by Lynn Morris
“One can hardly dance for hours on end subsisting on this,” Mirabella said, somewhat absently. “Josephine, how did you find your dance with Lord Southam?”
“He’s charming, of course. He dances very well for a man of his size. To look at him one would think he’d—well, rather blunder about.”
Giles said, “He’s a regular at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, and he’s a real terror. None but Jackson himself and his assistants will spar with him. It’s not simply his size and strength, either, he has, as you say, a surprising grace and lightness of foot.” He was watching Mirabella carefully.
With interest she said, “Really? I know very little about him, personally. How well do you know him, Giles?”
“Not very well. He’s in Prinny’s inner circle, but I don’t know him as well as I do some of the others, like Brydges and Aldington.”
Mirabella said insistently, “No, no, I mean, what is said about him personally?”
Dryly Giles said, “I see, you mean the best gossip. I haven’t heard. I could launch an investigation if you’d like.”
“Of course I don’t—Giles, stop it. It’s not important, I’m just curious. Josephine, I must know. Did Lord Palmerston flirt with you?”
She smiled. “He possesses such overwhelming charm that I believe any time he’s speaking to a woman it’s mistaken for flirting.”
“Come now, tell the truth, you’re as terrible as Giles at evasion,” Mirabella said.
“Very well. I exerted all of my charm, and finally saw that he was flirting with me.”
“Excellent girl!” Mirabella said. Giles and Lewin exchanged glances, rolling their eyes. She continued, “But I’m so vexed, he didn’t ask me for a single dance. It’s not fair.”
Josephine said, “I’m certain that Lady Cowper was the reason for that.”
“Emily?” Mirabella said with surprise. “But surely she wouldn’t object, I’ve danced with him before.”
“Yes, dearest, I know you have,” Josephine said slowly. “But you were never available before.”
“Oh, but that can’t be…” Mirabella’s voice trailed off in confusion. She glanced sidelong at Giles. “I suppose you’ve heard.”
“Everyone’s heard, Mirabella,” Giles said with exasperation. “Telling Lady Jersey is as effective as taking out an advertisement in the Times.”
“I’ve decided I don’t wish to speak of this any more,” Mirabella said assertively. “Lewin, you’re very quiet. Are you enjoying yourself, or are you bored to distraction?”
“I was feeling like a complete ponce, but Mrs. Smythe’s effusive observations about my person cheered me considerably,” he replied, his eyes alight. “And I did enjoy dancing with Miss Smythe, she’s such an amiable girl.”
“Who is Miss Smythe?” Josephine asked.
Giles and Lewin began to tell Josephine about the Smythes, and Mirabella’s attention wandered. Giles sounds frustrated with me. I suppose he thinks I was indiscreet, talking to Lady Jersey. But that’s ridiculous, what am I supposed to do, keep it a secret? Oh, hang what he thinks.
I wonder where Lord Southam got to?
Chapter Nine
Mirabella had been right in her prediction of the weather. When the ides of March arrived, London’s airs magically transformed from winter’s cold grip to spring’s mildness, and all of the heavy winter furs went into storage. The morning was glorious, balmy and with the most benevolent golden sunshine that ever was in the coal-smudged city. It was the first time that breakfast was served alfresco in the garden loggia.
Mirabella and Josephine came down, both of them looking sleepy-eyed, for they had been out until two o’clock in the morning at Lord and Lady Sefton’s ball. Lord and Lady Camarden had retired from the ball much earlier, at eleven o’clock, leaving the girls to Lady Sefton’s chaperonage.
Lady Camarden was sitting in the garden at a wrought iron table in the sunshine, by a triple-tiered tinkling fountain. She came to join Mirabella and Josephine at the dining table in the loggia. “You girls do look frowsty and dull,” she said, signaling the footman for another cup of tea. “What time did you get in?”
Mirabella yawned. “It was after two o’clock. Then we stayed up chattering for another hour or so. Still I couldn’t go to sleep until some time later.”
“Mirabella, you are going to ruin your complexion, let alone your health, if you don’t start taking a sleeping draught on those nights,” Lady Camarden said sternly.
“Nonsense, Mamma, I may not look like it but I’m as healthy as an ox, and I have complete faith in my Floris Milk of Jasmine cream to keep me youthful and dewy. I dislike taking sleeping draughts, they make me feel as if my head is stuffed with wet cotton wool in the morning.”
“Sometimes I believe it is, for shame, comparing yourself to an ox, you sound like a dairymaid. Josephine, did you sleep well?”
“Yes, my lady, I’m fortunate that I don’t suffer from the insomnia. I always sleep very soundly.”
“When Mirabella doesn’t keep you up half the night gabbling about young gentlemen, I’m sure.”
Mirabella said, “What else is there to talk about? Except our gowns, of course. Has Pappa already left?”
“Yes, and you missed Giles and Lewin. They breakfasted early, I only came down as they were finishing. They were accompanying Camarden to the House, as there is an important vote on funding for the army today. Lord Wellington is going to speak.”
“I hope they give him boatloads of it,” Josephine said. “Some of the things that Lewin’s told us about the privations of the army are blood-curdling.”
“I’m of the mind that perhaps they will, this time, after the triumph at Badajoz,” Lady Camarden said. “At least that is the conventional wisdom. So, girls, today we must call on Lady Liverpool, Lady Melbourne, and I believe Lady Heathcote, I must consult my calendar again for her at-home days.”
Mirabella said brightly, “Oh, Mamma, must we really? We’ve done so many calls, and have been so taken up with callers on Thursdays, that Josephine and I haven’t even had an opportunity to ride in the park yet. After all, those are return calls, I’m sure none of those ladies would mind if you call on them without us.”
Lady Camarden was thoughtful for a moment, then replied, “Very well, I must say you’ve been dutiful these past three weeks. I suppose I should allow you some time to yourselves without dragging you around to all of the dowagers in Town.”
“Splendid, thank you, Mamma. And Josephine, I’ve been thinking, I’d love to take you to Gunter’s this afternoon.”
“Who is Gunter?” Josephine asked, bewildered.
“No, Gunter’s Tea Shop,” Mirabella answered. “It’s almost as much fun as Almack’s, only the food is infinitely better.”
Gunter’s was a favorite among Polite Society. It was located in the heart of Mayfair, on Berkeley Square, and the Beau Monde loved to gather there before the fashionable Hyde Park riding hours of late afternoon.
As strictly dictated by Mirabella, the girls wore carriage costumes, for they were taking Mirabella’s phaeton. Mirabella’s was a sarcenet muslin dress of a gentle cerulean blue, with a matching Russian mantle lined with white satin. Josephine wore primrose yellow, with a chocolate-brown spencer trimmed with gold braid. They had spent the morning trimming their bonnets, and both of them looked fetching with satin ribbons and fresh flowers that matched their gowns.
Mirabella’s phaeton was one of those jaunty high-perch carriages that was called a “high flyer,” with small front wheels and large rear ones. It was painted the Camarden livery maroon color, with black trim and silver fittings. The previous year, for her birthday, Lord and Lady Camarden had given Mirabella a pair of spirited matched grays, with silver-trimmed harness and headdresses with white ostrich plumes. Mirabella was an accomplished whip, and drove with great style.
Two grooms assisted them up into what was indeed a high perch, and Mirabella dismissed them. “We’re not even going to be accompanied
by grooms?” Josephine asked.
“It’s not necessary at Gunter’s,” Mirabella replied, taking her whip and briskly snapping it far above the horses’ backs. With some dancing, the horses started at a collected trot. “In fact, young ladies may even ride alone in a young gentleman’s carriage to Gunter’s without causing a scandal.”
“Truly?” Josephine exclaimed with surprise. “Any young lady might accompany any young gentleman, and no one thinks ill of her?”
Mirabella pondered this, then smiled. “No, that’s not quite the way of it, allow me to rephrase. Some ladies could accompany some gentlemen.”
Josephine knowingly said, “I see. This is one of those situations where the rules are different for those in highest circles than for those in the lower circles.”
“Oh dear, you do make me sound like the worst snob,” Mirabella said. “Am I really?”
“No, you are not, Mirabella. After all, they are the rules of your world and your society, and of course you must understand them and abide by them. Actually, when I make disdainful observations about such things, it’s really I who sound like a snob. Or I suppose, a reverse snob.”
“I think we are both being much too highly introspective on this marvelous day, let us commence being vain and shallow, and think of nothing but whom we shall meet, and, of course, what delicacy we’ll order. Gracious, what a throng, but I suppose this is the first day it’s been warm enough to enjoy being out in the weather.”
The road in front of Gunter’s was packed with carriages and men on horseback. Still, somehow in the deep instincts of London Society the sense of hierarchy was strong. It had become traditional for the ladies to line up their carriages across the street from the confectionery shop, in the shade of the gracious maple trees of Berkeley Square. Less grand carriages moved down the street to accommodate the finest town coaches, phaetons, barouches, and landaus. Skillfully Mirabella maneuvered her phaeton under the shade of a spreading tree, finessing the horses until she was parked directly behind a large open landau. The lady sitting in the back was half-turned, speaking to a gentleman on a horse.
Mirabella said with surprise, “It’s my friend Lady FitzGeorge. I didn’t know she had arrived in Town yet.” Two footmen stood at attention at the back of the landau, and Mirabella signaled to them. One quickly came to stand by her and bowed deeply. “Please tell Lady FitzGeorge that Lady Mirabella Tirel sends her greetings, and hopes to speak to her.”
The footman delivered the message, and Lady FitzGeorge turned, smiled, and dismissed the gentleman she’d been speaking to. She gestured for Mirabella and Josephine to join her. The footmen assisted them down. They stopped at the side of the landau and Mirabella said happily, “Hello, Rosalind, I’m so very glad to find you in Town. May I have the honor of introducing you to my friend, the daughter of our rector, Miss Rosborough. Miss Rosborough, Lady FitzGeorge.”
Josephine curtsied, and Lady FitzGeorge returned with a courteous nod of her head. “I’m so happy to see you, Mirabella. Miss Rosborough, it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Both of you, please join me.”
Countess FitzGeorge possessed a beauty rarely seen in Englishwomen; her looks were more Slavic than Anglo. Her face was heart-shaped, with an oval forehead and widely spaced dark eyes, slightly uptilted and heavily fringed with thick black lashes, a delicately small nose, and perfect Cupid’s-bow lips. Her hair was black, thick, and glossy. Mirabella had always thought that she looked like a kitten.
Mirabella and Josephine seated themselves across from her. Mirabella said, “I didn’t know you were in Town, I would have called on you.”
“I only just arrived yesterday,” Lady FitzGeorge replied in a pleasingly low, warm voice. “I haven’t seen anyone yet. But I couldn’t resist Gunter’s today, I’ve been haunted by thoughts of their pâte de guimauve de cerise. I’ve continually nagged my cook to make it, but it’s hopeless, it’s like a great sickening spoonful of cherry marshmallow jam. At any rate, I’ve already ordered. John,” she called to a footman, “go fetch a waiter, my guests haven’t yet ordered.” The footman set off in pursuit of a man in a black coat and white apron who precariously weaved in and out of the traffic to attend the carriages on this side of the street. The crimson-faced, puffing young man instantly came to the landau. Mirabella ordered coconut macaroons, and Josephine ordered a raspberry sorbet.
“How long have you been in Town?” Lady FitzGeorge asked.
“For three weeks now,” Mirabella replied. “Did you come with Lady Chandos and Lady Margaret? I don’t believe I’ve seen them either.”
Lady FitzGeorge said carelessly, “They came yesterday, too, but happily they are staying at Lord Chandos’s town house instead of with me.” She turned to Josephine and said mischievously, “Miss Rosborough, you must forgive me and Lady Mirabella, we are old friends. I have not yet gotten so rude that I exclude my guests from conversation. Baroness Amelia Chandos and Lady Margaret FitzGeorge are my stepdaughters.”
Lady FitzGeorge was the same age as Mirabella, twenty-two years old. But Josephine was a woman of elegant discretion, and her expression betrayed no surprise. “I hope I have an opportunity of making their acquaintance, my lady,” she said pleasantly.
“I’m certain you shall, for Lady Margaret has just turned eighteen, and is coming out this Season. Oh, Mirabella, how happy I am that Amelia married last year, and can sponsor Meg. I’ve been buried and smothered in Lincolnshire, it is an absolute desolate wilderness. I thought I would wither away like a dead vine. Miss Rosborough, my husband died a year ago, and I’ve been in mourning.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, my lady,” Josephine said sympathetically. “Please accept my sincerest condolences.”
“Thank you. Now I’m here, however, and finally out of the dismal widow’s weeds, I assure you I’m in quite good spirits,” she said, her dark eyes gleaming. “And now that I don’t have parents or a husband to rule my life, and since I’m not saddled with sponsoring a young naïve girl, I intend to have a brilliant time this Season.”
The huffing waiter arrived with their confections, Lady FitzGeorge’s marshmallow cherry comfits and Mirabella’s macaroons on silver trays, and Josephine’s ice in a crystal goblet. Lady FitzGeorge said, “I’m going to start on my plan of doing precisely what I want, and be very risqué and remove my gloves. I dislike eating pâte de guimauve de cerise with a spoon, but the paste makes your gloves so very sticky. And so here am I, with bare hands, right out in public in broad daylight.”
Mirabella said with amusement, “Rosalind, it’s plain to see that you have been bored, and also that you’ve definitely developed a mind of your own. I’ve never heard you speak quite so—forthrightly.”
“Recklessly, I think you mean. But now I’m a widow, I can say and do as I please, within the boundaries of propriety, of course. I hope I’m not utterly shocking you, Miss Rosborough.”
Josephine smiled. “Not at all, my lady. I think all women, at some time or other, are chafed by the strictures imposed upon us by society. Saying so aloud to friends shouldn’t be cause for offense.”
“As long as those friends are females,” Lady FitzGeorge agreed. “Mirabella, I did receive your invitation to your birthday ball, and I’m particularly looking forward to it, you always do have the most dashing and eligible young gentlemen in Town in attendance. And here, speak of the devil! Here are Lord Trevor and Mr. Aldington.” She nodded to the two horsemen in an encouraging manner.
The two men greeted the ladies courteously, Lady FitzGeorge ascertained that they had been introduced to Josephine, and then she said, “How pleasant to see you two gentlemen. Would you care to join us?”
The men were agreeable, and dismounted and went to stand by the railing of the park, as was customary. Lady FitzGeorge said, “Oh, fie on all of that distant gallantry, come sit by me. If you two gentlemen behave yourselves, I may share my pâte de guimauve de cerise.”
With evident pleasure the two young men climbed up into the landa
u. Lord Trevor immediately sat down, grinning. “And so the precondition for sharing your marshmallow cherry confection is that we must behave ourselves? That’s an onerous burden, my lady.”
“For you, certainly. Mr. Aldington, why do you hesitate? Please sit down.”
Denys Aldington said with some distress, “But my lady, I fear I’ll muss your dress, the seating is so close.”
“Mr. Aldington, I was just remarking that pâte de guimauve de cerise is quite sticky, and as you see, I’ve removed my gloves and my fingers are coated with it. It’s quite impossible for me to arrange my skirt. You have my permission to do so,” she said, her eyes alight.
He managed a quite elegant bow, given the circumstances. Very gently he took a fold of Lady FitzGeorge’s skirt between his thumb and forefinger and moved it aside, then sat down.
Lady FitzGeorge said, “Now I’ve done it, I see. I was worried about shocking Miss Rosborough, but instead I’ve quite flummoxed poor Mr. Aldington.”
“Not at all, my lady,” he said gamely. “Since I had your gracious permission, I was happy to rescue your lovely gown from a muss. I remain your obedient servant, ma’am.”
“The perfect courtier,” Lady FitzGeorge said. “Please have a confection. We were just speaking of Lady Mirabella’s birthday ball. I’m sure you gentlemen are invited, you always are.”
“We are, and as always, I’m flattered to be included on such an exclusive guest list, to one of the premier delights of the Season,” Lord Trevor said, making a mock bow to Mirabella.
“You all know very well that I don’t limit the guest list simply to assume an air of haughty exclusivity,” Mirabella said firmly. “It’s just that our ballroom only holds one hundred comfortably. I refuse to have one of those routs that are so packed full that one can barely dance.”
“They are crashing bores, aren’t they?” Lord Trevor agreed. “But I’ve noted that getting two dances from you, Lady Mirabella, rarely happens at your ball, as I know the gentlemen make their requests as you greet them, the greedy dogs. I’m going to upstage them this year, however, and request here and now the honor of the opening quadrille and the first waltz.”