over the past three years, to become one of the ton's premier hostesses, and if some of the highest sticklers thought Lady Thumble sadly frivolous, they quickly admitted that her warmth and gaiety more than made up for it. She had become well known for her frequent entertainments, so lavish that they might have caused her husband to grumble at the expense, had he been less besotted with his lovely wife.

  For lovely Althea remained. This was the first fact her mother noted when she and her daughters were ushered into her presence an hour later by her butler, a soberly clad individual whose dignified mien was belied by a friendly twinkle in his eye. Althea had never been able to bear dour servants, Lady Penrose recalled.

  "Mama, I missed you so!" cried Lady Thumble, running to embrace her mother, and then her sisters. "It's been an age and more, I vow! And look at my little Celeste— why, you are every bit as beautiful as I was for my come-out."

  "Yes, everyone at home has remarked on her resemblance to you, my dear," returned Lady Penrose complacently. She, too, had been a noted beauty in her youth and did not hesitate to take full credit for her daughters' looks— except for Deirdre, of course, who did not resemble her in the least. "But where is little Theodore? I am simply beside myself with impatience to see him, for he was still a mere babe two Christmases ago."

  "Oh, yes, he has grown amazingly and is the cleverest thing imaginable," replied Althea, ringing for the nurse. "He was saying 'mama' before he was a year old, if you will believe it!"

  While waiting for this remarkable child to make his entrance, Althea, Lady Penrose and Celeste animatedly discussed the modistes to be visited that day. "For one look at your gown, dear Althea, proves that Mrs. Chambers is not nearly so au courant of the latest fashions as she would have us believe," declared the Baroness. "And of course we must fire off our Celeste in prime style."

  Lady Thumble looked fondly on the young lady just mentioned; their similarity in looks was echoed by one of temperament which had encouraged a closeness between the two, continued by correspondence after Althea's marriage.

  "Indeed we must, Mama," she agreed. "Which reminds me to tell you that I have already spoken to Sally Jersey about your vouchers for Almack's, though she tells me that you, ma'am, have never allowed your membership to lapse."

  "Yes, it seemed worth the ten guineas, even though I come to Town so seldom, but I welcome your assistance for your sisters. Now, which— Ah, here is my little gentleman!" Lady Penrose broke off with a coo on the entrance of a chubby, golden-haired cherub. Seventeen-month-old Theodore claimed her complete attention, as well as that of his two fond aunts, for the remainder of the vis
it.

  * * *

  "And may I also have the lemon silk with the green net overdrape?" Celeste asked her mother eagerly a few hours later. She had already amassed a formidable selection of gowns, in the brightest colours her mother would allow for a debutante.

  "I suppose so, sweetheart," her fond mama replied, exchanging indulgent smiles with Madame Jeannine, who was volubly delighted with every one of her extravagant young customer's choices. "Yellow is demure enough, though the green is rather vivid. What about this cherry ribbon to set off the white muslin?"

  "Yes, Celeste, and this cherry-and-white parasol will be perfect with it," supplied Deirdre, picking up the article mentioned. She had stayed in the background for much of the shopping expedition, gazing rapturously about at all the novelties encountered, no doubt storing them up to put into future poems. The few suggestions she had made thus far, however, had been surprisingly good one. Only now did the Baroness realize that her younger daughter had ordered but three gowns thus far.

  "Honestly, Didi, one would think you were seeking a post as a governess, what with the choices you are making in gowns," Lady Penrose commented, looking over her selections.

  While Celeste exclaimed over every brightly coloured silk, satin, lutestring and muslin which was paraded before them, begging earnestly to be allowed at least a few deeply coloured gowns, Deirdre refused to consider any but the plainest (and least expensive) styles. Pastels suited her, to be sure, with her pale colouring, but her mother feared she would fade into the wallpaper next to her more flamboyant sister. Lady Penrose was determined that Deirdre should have her fair chance at attracting an eligible mate, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

  "Nonsense, Mama. A governess would scarcely wear peach silk, I think," replied Deirdre with a smile. "And I've told you a dozen times that frills and furbelows are wasted on me. Let Celeste spend what I save, that she may better attract her duke. I'll be perfectly content with a humble viscount myself, who surely cannot expect the same degree of ornamentation in a wife."

  Celeste giggled at Deirdre's silliness, but Lady Penrose frowned. "Making a suitable match is serious business, miss, and I'll thank you not to jest about it."

  Deirdre said nothing, as she had no desire to enter into another argument with her mother about marriages of convenience. She had determined long ago that even abject poverty would never tempt her into anything but a love match, and she therefore cheerfully expected to go to her grave unwed. But in her poetic, romantic heart she hoped that Celeste might achieve what was out of her reach, and she intended to further that end in any way she could. The more beautiful Celeste was, she reasoned, the more swains she would have to choose from— which should increase the chance that she would fall in love with one of them. And if that one should happen to be a duke, why then, everyone would be happy.

  When the ladies left the modiste's two hours later, Celeste having ordered three gowns for every one of Deirdre's, and having spent easily five times what her sister had, Deirdre felt with satisfaction that she had done what she could to further her sister's ultimate happiness. In fact, seeing Celeste swathed in Madame Jeannine's lovely fabrics had inspired a romantic sonnet she could hardly wait to write down when they returned to Penrose House.

  Looking over the lines after she had penned them, Deirdre was sharply reminded of her promise to Faith— and to herself. She had done what she could to further Celeste's ambitions, she thought, adding the new sonnet to the collection of poetry she had brought along. It was now time to give some thought to her own.

  "Marie, can you discover Mr. Leigh Hunt's direction?" Deirdre asked the abigail, who was bustling about her room, having finally finished the last of Celeste's unpacking. Deirdre had done her own last night, as it had taken no more than a few minutes to bestow the few things she had brought.

  "I...I suppose so, Miss Didi. If young William doesn't know, he can find it out quickly enough. That lad seems up to anything and everything." She referred to the boy they had hired upon their arrival as stable-hand and errand boy, a bright, freckle-faced urchin of fourteen.

  "Good. I'd like you to see that this is delivered to him, Marie— discreetly," said Deirdre, turning to retrieve her bundle of verses from the bottom drawer of her writing desk, where she had placed it the night before.

  Marie took a step backward, frowning. "Miss Didi!" she said awfully. "Surely you can't be expecting me to deliver a personal letter from you to some gentleman! Whatever would your mother say?"

  Deirdre was unable to suppress a giggle at Marie's expression, which only served to deepen the maid's suspicions. "Really, Marie! Does this look like a letter?" She held up the thick, ribbon-bound sheaf of papers. "Mr. Hunt, I'll have you know, is the proprietor of the Examiner, a literary newspaper. And this is a collection of some of my poetry, which he has asked to see. It is quite a wonderful opportunity for me, don't you think?"

  Marie still looked doubtful, but she stopped frowning. "So it's to his newspaper office you want these took? I suppose that's not quite so bad."

  "Yes, I should think you, or young William, can discover where the Examiner is published without asking any awkward questions of the other servants. I would really rather Mama and Celeste did not hear of this just yet." She was not sure whether their reaction would be one of amusement or horror, and was equally averse to either.

  "Of course, Miss Didi, I understand," replied Marie unexpectedly. "You want to surprise them by showing off your poetry all printed up in the paper! 'Twill be a very good joke, and quite innocent, to my way of thinking." Marie also thought it might show her ladyship that Miss Didi would not stay in her sisters' shadows forever, which would be no bad thing, but she refrained from saying so aloud. She had always regarded Miss Didi's ability to write poetry, real poetry, with something akin to awe.

  * * *

  By the next morning the fog had dissipated, and the weather remained fair for the following week. Deirdre's spirits, at first brightened by the sunshine, gradually sank as she found herself trapped indoors by the incessant fittings, instructions in etiquette and dancing lessons. Her request that they might walk to the shops one day rather than ride in the closed carriage was met with horror from Lady Penrose, who informed her that only those without the means to maintain a carriage indulged in such vulgar exercise in Town, with the possible exception of in the Park.

  "When you are both outfitted properly will be time enough for that, Didi," she declared, when her daughter quickly urged on her a sojourn in Hyde Park. "I'd prefer no one of importance saw you until you make your formal debuts at Althea's card-party on Tuesday."

  "You mean I am not to have a ball?" wailed Celeste, overhearing.

  "Of course you shall, sweetheart," Lady Penrose quickly soothed her. "I only meant that Tuesday is to be your first public appearance in Society. We shall hold your ball in a few weeks, when everyone who matters is in Town."

  "Oh." Celeste was mollified. "Will Didi have her own ball as well, or shall we both be presented at once?"

  Lady Penrose glanced at Deirdre, considering. The expense of one ball would be extreme; two, while not actually beyond their reach, would stretch the resources she had budgeted for that Season to the utmost. She had managed one each for Althea and Beata, of course, but that had been different. Both of them had wanted to attach husbands.

  As if reading her mind, Deirdre spoke before her mother could answer. "Two balls seems a shocking waste of money to me. Would it not be, Mama? I've no objection to being presented at Celeste's."

  Lady Penrose smiled in relief, reflecting on how convenient it sometimes was that Didi was so easily satisfied. "It would be more economical, I'll allow," she conceded. The Baroness prided herself that her careful management had increased the family wealth over the years.

  Celeste began at once to plan for the ball, not thinking to consult Deirdre on her preferences; nor did it occur to Deirdre that she should.

  * * *

  When the hairdresser Lady Penrose had enga
ged made her appearance on Tuesday afternoon, the same pattern followed. Celeste had very particular ideas as to how she wanted her hair cut and arranged, and only found it to her satisfaction when it was nearly time to dress for the evening. There was no time by then for anything but the simplest cut for Deirdre's hair, but she declared that she did not mind in the least.

  "If you can even up the ends it will suffice," she told the horrified Mrs. Jagels. "I generally just pull it back from my face in a tail or bun, anyway."

  "Oh, but don't you want something special for Althea's do, Didi?" asked Celeste, perhaps feeling just the tiniest pang of guilt for having monopolized the woman's available time.

  "Not especially," replied Deirdre with a smile. "At any rate, there's no time." Celeste had to concede the truth of this last statement, and went to dress without further argument.

  Mrs. Jagels had to content herself with working Deirdre's fine, flyaway hair into a braid before coiling it into a knot at the nape of her neck. She, along with the new cook, had come on Marie's recommendation, and she had taken the abigail's advice in learning several bewitching styles which could be achieved with this baby-fine blond hair, but all of them required more time than was now available.

  "We'll come up with something much nicer next time, miss, you'll see," she promised Deirdre as she took her leave.

  Deirdre smiled and nodded, but rather doubted the woman's words. If Mims, who had been with the family for nearly ten years, had never produced anything better than a bun, she didn't see how Mrs. Jagels, who was seeing her hair for the first time today, possibly could. She had occasionally wished that she, too, might have been blessed with the thick curls which her sisters possessed in varying shades of rich gold, but had never allowed the lack of it to trouble her unduly. After all, what need had a poet of an alluring appearance? Anyone who would be attracted to her merely for the sake of external beauty was surely not worth knowing.