An Impetuous Miss

by Chase Comstock, Mary

  “You must remember that homely saying, 'Trouble not trouble, 'til trouble troubles you.' Now, what of these invitations? I am happy to see there are so many and so soon.”

  “Well, these are heartening, at least, Eveline. Whatever her eccentricities may prove to be, Lady Montrose at least appears to be received throughout London. Just look at these,” she said, handing the invitations to Eveline one by one. “There is a ball in two days at Lord and Lady Hawkesmith's, a rout the very next night at the Marquess of Shrewsbury's, and three dinner parties the following week. Oh dear! We shall never have clothes made in time to go, more's the pity.”

  “Why, Cat,” Eveline laughed in dismay. “I declare you are beginning to sound almost eager!”

  “Well,” Cat returned, coloring slightly, “I thought we had agreed that there is little to be gained by delaying a trial that cannot be avoided.”

  Eveline had been more correct than Cat would ever have allowed, however. A peculiar mixture of excitement and consternation were indeed building in Cat's heart by the minute. True, Montrose House, thus far, appeared to be fulfilling many of her worst fears, but it also seemed to offer the tantalizing taste of adventure.

  Chapter Seven

  As Cat and Eveline descended the staircase to dinner, they were indeed encouraged to find that the further they distanced themselves from the private chambers, the more conservative the fittings of the rooms became. By the time they reached the drawing room it was evident that any fears they might have entertained—at least as far as decor was concerned—were groundless. The exotic was confined off stage, as it were. The drawing room itself was furnished in the best of taste, hung with watered silk of a delicate sea green accented by arrangements of pink roses in silver vases. The ladies had dressed in the best of what passed for finery in the country—Cat in her lavender silk bridesmaid's dress and Eveline in a more sober gray silk. These would have to do for evening until they were able to engage the services of a modiste.

  “Are you feeling more at ease now?” Eveline asked as they took in their surroundings.

  “I am very much relieved,” Cat allowed. “In fact, I begin to wonder if Lady Montrose shall not truly be the best answer to my predicament, for she seems to have mastered the art of maintaining a veneer of propriety over a host of idiosyncrasies.”

  “Good evening, my dears,” a small voice interrupted. “I am Lady Montrose.” Cat and Eveline turned to see a fine-boned, elegant lady of childlike proportions. Her almost unlined face, set with wide china blue eyes, was crowned by a profusion of white ringlets. She was wearing a gown of fine pearl silk, caught at the sleeves and hem with rosettes of mauve velvet. Approaching them with hands outstretched, she smiled her greeting, “You must be Catherine. You favor your grandmother, dear. Alice and I were such good friends. I know that we shall be, too. And you are Eveline. Welcome to you both. How do you find your rooms?”

  Cat glanced warily at Eveline, but before either could formulate an appropriate response. Lady Montrose's laughter, like the ringing of little crystal bells, broke the awkward silence.

  “You must forgive me my self-indulgence, dears. Alice and I had a habit of teasing each other with such surprises when we were girls. Do you know, Catherine, your grandmother once dressed a monkey as the Queen Mother and let it loose at my twelfth birthday party? She did indeed. And in return, I hid that same monkey under the cover of a silver dish at her mother's next dinner party. I thought your great-grandmother would slide under the table with vexation. Ah me—how merry we were! You must count yourselves fortunate indeed, ladies, to have escaped worse than merely finding your chambers decked out like a seraglio.”

  “A monkey!” exclaimed Cat. “Are you quite sure?”

  Lady Montrose smiled and fluttered her fan. “Well, no, to be honest, my dear, I am not quite sure. It may, of course, have been that Alice and I merely talked of doing such things. I've stopped worrying about accuracy altogether. It doesn't really matter whether it happened or not, does it? It's just as amusing!”

  “But Lady Montrose …” Cat began.

  “Lady Montrose indeed! You shall call me Mouse, as your Grandmother did. You, too, Eveline.”

  “I ... we couldn't possibly,” the two protested in unison.

  “Very well, then,” she sighed resignedly, “ 'Lady Mouse' if you must be more conventional. Now, here comes Matey. Let us go in to dinner and you can both tell me all about yourselves.”

  However much Cat's fears for her future were heightened by Lady Montrose's various eccentricities, she could not but admit to herself that she also found them entertaining and endearing. By the end of dinner that evening, the little lady's good humor had won over her guests to the extent that neither of them would have traded her for a more conventional hostess, however much the future might depend on such. Moreover, the evening's conversation revealed that her ladyship's opinions and sentiments were all that could be hoped for and her peculiarities merely reflected a deep-seated love of the ridiculous.

  They had returned to the drawing room for sherry when Lady Montrose's voice took on a serious note, “Now, Catherine,” she began, “just what is this 'predicament' you were speaking of as I entered the drawing room earlier this evening?”

  Cat and Eveline exchanged guarded glances and colored deeply.

  “Come, come, Catherine,” Lady Mouse continued, “we can have no secrets here, and I must confess I shall badger you until it's all out in any case. I own it is a bad habit of mine, but I am not at all likely to change this late in life.”

  And so it was that Cat, who was more than aware of her own lack of expertise as a dissembler, began to outline the strange turn of events which had brought her to London. Lady Montrose leaned forward and listened with avid attention, her brows knitting more and more closely together as the story progressed.

  “And so it is, er, Lady Mouse,” Cat concluded, “that you have our company this Season, but I own I am much happier about my fate since meeting you than I have been for some weeks.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I shall make efforts to see you remain so. I see now why you looked so distressed at our first meeting. Poor child! Saddled with such a burden to begin with and then to find yourself in such surroundings! Oh dear, it really is rather amusing, though, don't you think? I am exceedingly surprised at your grandmother, I must say, to have arranged affairs in such a terribly awkward way. She should have consulted me—I am sure I should have set her straight. Nevertheless, Catherine, I see you are a regular Wellington to face your difficulties so courageously and arrange your future as best you can. I congratulate you!”

  Cat was much encouraged by this speech and plunged into a detailed description of the various preparations they had undertaken thus far. “Poor Eveline has spent much of her recent time as a slave to my deportment, with good success, I assure you. Now I have but to engage the services of a modiste and begin the campaign.”

  “I have undertaken to have Miss Spencer, my own seamstress, call first thing tomorrow morning, unless you had someone else in mind, Catherine,” Lady Montrose informed them, “and I have already purchased some lengths of cloth that came in from Paris last week—although I fear they are not quite so colorful as those which adorn your chambers,” she finished with a little twinkle.

  Cat was more than happy to have been relieved of this last detail and thanked Lady Montrose heartily for her efforts. With affectionate camaraderie, the three ladies bid each other a good night and retired early in preparation for the challenge of the day ahead. Later, as Cat climbed gratefully into her elaborate bed, she took one last moment to look about her fanciful surroundings before snuffing her candle. It began to seem as if everything would be all right after all.

  Chapter Eight

  Although Cat and Eveline had each secretly looked forward with some enthusiasm to their morning appointment with the modiste, they were as weary of that pastime after some four or five trying hours as could be expected of sensible creatures. Their initial excit
ement was naturally heightened at the impressive array of muslins and silks and crepes displayed before them; nevertheless, the ladies' patience was soon tested by such pinnings and drapings and exclamations over color and style that each was heartily sorry they were not cozily ensconced in the library with a good book and a pot of tea.

  When the trial was over, however, and freedom to move and stretch was accorded, they were well pleased with the morning's work, as well as the taste and ability of Miss Spencer, a good soul with a quick eye for accentuating the attributes of each to her best advantage. Moreover, Miss Spencer assured them that their first gowns would be ready in a remarkable two days' time so that some invitations might be accepted forthwith.

  Mid-afternoon found Cat, Eveline and Lady Montrose engaged in a companionable coze in the library, their labors done for the day. Caesar and Brutus were assiduously performing such tricks as had won them treats in the past, all variations on begging winsomely (if persistently), and their little beards were disgracefully covered with cake crumbs and honey. Lady Montrose had entirely won Cat's good will by not only allowing the terriers to join their party throughout the day, but encouraging them in all their little antics as well.

  More invitations had arrived with the morning's post, and with Lady Montrose's counsel, these were being considered both for the potential they offered of introducing appropriate acquaintances, as well as whatever chance of diversion they promised.

  “Unless you enjoy close quarters, do not attend a crush, for they are aptly named,” Lady Montrose advised them. “There is but little opportunity for conversation—just great crowds massing to be seen. Besides, the refreshments are disgraceful. No good in those at all. This musical evening at Branwell's should be just the thing, though, for they are good souls, if somewhat dull. We can't all be blessed with wit. It amuses them, however, to throw together such marriageable people as are of their acquaintance and observe the various stages of courtship. It is a near thing, perhaps, but your first gowns should be just finished in time. Now, I would avoid Almack's—indeed you may have no choice in the matter, for Mrs. Drummond-Burrell and I have had some differences over the years and my patronage would surely doom any hope of vouchers for you. In any case, I suspect you will be troubled enough by fortune hunters before we are done without seeking them out on their own turf, so to speak.”

  At that, a footman entered bearing a card on a silver salver. “What a lovely surprise,” Lady Montrose exclaimed, taking it up. “I had no idea they were in town yet! Show them in, Matey. These are two special friends of mine — I'm so glad you both can meet them straightaway.” Caesar and Brutus had pricked up their sensitive little ears and begun to bounce about zealously as the sounds of voices and footsteps drew near.

  “Lady Mouse,” came a familiar voice. “You are looking well indeed! Why Miss Mansard! I'll be bound, I had not looked for you here! And what's this? Caesar and Brutus! Champion!”

  In recognizing one of the callers as Charles Hazelforth, (the other gentleman was quite unknown to her) Cat's reaction hovered between pleasure and chagrin. Not only had she told that gentleman repeatedly that she had no intention whatsoever of visiting London, but she was also wearing that same muslin dress in which he had seen her so shockingly drenched at their last meeting. As soon as she encountered his eye, Cat felt her cheeks go scarlet.

  A flurry of memories, both discomfiting and delightful, flooded over her as she stammered a moment in confusion when he warmly took her hand in his. Cat was quite content to allow Caesar and Brutus to momentarily divert Hazelforth's attention from her as they danced noisily around his ankles, but through her downcast lashes she was able to confirm that his merest glance in her direction was still able to produce a mysterious flutter of emotions.

  “Oh, you already know Mr. Hazelforth, Catherine!” Lady Montrose exclaimed. “What extraordinary luck! Do sit down, gentlemen, sit down. I shall order more tea and cakes and we shall have ourselves a nice little chat. Matey, take Caesar and Brutus here to the kitchen and tell Rene to fix them something special. Now, Hazelforth, do make Sommers known to the ladies.”

  During the niceties that followed, Cat was able to regain her composure somewhat, and soon learned that Hazelforth and Mr. Sommers, a friend from Oxford years, had only lately arrived in town. This latter was an earnest gentleman who was saved from looking overly serious by a wayward lock of hair which persistently found its way down onto his forehead. This he pushed back every few minutes with an unconsciously boyish gesture which his new acquaintances found quite appealing. The two gentlemen, it was learned, maintained a longstanding friendship of some intimacy with Lady Montrose and were frequent visitors to her house.

  “Of course, it is always a pleasure to see our dear Lady Mouse,” Mr. Sommers began amiably, “but I hold myself fortunate indeed to at last meet Miss Mansard. Hazelforth has told me much of you.” In spite of Mr. Sommers' innocent tone and open manner, Cat could not help but wonder just what information had been shared and, much unnerved, searched her new acquaintance's face suspiciously for signs of irony.

  “We are discussing our calendar for the next several days, Hazelforth,” Lady Montrose informed them. “I am just advising Catherine about Almack's—a dull and dreary den if ever I saw one. She had much better avoid it, do you not agree?”

  “I am sure Miss Mansard's composure would be much overtaxed there, to be sure,” Hazelforth replied with a knowing smile, “for I seem to recall that she has but little patience with the 'sorry simulations of society.'”

  “And that is much to her credit you will agree, Hazelforth. However, I think we cannot avoid such encounters entirely, for the purpose of her visit demands a good deal of exposure. Pray, do not concern yourself, Catherine,” Lady Montrose continued, on hearing a sharp gasp escape from Cat's direction, “for my seeming lack of discretion. Mr. Hazelforth and Mr. Sommers are my trusted friends, and it surely cannot harm your interests to take them into your confidence.”

  At this, Cat could only sputter helplessly, and Lady Montrose, turning a deaf ear to such choking sounds as emerged from her flabbergasted goddaughter, launched on a detailed explanation of Cat's situation and the mortifying circumstances which had brought her to London. During this narrative, Cat could but look wretchedly at the carpet while Eveline, no less shocked, silently commiserated as best she could, and sent sympathetic glances in her direction.

  “So you see, gentlemen,” Lady Montrose concluded, “my Catherine has her work cut out for her, and I am enlisting the two of you to help.”

  “Lady Montrose, if you please!” Cat cried indignantly, at last.

  Ignoring this outburst, her ladyship went on, “Now, now, Catherine, you must surely see that the help of two confirmed bachelors will be invaluable to us, for they know far better than we the habits and characters of their fellows. Moreover, since they have steadfastly determined to maintain their single status, they have nothing to gain by either recommending or discouraging one alliance over another.

  “You see, ladies,” she went on, “I have worried myself no end these last two days: I have maintained some small position in society in recent few years, but not to the extent that I am able to advise you as to the character of any young man. I realize you must think me rash, Catherine, but I have a duty to not only promote, but protect your interests. Your situation makes you ready prey for the unscrupulous.”

  Here there was an awful pause in the conversation, filled only by the eloquent ticking of the mantel clock. Catherine and Eveline, who had already grown in their affection for the little lady, could hardly condemn her intentions; however, the mortification Cat felt (and Eveline felt for her) was overwhelmingly acute. Both Hazelforth and his companion, despite their gentlemanly polish, looked greatly ill at ease. Of the entire party, only Lady Montrose seemed in command of her emotions, and quite unperturbed by what she had done. The entrance of two footmen with the tea cart was, therefore, met with no small degree of relief, and the little party immediately ma
de itself extremely busy with the passing of cups and plates.

  The presence of the servants forced the conversation to confine itself to a stirring discussion of the weather, but the agitation of all parties, with the notable exception of Lady Montrose (who looked remarkably smug), was easily discernable on all their countenances. After a time, the gentlemen rose to take their leave.

  “It has been good to see you again, Miss Mansard,” Hazelforth told her with a bow.

  “And, as you and Sommers will be aiding us in our endeavor,” Lady Montrose reminded him, “I imagine we shall all be seeing a good deal of one another.”

  Seeing the blush this brought to Cat's cheeks, Hazelforth drew her aside and whispered, “Do not discompose yourself, Miss Mansard. Lady Mouse means well.”

  Cat was unable to meet his eye, for this sudden disclosure of the galling details of her situation was almost more than she could bear, but she found the gentle pressure of his hand on hers strangely reassuring. Before their departure, the gentlemen sought and gained permission to call again on the following afternoon to take the ladies for a drive in the park.

  No sooner had the door closed behind them, than Lady Montrose turned to Cat and Eveline and put her finger to her lips for a moment. Then she said, “Do not let's speak of this now, Catherine. I know you must feel that I have overstepped my bounds, and no doubt you are quite correct. However, I feel certain that time will see me vindicated. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have had an agitating morning and I shall have my nap.”

  On Lady Montrose's quitting the room, Cat spent some moments in silent turmoil, alternately pacing the room, throwing herself down on the sofa, and shredding her favorite silk handkerchief. Eveline, who knew that Cat was too sensible to continue long in this occupation, picked up her embroidery and waited patiently for her friend to collect herself.