by Joan Smith
That made me sit up and take notice. “I doubt he would marry a lady with that sort of reputation!”
“I doubt he will give you the time of day when she is around. Did you ask him about the apartment?”
“Yes. It is ready. We shall leave Tuesday afternoon.”
“Why not Monday morning?” she demanded, ready for battle.
“Because I have promised Victoria I would give her that cursed wilderness outing. I regret I ever mentioned it.”
“So I must sit and twiddle my thumbs for two extra days. I shall be lonely as a rooster at setting time.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Irvine. I truly am.”
“Ah, well, at least I shall suffer in luxury.”
“You were right all along. I was aiming too high to think to attach Marndale. Lord Anselm is coming to the party, however.”
“That ugly creature.”
“He can’t help the way he looks.”
“No, but he could stay home in the dark.”
As she was in a cynical mood, I went to my room to prepare for dinner. I took no pains at all with my toilette and regretted it. Lord Anselm was so eager to see me again that he came posting down to Wycherly a day early. He was in the salon with Lord Marndale when Mrs. Irvine and I entered. He leapt to his feet and came pouncing forward.
“Miss Robsjohn! By Jove, it was worth the long drive to see you again. I was afraid Marndale would cut me out if I gave him a day’s head start.”
Marndale’s lips quirked at this absurdity. His eyes met mine in a brief glance, but he said nothing, nor did I.
A bow was not enough greeting for Anselm. He had to kiss my hand! It gave me a very close look at this poor frizzed hair, and when he raised my hand, his jutting chin brushed it. It would be very difficult to dredge up any strong emotion for Lord Anselm, but at least I felt gratitude for his attention. I could not but notice, however, that Marndale was trying to suppress a grin, Mrs. Irvine a snort, and Lady Victoria a look of pity.
Anselm took up a seat beside me and reverted to his favorite subject: the seminary. “I have had a letter from Mary. She will be leaving school this month, you know. I daresay many of the girls will depart now that you are gone.”
“I shouldn’t think so. Lady Mary was set to leave in any case. She is seventeen now, I think?”
“Yes, quite the young lady, but not old enough to make her debut. I shall keep her at home for another year to ripen her.”
“And how was London?” I asked, to cut short his seminary prattle.
That made up our conversation till dinner was announced.
Chapter Ten
The gentlemen spent the evening and next morning in the study, and I helped Lady Victoria arrange for the arrival of the guests. I was happy to learn the routine, in case I should one day be mistress of a grand house. Great care was taken for the comfort of not only the guests but for that of their servants and cattle as well. The housekeeper outlined the preparations, and Victoria made a list in her book for another visit. With such a redoubtable housekeeper as Mrs. Eadie, Victoria’s job was redundant, but it was a useful lesson for her and me.
Lord Eldon, who was usually nursing a headache from an excess of wine, liked dry toast and strong tea before he came down in the morning. “Strong enough for a mouse to walk across it,” was the way Mrs. Eadie described the brew. “And Lord Bathurst takes his shave at night. Isn’t that odd? His valet won’t touch meat, queer lad.” She soon tired of Victoria’s questions and sent her off to the stable to conspire with the head groom regarding the quantity of hay and oats required.
At three-thirty there was nothing more to do, so we went to our rooms to prepare a fresh toilette for the guests’ arrival. With a thought of Mrs. Pogue, my labors were intensive. I fiddled with my hair till I had made a complete mess of it. Mrs. Irvine came to the rescue with a pair of tortoiseshell combs to lift it back from my face. They disappeared against my Titian hair, so I substituted the new length of blue ribbon and ended up looking like a matron trying to masquerade as a schoolgirl.
Mrs. Irvine invented a new compliment for my efforts. “An old hen dressed as a chicken,” she said, shaking her head. She more usually calls such efforts mutton dressed as lamb. I removed the offending ribbon.
The day was chilly, but I had had a new sprigged muslin made up in Bath and wore it with a wrap to keep my arms from turning to gooseflesh. Not five minutes after I went below the carriages began to arrive. First came the Eldons, then the Bathursts. Such notables as the Lord Chancellor and the Minister of State should have been enough to put me in awe, but I confess I paid them little heed. It was Lady Pogue, who had nothing to recommend her but a pretty face and a fortune—and a competition for Lord Marndale—who intrigued me. In my eagerness to see her I stationed myself with a view of the window, quite apart from the eminent guests. Lord Anselm came and sat on one side of me, Mrs. Irvine on the other.
E’er long, the lady drove up in a princess’s carriage straight out of a fairy tale. It was a dainty blue chaise, heavily trimmed in gilt, driven by four snow white horses. A footman in gold livery held the door for her. Before she alit she handed him an umbrella to prevent the onslaught of Sol for the one-minute walk to the house. I could see at a glance her figure was enviable. She was small, what the gentlemen call a Pocket Venus, perfect in every dimension. She wore a blue suit and a simple travelling bonnet. Her dainty toes twittered along light as birds.
“By Jove!” Anselm said, smiling fatuously. I was beginning to suspect his admiration of me was no compliment. He was the sort of man who crops out into admiration for all women who are not downright ugly. But of course this one was something special.
Lady Pogue removed her bonnet before being shown in. She needed no introduction to the company. The gentlemen rose and welcomed her while their ladies exchanged grim-lipped nods. I could only stare in dismay at her hair. It was similar to my own in color and cut but brighter, curlier, and more stylish. Her complexion, too, was pale like mine. Her dark eyes and flashing smile added a certain piquancy to the whole that was totally lacking in me. I felt like a tarnished silver pitcher, and she a newly polished version of me.
Marndale rushed forward to welcome her with Anselm tagging at his heels like a puppy. “Rita, delighted you could come,” I heard Marndale murmur. He held her hand for longer than was necessary. After she had greeted the other guests, Marndale brought her to meet Mrs. Irvine and me.
She offered her hand like a gentleman, a trick I had thought I invented. “Charmed, ladies. Charles has told me so much about you, Miss Robsjohn.” I had heard Anselm call Marndale Charles, but I was displeased that she, too, used the familiarity.
“You have the advantage of me, Lady Pogue. I knew you were coming but nothing else about you.”
A flash shot out from her dark eyes, but her lips declared it was only amusement. “I am surprised Charles even remembered my name,” she said, tossing a flirtatious smile at him.
“By Jove, he is not likely to forget that!” Anselm declared.
This dubious compliment was rewarded with another smile. Anselm latched onto her arm on the spot and drew her toward the sofa. She took my place, but I drew up a chair and sat bobbin. I meant to stick to her like a barnacle and figure out how I could make myself look more like her. I had heard a rumor that rinsing the hair in lemon juice brought out the highlights. I would steal a lemon from the conservatory the first chance that offered.
Some light refreshments were served to welcome the travellers.
“Have you heard anything from Lord Byron lately, Lady Pogue?” Mrs. Irvine asked over her teacup. “I recall there was some talk in Bath last year.”
“He has gone to Italy, I believe. We do not correspond,” she said icily. Then turning her shoulder on Mrs. Irvine, she spoke to me. “And how is dear little Vickie coming along, Miss Robsjohn? I hear you are a positive wizard with the child.”
“We rub along tolerably well.”
She looked across the room, wher
e Victoria sat conversing dutifully with the other ladies of the party. “She has needed a firm hand such as you supply. Dick says you ruled that seminary at Bath with an iron fist.”
Anselm—Dick—colored up and laughed inanely. His long chin wobbled like a turkey’s wattle. “A regular Turk, eh Miss Robsjohn? But very popular with the young ladies.”
“And gentlemen, I should think?” Lady Pogue added archly.
“We only taught young ladies,” I told her.
“A lady has a life beyond the school room, n’est-ce pas?”
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended at her manner. It seemed friendly enough but rather insinuating.
“Not this lady,” Mrs. Irvine announced. “You would think the sun rose and set on that seminary. Until she had the luck to inherit a small fortune, of course. Then it was a different story.”
“I attended the assemblies at the Pump Room,” I reminded her.
Lady Pogue gave me a commiserating smile. “The one time I attended the Bath Assembly I was forcibly reminded of a wake. Surely there were better connections to be made. All those young ladies–some of them must have had widowed papas or eligible brothers, like Dick.” She smiled fondly on Anselm. His chin wobbled in appreciation.
Lord Eldon called to Anselm from across the room, and he excused himself. Marndale came to replace him on the sofa. “You neglected to tell me Miss Robsjohn is a beauty, Charles,” Lady Pogue scolded, with a playful smile in my direction.
“You wrong me, madam. Surely I mentioned she was quite in your own style.”
We two ladies exchanged a calculating stare. Neither of us expressed pleasure at the utterance. “Comparisons are always odious, never more so than when you compare the charms of ladies—especially in their presence,” Lady Pogue said, slapping his wrist in a familiar way. “Miss Robsjohn will not continue tending Vickie if you treat her so shabbily.”
“Lord Marndale knows I shall be leaving early next week,” I said firmly.
Lady Pogue looked guilty. “Now what have I done!” she exclaimed.
“This is not your doing, Lady Pogue,” I assured her. “My arrangements were made some time ago.”
“And I have been attempting ever since to dissuade her,” Marndale joked.
He soon joined the gentlemen, and Lady Pogue turned an inquisitive stare on me. “What is your hurry in leaving, Miss Robsjohn? A gentleman’s home makes a formidable base for a lady in your position.”
I could almost feel my eyes spark in anger. “I beg your pardon!” My position, as though I were a light-skirt or a thief!
“Now you must not take a pet, my dear, but a pretty lady with some fortune who wishes to enter society but is not being formally presented must keep her wits about her. You might marry up or down or sideways. Wycherly—or some similar estate—would serve you better than a set of hired rooms in London. Here you will meet only gentlemen of the first stare.”
“Jennie has ten thousand. We figured a baronet, tops,” Mrs. Irvine announced. My eyes thinned and my nostrils dilated at her outspoken ways.
The lady laughed lightly. “You aim too low, ma’am. I was not presented, and I had only five thousand, but I nabbed a baronet. With the increase in my fortune since Sir John’s death, I mean to win a title.” Her clever eyes darted across the room, where the four lords had their heads together, too interested in politics to stop talking about it even in company. It was impossible to tell which gentleman she looked at, but Eldon and Bathurst were both married already. Between Anselm and Marndale there was no question which she meant.
“I am not sure I care to marry at all,” I said.
Lady Pogue gave a pained frown. “A single lady is severely restricted in society, Miss Robsjohn. If she is pretty, as we are, all the old cats fear she is after their husbands. It doesn’t take them long to cook up a scandal and bar her from the best parties. My husband has been dead eighteen months. I mean to marry before the year is out, though I do not relish taking on a young debutante along with a husband. It puts one in the class of older ladies, being a chaperone. Of course, I must be a little sly about my plans.” Again she examined the group of gentlemen. I had never seen such a determined expression on anyone’s face. From that moment I considered Marndale as well as shackled. Obviously she referred to Lady Victoria as the debutante.
Our conversation was different from what I had expected—more interesting and entirely frank. She was a solicitor’s daughter from Surrey. She had married an older gentleman who wanted a son, which she had failed to supply. She had no children. Before half an hour was up, Lady Pogue knew all about me, too, except my age. That I managed to keep quiet, and she was equally reticent regarding how long she had graced the earth.
Our talk was all of eligible partis and where they might be met in London and how to get invitations to the best gatherings. She lauded my having “got an apartment out of Charles,” as she phrased it. “You will meet all his pensioners there. Don’t think they won’t have the ton calling on them! I am always more than polite to noble old relics. I met Charles through his great aunt Sophronia, whom I used to take out for drives when Sir John was alive. He knew her late husband and used to call on her occasionally. Charitable works are a good ploy, too. I shall get you on to the committee for the state orphans in London. Lady Castlereagh is a member. She might even get you a ticket to Almack’s if you butter her up. And if that fails you will be prominent at their annual ball at least.”
She was a gold mine of information, and I hung on her every word, as keen as Plato’s students at the feet of their mentor. I quite forgot that I was in the same room as the Lord Chancellor and the Minister of State. Much good they would do me; but here was a lady who could set me on the path to a first-rate marriage.
“Do you drive?” Lady Pogue inquired during our conversation.
“Certainly.”
“Then you must set up a dashing rig. My friend, Lady Lade, will help you there. And you must make a visit to a French modiste,” she added, flickering a glance at my gown.
“But I only have ten thousand pounds.”
“Spend it. There is no better investment you could make than to look well and mix with the right people.”
“But if I spend all my money and don’t nab a parti .. .”
She shrugged her shoulders insouciantly. “You will. Perhaps even a title.” Her eyes glided across the room again. I beheld the monumental chin and frizzed pate of Anselm.
I was taking lessons from the wrong tutor. Lady Pogue, I realized, would marry a sheep or a goat so long as he could advance her social career. That she had shackled herself, while still young, to an elderly gentleman was proof of it. I was made of different stuff. Some of her advice was useful, but I must pick and choose what parts of it to follow.
A little later she mentioned Lady Lade again. “Is that Lettie Lade, the famous whip?” I asked, remembering Victoria’s opinion of the lady.
“Yes, we are bosom beaux.”
It was Marndale who had warned his daughter that Lettie Lade was bad ton. He would never marry her bosom beau. I began to suspect that the relationship with Lady Pogue was not an honorable one.
At six we went upstairs to make our toilettes. “You’d best wear the bronze gown,” was Mrs. Irvine’s way of telling me she was bowled over by my competition.
“I cannot. I’ll need it for the larger dinner party and dance Saturday evening. What did you think of Lady Pogue?”
“Monstrously pretty, but she’s not the lady that would pop into your mind when you met a spring chicken.”
“True, but one wouldn’t look long at a peacock without thinking of her. She’s about thirty, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not a day under.”
“She is not at all what I thought.”
“I thought she’d be more discreet. I hardly knew what to say when she blurted out for the world to hear that she is chasing after a husband as fast as her legs will carry her. Meanwhile, I shouldn’t be surprised if s
he amuses herself with affairs.” She pierced me with a gimlet glance. I knew she meant Marndale.
“Her frankness was quite disarming,” I said vaguely.
“I doubt she’d be so outspoken if she didn’t think you were cut from the same bolt as herself. I noticed the political wives kept a distance from her. I don’t think it is a connection you should pursue, Jennie.”
“She does know the London ropes, though.”
“Give her a good quizzing while she’s here, then–”
There was a tap at the door, and Lady Victoria stepped in. She was dressed and ready for the evening, and looked lovely in a pale pink Italian silk gown with her hair dressed in a new fashion. We made a fuss over her toilette; then she said, “What did you think of Lady Pogue?”
“We were just discussing her,” Mrs. Irvine replied. “Does she come here often, dear?”
“As often as she’s invited. This is her third visit, but she always comes with a party. If it weren’t for the respectable company, I would think she is only papa’s chère amie.”
“You should not say such things, Victoria,” I felt compelled to object.
“I am officially out of the schoolroom, Jennie. I may now say—in front of friends at least—all the things I only used to think.”
Mrs. Irvine listened, and as the expert in sexual chicanery, gave her advice. “If he is sleeping with her, you need not fear he will marry her. A hen that gives her eggs away cannot expect a farmer to buy and feed her. There’s an easy way to find out.” We both looked with interest. “What we did aboard the Prometheus was to put something in the suspect’s bed—a feather duster or a dustpan or something that looked as if a careless maid had left it behind, for we didn’t want her to suspect us. If the lady complained the next day, we knew she had slept in her own bed. if she did not, then we assumed she hadn’t.”
“But what if Papa goes to her room?” Victoria countered.
“We’ll put one in his bed, too. The gentleman really ought to go to the lady’s chamber for such assignations. It would be improper to ask her to go skulking along a dark corridor where she might be seen. But with such fast hussies as Lady Pogue, I wouldn’t put it a pace past her to be the predator.”