by Carola Dunn
Rose, when she appeared, refused to leave the house.
“Suppose Lord Theodore comes and no one is at home? He might never come again, Ruth.”
“Nonsense, my dear. Quite apart from the fact that this is the only place he can be sure of meeting you sooner or later, he is a friend of my uncle and will certainly wish to present his respects now and then.”
“He might consider it sufficient to leave his card.”
“That would scarcely further his acquaintance with you, Rose.”
“Perhaps he does not wish to do so. A single evening is hardly adequate to form even a first impression.”
“How can you say so? Ah, you may well blush! Besides, I am sure he must occasionally feel a need to converse, and I hazard a guess that you are one of the few people with whom he finds it possible.”
Rose sighed.
“Yes, the poor dear certainly is bashful in company. I doubt he will ever rise to ambassador.”
“He is not in the least bashful in your company, and with your support I look to see him overcome his stammer and do very well.”
“You go too fast, indeed you do!” cried Rose, blushing again. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Eleven already. I fear he will not come today.”
“Now, Rose, you know that fashionable young gentlemen do not leave their beds before noon. If he is not here by one o’clock you shall come shopping with me, and we will go by the Royal Academy so that when he comes tomorrow you will be able to ask intelligent questions.”
“I feel sure that paintings are a fascinating study,” said Rose dreamily. “Only think how much money the Regent spends on them. It is the sort of subject any lady should be conversant with, do you not think so, Ruth?”
A knocking at the front door prevented an answer, as both young ladies dashed to the window. They were rewarded with the sight of Lord Theodore Barrington standing patiently upon the step. He had ridden three times round the block in his anxiety not to arrive too early and was now afraid that he might have missed the ladies. In one hand he clutched hopefully two bouquets, rather the worse for wear after their journey through the busy streets.
“Where is Jameson?” asked Rose in a fever. “Ring the bell, Ruth, perhaps he did not hear the door.”
Her fears were proved groundless as Lord Theodore stepped forward and out of their sight below. Moments later, Jameson announced the visitor. A swift, nervous glance around the room assured his lordship that no aunts or younger sisters were lying in wait, and he relaxed.
Whether it was a desperate desire for conversation, or some other need, Theo far outstayed a fifteen-minute courtesy visit. At last the sound of Lady Hadrick and Letty arriving home drove him away, but he managed to extract a promise from Rose to drive with him in the park the next day.
“And Lady Ruth, too, of course,” he added quickly, his last intelligible words as he lost himself in a mangled maze of reasons why he could not stay for luncheon.
Lady Hadrick was pleased that Ruth had furthered her acquaintance with the marquis’s brother, though dismayed at Rose’s presence. She deplored her niece’s intimacy with the banker’s daughter but did not dare express her displeasure openly for fear of vexing Sir John. It was noticeable, however, that the luncheon invitation was not extended to Miss Pardoe.
Miss Pardoe was in no state to think about food. What she wanted was to talk to Ruth about Theo, without interruption. Having made her curtsy to Lady Hadrick and greeted Letty with what that young lady considered far too great a degree of familiarity, she turned back to her friend.
“Did you wish to make some purchases this afternoon, Ruth?” she suggested. “I shall be happy to accompany you.”
Ruth, contrasting Rose and Theo’s perfect accord with Oliver’s absence, found that she was not hungry either. She could summon up little interest in the prospect of trying on gowns, but the idea of escaping from her aunt’s oppressive presence and prying questions was attractive. The two set off for Bond Street.
Rose chattered happily all the way to Mademoiselle Denise’s establishment. Ruth lent her only half an ear, brooding meanwhile on Oliver’s defection. By the time they reached the modiste, she was feeling defiant. The styles and colours she chose for new walking dresses and evening gowns reflected her mood, and Rose, by now dissolving in giggles at the slightest provocation, was in no condition to restrain her. Ruth retained her commonsense where cost was concerned—it was, after all, her uncle’s money she was spending—but no shred of her usual inhibitions was apparent in the rainbow-hued fabrics draped about her by Mademoiselle as her assistants pinned and stitched.
“C’est merveilleux! Milady vill be ze toast of ze Town,” cried the enthusiastic Frenchwoman at last. “So seldom ‘ave you English ze flair to wear such colors. Everysing vill be delivered vizin ze veek, milady, zis I promise. Ah, que milady sera ravissante!”
A half hour spent studying the art of Lawrence, Gainsborough, and Turner sobered the young ladies.
“Now I see why you are so interested in machinery,” sighed Rose as they left the Royal Academy.
Ruth could find no answer.
The drive in the park on Friday was an unqualified success. Theo handled the reins in fine style, and when they met some of his friends, they discovered that they were not the only people to whom he could talk. However, his acquaintance seemed to be all male and largely military, so possibly it was females who usually twisted his tongue.
One or two of the gentlemen displayed obvious admiration for Miss Pardoe, who was looking particularly fine in midnight blue velvet. On hearing that she had little acquaintance among the Ton, they promised to see that mothers and sisters issued invitations.
Ruth observed Lord Theodore closely during these exchanges and was interested to note that far from displaying signs of jealousy, he already showed the beginnings of proprietorial pride. Having grown fond of the shy young man, she hoped that his confidence was not misplaced.
She herself, meanwhile, was quite unable to find an opportunity to practise cool friendliness on Oliver. He was very occupied with business, said Rose.
The next evening, Ruth and Letty were to make their first appearance at a society soirée. It was no very grand affair, simply a dress party for the daughter of Lady Hadrick’s friend, Mrs Vaughn. They had met Miss Vaughn previously, and Letty, finding she was a carrot-haired, horse-faced young woman, had willingly befriended her.
Letty looked charming in rose pink, in spite of what Ruth considered an excess of bows and flounces. Ruth, whose new clothes had not yet been delivered, was wearing her flame gown. Dashing as it was, she was afraid that it would pale into insignificance beside her more recent acquisitions. Whatever had come over her? She could never go out in that cherry-red satin!
Letty, to Miss Vaughn’s carefully disguised chagrin, was definitely the success of the evening. As Lady Hadrick had mentioned, blondes were fashionable at present. Careful coaching had improved her manners no end, and she managed to avoid for the most part the spiteful comments that came naturally to her lips. Yet her upbringing had in no way taught her to be missish or shy, and to young gentlemen scarce out of the schoolroom themselves she seemed easy to talk to, easy to amuse, and a light-footed dancer who did not appear to notice their clumsiness.
As for their mamas, most felt that a certain amount of flirtatiousness could be overlooked in Lady Laetitia Penderric, whom rumour credited with a fabulously wealthy brother.
Ruth had her own successes. There were a few older brothers who had been conscripted as escorts, and two or three soon gravitated to her side. Expecting to spend a dull evening watching others dance, she found she sat down only when she specifically requested to do so. If she was at first sought after simply because she was not a schoolroom miss, it was not long before her conversation was found to be most entertaining, her dancing delightful, and her appearance striking. Before the evening was over she had been engaged in advance for two cotillions, three country dances, and supper at Lady Owi
ngton’s ball the following week.
In fact Letty and Ruth, inaccurately labelled the Cornish Countesses, might have been the talk of the season had not their place been usurped by the scandalous goings-on between Lord Byron and his wife.
Letty was too young to be admitted to such talk, but Ruth soon heard all the details of the business, real and imaginary. Lady Byron, it seemed, had fled to her parents in Yorkshire in the middle of January, taking her month-old daughter. Everyone knew that the poet was deep in debt, that he drank far too much, and took laudanum to excess. Now, it was rumoured, his wife Annabella was suing for a legal separation and charging him with incest. Had he had an affaire with his half-sister Auusta? No one could talk of anything else.
Ruth was shocked to hear salacious details from society matrons of impeccable lineage and reputation. It seemed clear that Lord Byron was guilty of some wrongdoing, yet she must feel sorry for anyone who was so vilified on every side. Suppose these same ladies caught wind of the two days she had spent confined with Oliver. Would she then be set up as though in the public stocks, a target for every vicious tattlemonger? Had these people nothing better to talk about?
She was relieved to find that none of the gentlemen she danced with mentioned Lord Byron in her presence. Not realising that it was a great part of her charm, she listened with interest to a young peer’s views on Enclosures, a soldier’s tales of war in the Peninsula, a Corinthian’s description of a curricle race to Brighton. With one of her partners, a veritable Tulip of Fashion, she had some difficulty in hitting upon a subject of mutual interest until she discovered that he was a fervent admirer of Mr Turner’s paintings. How fortunate that she and Rose had been to the Royal Academy! Mr Turner certainly had a new way with a paintbrush, and whatever one’s opinion, his work was worthy of study.
Ruth mentioned that she and a friend had hoped to visit Mr Turner’s private gallery in Queen Anne Street, accompanied by Lord Theodore Barrington. Mr Quilby was delighted. He was personally acquainted with Mr Turner and had heard that Lord Theodore was a connoisseur. Might he have the pleasure of making one of the party?
Ruth, hoping to give Rose and Theo more privacy than her constant presence had hitherto allowed, gladly permitted Mr Quilby to join them.
Lord Sarbury took her driving on Monday behind a pair of showy chestnuts. Mr Oldham went one better on Tuesday with a four-in-hand team of elegant blacks. On Wednesday Mr Quilby, magnificent in green and gold, accompanied them to Queen Anne Street and happily monopolised her conversation, leaving Rose and Theo wandering behind.
Captain Juillard, despairing of finding Lady Ruth at home, invited the whole family to the theatre on Thursday. Lady Hadrick was dubious until she found out that the captain was the first cousin of the Earl of Wovinghurst. Really, she thought, that little Ruth is a slyboots. I never thought she’d come to anything.
Friday was Lady Owington’s ball. Ruth’s new outfits had all arrived and, greatly daring, she decided to wear the cherry-red. In part, it was simply that her self-confidence was vastly improved. The most modest of females must begin to think herself worthy of notice after being pursued for a week by a quartet of beaux—even if, as was the case, she would have exchanged them all against a single chance to try out her cool friendliness on a certain pig-headed young man who had not come near her in longer than she liked to think about.
In part, the cherry-red gown was another manifestation of defiance aimed inexplicably at that same young man.
The young man in question had been ready to forgive all on the day after their last meeting. However, his self-confidence had been severely shaken, and he was far from certain that he would be welcome. Then his sister reported to him that she had met Lord Theodore in Curzon Street. Not speaking of her own blooming relationship with the diplomat, Rose had said that he and Ruth seemed very friendly. The demon Jealousy reawoke in Oliver’s breast.
Daily Rose returned home to mention, as if in passing, that she had again come across his lordship at the Hadricks’. At last, goaded beyond endurance, Oliver had to see his rival for himself. He abandoned the careful comparison of Davy’s safety lamp with Stephenson’s, which he was compiling for Sir Edward, and made his way to Curzon Street.
A remnant of caution made him ask for Sir John.
“The master is at the House, sir,” answered Jameson.
“And the ladies?” enquired Oliver offhandedly.
“Lady Hadrick and Lady Laetitia are at home, sir. I believe Lady Ruth is walking in the park with Lord Sarbury. You might meet her there, Mr Oliver.”
So! Not content with one lord, the hussy had found herself a second!
Oliver was a man of peace, a believer in the superiority of cooperation over competition. The thought of rivals to be overcome did not rouse him to greater exertions. On the contrary, he was far more inclined to admit himself defeated. If Ruth had ever cared for him, it had been because she had known no one else. Now she had met gentlemen of her own rank, and it was natural that she should prefer them.
He was lucky to have had the privilege of rescuing her from danger, of coming to know and love her.
Some last tattered remnant of hope made him agree to accompany his family to Lady Owington’s ball. One of Theo’s friends had turned out to be her ladyship’s nephew. He had called once or twice on Rose, and being an amusing fellow had been made welcome. He was also penniless, and his doting aunt had been persuaded to add the wealthy Miss Pardoe and her family to her guest list. Not that Lieutenant Drake had any intention of poaching on Lord Theodore’s preserve. It was more by way of a long shot, besides which he genuinely liked Rose and was pleased to do her a good turn.
So Oliver went to Lady Owington’s ball. The Pardoes arrived late, Sir Edward having dined with a business associate. Sir John Hadrick had been on the lookout for them, and he at once whisked Sir Edward and Lady Pardoe off to be introduced to several acquaintances of his. Rose was pounced on by Lieutenant Drake, and Oliver was left to make his own way into the ballroom.
He had no difficulty in spotting Ruth at once. The cherry-red satin glowed in the arms of Lord Theodore Barrington, and Oliver was not to know that Theo was making do with Ruth as a substitute for Rose. He scowled.
At last the dance was over. Lord Theodore led Ruth to a seat and promptly disappeared, having seen Rose’s arrival. By the time Oliver had made his way across the crowded room Ruth was surrounded by jostling admirers. With an enchanting smile she impartially denied all requests for her hand.
“My card is quite full up!” she pointed out, waving it, “You see, Sir Ernest, Mr Franklin... Oliver!”
Already turning away, he did not hear her through the clamour. Her card was quite full up, there was no room for him in her life.
Ruth wanted to jump up and run after him, but that would create a scene and give rise to all the suspicions she was most anxious to avoid. If he made no effort to speak to her, it was because he did not care enough.
All the glittering glamour of the ball turned to worthless tinsel in her eyes. She smiled and chatted to partner after partner, but she scarcely knew one from the next.
Her air of distraction lent a certain mystery, and she was more sought after than ever. Only Lord Sarbury had noticed the incident with Oliver, and he resolved to make it his business to comfort and console her. He was almost glad to see a breach in the self-sufficiency she had till now displayed to the world.
Oliver went straight home and packed, and the next morning he left for Manchester. He wished to consult John Dalton about safety lamps, he explained curtly.
Chapter 15
Lady Hadrick was in a seventh heaven. All morning a stream of callers passed through her drawing room, mostly gentlemen, but with a sprinkling of noble ladies upon whom she would never have ventured to call. Her nieces’ success was beyond her wildest dreams. How wise she had been when she had so generously extended to them the hospitality of her home!
If anything remained to irk her ladyship, it was that Ruth’
s admirers seemed both more numerous and generally of higher rank than Letty’s. Letty, she felt, was her own creation, while Ruth had stubbornly refused to be guided by her aunt. However, her visitors did not know that, and Lady Hadrick was soon able to forget as she received compliment after compliment on Ruth’s dashing style.
Lady Laetitia was much in demand, but she could not deny to herself that her sister’s triumph was greater. She was furious. It was supposed to be her season, was it not? Ruth was a selfish old maid who was stealing her glory when she was quite beyond the age to have any use for it herself. Most of Letty’s beaux were callow youths, still tied to their mothers’ apron strings. What business had Ruth monopolising all the handsome Corinthians, the smartest dandies, and worse, the Peers of an age to be looking out for a wife?
Lord Sarbury had been one of the first to arrive, bearing a huge bouquet of cherry-red roses. He had seated himself beside Ruth at once, and refused to be ousted by any of the envious fellows who had not made the effort to rise early. He was a good-looking gentleman in his late twenties who, after several years on the town making a reputation for himself as a Nonpareil and a bit of a rake, had recently inherited his title and the estates that accompanied it.
Immediately abandoning his former way of life, he took his new responsibilities seriously. He claimed his seat in the House of Lords and made a thoughtful and well-received maiden speech on the Corn Laws and Enclosure Acts. His next obligation, his mother had convinced him, was to find a bride and settle down to improve his land and provide her with grandchildren.
Lady Ruth Penderric seemed to him to fit the requirements to perfection. She was a charming companion, a serious-minded young woman who would assist him admirably in his duties, her rank was equal to his own, and as an unexpected bonus, he had fallen in love with her.
Lord Sarbury was more than ready to enter upon a formal courtship.
Lord Theodore was also present that morning, escorting his mama, the formidable dowager Marchioness of Radnor. Lady Radnor wished to meet the young person who was occupying so much of her youngest son’s time.