by Three Graces
“A new… but I have scores of new dresses already, thanks to your generosity.”
“Pooh! Scores. You have no such thing. A few simple gowns. Nothing fine enough for a real evening out.”
“There are two evening dresses. I thought I should wear the white.”
“No, no. The white is well enough in its way, but you must have something better.” The countess looked at her measuringly. “Pale green, I think, with ribbons.”
“But, Lady Fanshawe, I cannot allow you to buy me still more gowns. You have done far too much already. Indeed, I know I should have refused—”
“My dear companion,” interrupted the older woman, “do you quite understand that I am a very wealthy woman?”
Euphie blinked. “Well, of course I know that you—”
“Very wealthy. My husband, the former earl, left me an extremely generous jointure. I never spend the half of it, even though I am not at all penurious.”
“Yes, Lady Fanshawe, but—”
“Furthermore, I quite enjoy spending money. Particularly when the results are so wonderfully successful. Do you mean to deprive me of this pleasure?” She looked at Euphie haughtily.
The girl smiled slightly and sighed. “You know very well that I cannot counter that argument. Still, I don’t think it is right for me to accept so much from you. What have I done to deserve it?”
Lady Fanshawe dropped her mock anger. “For one thing, you have been, and are, by far the most charming and agreeable companion I have yet had. If you could know what a relief it is not to be managed or toadied to, you would not wonder that I wish to give you a few paltry gowns. And for another, it is perfectly absurd that a lovely young girl like you should not have some dresses and parties to go to. More than absurd, it is wrong!”
Euphie laughed. “I think you have contradicted yourself, Lady Fanshawe. How can I be a good companion and go out to parties?”
“There is no contradiction. What makes you charming is that you are the sort of person who should go out. Now, no more nonsense. We shall look for a dress at once.”
And, of course, they did. Euphie didn’t really have the heart to protest further. This time, they went to Bond Street, to the shop of one of the French modistes, and there chose an evening dress of the palest green crepe, trimmed with darker green ribbons at the sleeves and waist. When Euphie modeled it before the long mirror, further objections died on her lips. It was the loveliest dress she had ever seen.
“Yes indeed,” agreed the countess. “That will do very well.” The satisfied light in her eyes might have puzzled some of her friends, had any been there to see it.
***
On the day of the play, Lord Fanshawe was invited for dinner at six, and the ladies went upstairs to dress right after tea. Euphie put on her new green gown and admired it once again in the mirror. With its tiny sleeves, scooped neckline, and sweep of skirt, it really was lovely. As she sat down in front of her dressing table and began to do her hair, there was a soft knock on the door. “Yes,” called the girl, and Lady Fanshawe’s dresser came in, carrying a small box.
“Her ladyship sent me to help you,” she said. “She thought you might wish me to dress your hair.”
“Oh, that’s very kind,” stammered Euphie. She was a little in awe of this very superior lady’s maid. “I was just going to do it as you showed me.”
“Yes, miss,” responded the woman indulgently. She took the comb from Euphie’s limp fingers and began expertly to arrange her curls. In a moment, they looked better than Euphie herself would ever have managed. “Her ladyship also sent these, miss,” said the dresser then. She picked up the box she had brought and opened it, revealing a string of exquisite pearls clasped with an emerald.
“Oh,” gasped Euphie, “oh, I couldn’t!”
“Lady Fanshawe wishes you to wear them, miss. As a loan, you might say. She was very insistent. I was to tell you that you must, as a favor to her.” The dresser surveyed Euphie. “You do need something for your neck, miss.”
Euphie gazed from the box to the mirror, and put a hand to her bare neck. She looked back at the pearls. “But they are so beautiful, and so expensive, I am sure. I should be afraid of losing them.”
“No fear of that. This clasp is tight. We just had it checked.” The woman picked up the string and fastened it around Euphie’s neck. “There. Oh, that does look well, miss.”
It was indeed the finishing detail. Euphie gazed at herself wide-eyed.
“You should be careful to see that the clasp stays at the side like it is,” added the dresser. “The jewel does bring out the color of your gown. And your eyes,” she went on diplomatically.
Speechless, Euphie continued to gaze.
“Well, if that’s all, miss, I must go back to her ladyship.”
“What? Oh. Oh, yes, of course. And thank you so much.”
“My pleasure, I’m sure, miss.” The lady’s maid left the room.
Euphie stood up and turned slowly before the mirror. The toilette was perfect. She knew that she had never looked half so well in her life as she did tonight.
A sound near the doorway made her turn. Lady Fanshawe’s dresser had not quite closed the door, and now Nero was pushing his way in, looking annoyed. Euphie went to help him, picking him up and setting him on the armchair. “Look at me, Nero,” she said then. “Am I not splendid?”
The white kitten blinked up at her, then opened his mouth in a colossal yawn before curling up in the chair for a nap.
Euphie laughed. “Horrid.” She gathered up her wrap and snuffed the candles, leaving the room illumined only by firelight. “I shan’t tell you anything about the play,” she told Nero as she left the room.
The drawing room was empty when she reached it. Her excitement had made her rather early. After walking about the room restlessly for a while, Euphie stood still. “How shall I wait a whole twenty minutes?” she asked aloud. “I wish it were time to go.” With this, an idea seemed to strike her, and she went out and down the corridor to the back parlor, opening the recently tuned pianoforte and sitting down before it. Here, she knew, time would fly past.
She played a quiet piece by Haydn in a dreamily slow tempo. And as she had known she would, she soon lost all track of the time. Her wrap slipped off the stool as she bent over the keys, and her eyes grew faraway. When the last notes faded into the air, she sat back and sighed.
“Amazing,” said a male voice in the dimness behind her.
Euphie started and whirled around. Lord Giles Fanshawe stood there, very elegant in evening dress, watching her.
“You have a real talent,” he continued. “I compliment you. That Haydn was exquisite.”
“Do you know it?” replied Euphie eagerly, her self-consciousness forgotten. “It is one of my favorites.”
He nodded. “Like my mother, I have a love of music and little skill at making it.” He came further into the room and leaned against the instrument. “You have been playing for years, I understand?”
“Always.”
He started to say something else, then changed his mind. “Will you do another?”
Euphie looked at him. She could see no trace of the mockery that had put her off when she had first met him. She nodded and bent over the pianoforte once again.
Lady Fanshawe found them here five minutes later. As she came into the parlor, there was a gleam in her eye, and it intensified when she took in the scene. She said nothing, however, until the music ended, merely watching the two young people closely. Then she came forward “Lovely, my dear, as always. Does she not play beautifully, Giles.”
“Exquisitely,” replied her son quietly.
“I ask her almost every evening. It is one of my chief pleasures now.”
“I can see how it would be.”
Flushing a little at this praise, Euphie rose. She started to bend to pick up her wrap, but Lord Fanshawe was before her, offering it with a little bow. Euphie’s flush deepened.
“Shall we go in t
o dinner?” said the countess, reaching for her son’s arm. “We must hurry if we are to go to the play.”
Dinner was pleasant. Lord Fanshawe seemed less reserved than on his previous visit, and he and his mother joked throughout the meal. Once or twice Euphie ventured to join in, and her sallies were received with flattering smiles. Altogether, she enjoyed herself very much, and she looked forward to the evening’s entertainment even more than before.
The earl had secured a box at one of the most talked-of plays, and they arrived and settled themselves in it just before the curtain went up. Euphie breathed a deep satisfied sigh as she looked around at the elegant crowd. The glitter of jewels and hum of talk was intoxicating.
Lord Fanshawe smiled at her. “You are looking forward to the play, Miss Hartington?”
“Hugely. I have never seen one before.”
“Never?”
“No, my aunt thought them a waste of time.”
“I wish I might have met your aunt. She seems to have been a very interesting person.”
“Oh, no,” said Euphie, “she would have hated you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The girl flushed and bit her tongue. Why had she blurted that out like a child? “I… I only meant… my aunt did not approve of the male sex. Except those in holy orders. Sometimes.”
“Indeed?”
Euphie nodded miserably and turned back to the theater. All around her she saw groups of men and women chatting vivaciously, and she wished that she had half their skill. They never said such foolish things, she was sure. She watched a woman in the next box flip open a fan and flirt it dexterously in front of her face as she laughed at something her companion had said. For a moment, she envied her fiercely.
But then the curtain rose, and Euphie forgot everything in her enjoyment of the play. It was not a particularly polished piece, but to one who had never been in a theater, it was enthralling. Euphie saw and heard nothing else until the curtain dropped for the first interval.
When it did, she turned to her companions, blinking and trying to bring herself back to reality.
“I believe, Mother, that Miss Hartington liked the play,” said the earl. His tone held only gentle teasing, with none of the sharp sarcasm she so disliked.
Lady Fanshawe smiled. “I believe so.”
“I thought it was wonderful,” exclaimed Euphie. “I know it seems like nothing to you, but I… well, I loved it!”
“And I enjoyed it more than any piece I’ve seen these twenty years,” answered the countess, “simply watching you.” She turned to look out over the crowd. “But now we must be on the lookout for acquaintances. That is what one does in the intervals, Euphie. And, Giles, you may go and fetch us some refreshment.”
The earl smiled. “Yes, Mother,” he responded meekly, standing. “And may I do anything else while I am out?”
“Impertinence. Yes. I see Lady Osbourne there. Pray take her my compliments.”
“Osbourne? That—”
“Yes indeed. And let that teach you not to mock your mother.” She laughed.
Lord Fanshawe smiled ruefully back and disappeared through the curtains at the rear of the box.
“This really is amusing,” continued his mother as she scanned the opposite side of the theater. “But you mustn’t be disappointed if we don’t receive many visitors, Euphie. Most of my friends are getting on and don’t leave their boxes.”
“Oh, nothing could disappoint me tonight,” answered Euphie.
The countess smiled again.
Despite her warning, they did have several visitors. Two young men came to offer their mothers’ compliments. And a middle-aged lady stopped for a moment on her way out, scandalizing Euphie by informing them that she was going on to an evening party instead of seeing the rest of the play. Lord Fanshawe returned with their drinks, bringing with him two friends, whom he presented to the ladies. And finally, near the end of the interval, a very large older gentleman appeared and bowed ponderously. “Arabella,” he wheezed. “’Pon my word. Couldn’t believe it when Waring said you were here. Came right along to see for myself.”
“Hello, Charles,” said the countess without marked enthusiasm.
“By Jove, it is you. Looking lovelier than ever, too. I declare I haven’t seen you this age.”
Euphie stared a bit at this. Though she herself had thought that Lady Fanshawe looked very fine this evening, with her gray hair dressed in waves and a gown of black lace, she was surprised to hear her called lovely.
“You’re looking stouter yourself,” replied Lady Fanshawe dryly.
The large gentleman chuckled. “Still a wit, I see. Yes, my girth increases with the years, I fear. Nothing like you.” He looked around the box helplessly.
“A chair, Sir Charles,” said the earl quickly. “Perhaps Miss Hartington would give you hers and move back here. So that you can talk to Mother more easily.”
Lady Fanshawe glared at her son as Euphie stood and said, “Of course.”
“No, no,” sputtered Sir Charles, “can’t take a lady’s chair.”
“It’s quite all right,” said Lord Fanshawe. “You will be more comfortable there. This is Sir Charles Grove, Miss Hartington. Grove, Miss Euphrosyne Hartington.”
Euphie’s name seemed to confuse the large gentleman further. He muttered a greeting as she went past him and sat in the fourth chair, then sank gratefully into the one she had vacated and leaned toward the countess. Lady Fanshawe continued to glare at her son for a moment, then turned courteously to reply to one of Sir Charles’s sallies.
Lord Fanshawe suppressed a laugh. As he turned to Euphie, his blue eyes twinkled. “Sir Charles is one of Mother’s old beaus,” he murmured.
She gazed at them. The countess by this time looked resigned. “Really? She is not very happy to see him,” she whispered.
“Oh, no. He was not a successful beau. But he claims he never married on her account. Nonsense, of course. He is quite happy as he is. Look at them!”
Sir Charles had possessed himself of one of Lady Fanshawe’s hands and was bending over her solicitously.
“I think you are in for a scold later,” replied Euphie.
“Oh, doubtless, but it is worth it to see her so. Society and admiration, even Sir Charles’s, are good for her.”
And seeing the countess throw back her head and laugh, Euphie had to agree. But she was more impressed by the real concern she heard in the earl’s voice. In their constant bantering, she had not been quite sure what the mother and son felt for each other. Now she knew.
At this moment, the curtain began to rise again, and Sir Charles had to hurry away. He promised to return at the second interval, earning Lord Fanshawe an outraged look from the countess, and indeed he did so. They had no other visitors during that time, and Euphie alternately chatted with her host and listened to the older couple’s exchanges, some of which made her cheeks redden.
The end of the play came all too soon for Euphie. She was caught up in it to the last. And she said little on the drive home. Indeed, she had little opportunity to do so, as Lady Fanshawe filled the short time scolding her son for encouraging Sir Charles. The earl took this in good part, however, and when he escorted the ladies inside, he stood for a moment in the hall to say, “A pleasant evening, Mother, in spite of Sir Charles, was it not?”
Lady Fanshawe shrugged.
“Come, now, admit you enjoyed yourself.”
Looking sharply at him, the countess said, “Did you?”
“I did. Perhaps we can do it again soon.”
“Perhaps. We shall see.”
“Can we not set a date?”
“You are very eager.”
Lord Fanshawe paused, seeming puzzled, then replied, “I think it is good for you to get out.”
“Oh, for me. Well, how is this? Come to dinner one day next week, and we shall talk further about the idea.”
“Done,” he answered promptly.
“Good. Let us say Thursday n
ext. And now, I am tired. Good night, Giles.”
He smiled and bid them both good night. When he was gone, the two women walked upstairs together. “Yes, a pleasant evening,” murmured Lady Fanshawe, “and most instructive, too.”
Seventeen
The week passed calmly. Euphie enjoyed her quiet life with Lady Fanshawe more and more as she began to feel closer to her employer. And she received happy letters from her sisters, which raised her spirits. Nothing marred the peace of the household save a few minor skirmishes between Pug and Nero. And even these were reduced in ferocity and duration. Pug was learning to avoid his frisky colleague, and though he sulked a good deal about this addition to his former kingdom, he no longer attempted to revenge himself on the cat.
On the day Lord Fanshawe was to come to dinner, Euphie was once again ready first. But tonight she sat contentedly in the drawing room waiting for the countess. She wore her white evening dress, a simple gown that set off her bright hair and eyes to perfection, and she had fastened a white rose in her curls.
She was still sitting alone when Lord Fanshawe was announced and came strolling in. She rose quickly, wondering what could be keeping his mother, and said hello.
“Good evening, Miss Hartington. You are looking very fresh and lovely tonight.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Mother is…?”
“She hasn’t come down yet. I can’t think why. I’ll go and see.”
“No need. I don’t want to hurry her. Let us sit down.”
They did so. Euphie searched for a topic of conversation.
“And so you enjoyed the play, Miss Hartington?” said the earl.
“Oh, yes, very much.”
“I’m glad. Your amusements in London up till now have not been quite so conventional, I think?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your walks. When I first saw you, you were certainly having an unusual one.”