“We avoided war before. We’ll avoid it again,” Valerie insisted.
“I hope so.” That sigh again, and the far-off look in his eyes as he peered over her head. It cast a gloom over the silver ribbon hung between the pillars. Dinah said he was a touch serious, and he was, fretting about a war that wasn’t certain to happen. Maybe Elm was simply a pessimist like Mr. Churchill. She’d met more than her fair share of those sort at No. 10.
“Will you fight if there is a war?”
“I have no choice. I’m a Second Lieutenant in the Coldstream Guards. I must report for duty at Windsor tomorrow morning after tonight’s fun.” He turned them in an elegant step, the serious man replaced by the knave who’d stolen her from Mr. Chaplin. “There are recruits to whip into shape.”
“With such a schedule, when will you sleep?”
“When I’m dead.” He threw back his head and laughed, the sound more grating than amusing. “I intend to enjoy myself to the fullest until then.”
Her father had done the same in his youth, chasing fame and notoriety through his outlandish pranks. He’d enjoyed it until it’d cost him his fortune, his place in society, and eventually his dignity. She had no desire to ever be like him. Fun was all well and good, but nothing came of trying to forget problems in heady excitement. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It might.” The last strains of the waltz faded away and everyone stopped and clapped before Elm escorted her off the dance floor. “Thank you for a very reassuring dance.”
“Was it?”
“As much as it can be in times like these.” He bowed and relinquished her to Dr. Cranston, the only chap who hadn’t invited her to call him by his first name.
“I hope I’m as interesting a partner as Elm.” Dr. Cranston led her back onto the dance floor, where most of the girls who’d been there before were around her again. Some appeared a great deal happier with their new partners, while others were quite bored.
“Be different. I’m not interested in serious discussion.” The band played a quick foxtrot, the two of them keeping time to the livelier pace. “But don’t be droll either.”
“I’m only droll with patients.”
“Then I won’t get sick.” She breathed hard, the dance keeping her on her toes as much as the conversation. “What hospital are you at?”
“St. Thomas’s.”
Like the other chaps, he was older than her by a few years, but not so many that he came off as an old fogy but more mature than her usual partners. No wonder he hadn’t insisted she use his first name. She supposed maturity was the price one paid for being a doctor instead of a viscount. “Do you enjoy it?”
“It’d be bad luck if I didn’t. I’m the fourth son. By the time my father got to me, my elder brothers had taken all the places in the army, navy, or law. It was either the church or medicine, and I’m not particularly religious.”
“A noble calling. Will you be back on duty in the morning?”
“Me and half the room. I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He lowered his lips close to her ear, his breath whispering across her exposed neck as he spoke and raising a line of goose bumps along her back. She wasn’t sure if he was a cad eager to touch flesh or more friendly than Elm. Either way, he was a swell of a good time and he could get a little closer if it meant enjoying the dance as much as she did. “When mothers need men to round out their guest list, they post notices at the hospitals. Any resident who owns an evening suit is invited to come, no questions asked. That’s how most of us chaps ended up here.”
She jerked back to look at him. His eyes were as stunning as the defined cut of his chin. “They aren’t.”
“They are. You’d be surprised what us poor residents will do for a free dinner and breakfast.”
She was tempted to tell him what it was really like to be poor with no food and the propriétaire d’hôtel threatening to toss their flea-infested things into the street, but she kept her mouth shut. That wasn’t appropriate ballroom conversation. Besides, he wasn’t the first person to cry poverty at a party. There were always girls in the ladies’ complaining about buying their wardrobe at Harrods instead of having it custom-made. The horror. “You’re lying.”
“I’ll prove it.” He turned her around in the dance, his moves smooth and coordinated but not nearly as natural as Elm’s. “The man dancing with Lady Margaret Boyle works with me at St. Thomas’s, and that bloke over there with Miss Joan Debenham is at St. Bart’s. The short man with Lady Anne Fitzroy is at Guy’s. We’ve quite overrun the place tonight. Lady Dunsford must’ve been hard up for gentlemen.”
Yet she’d had the nerve to sneer down her nose at Valerie. “I suppose hosting a few doctors is better than risking too many girls standing out.” Especially given the money spent on most dances. Everyone wanted to be seen as a success, and a room full of wallflowers wouldn’t accomplish that.
“Solicitors too. Half the Inns of Court are here.”
Their Excellencies would die of laughter when they heard this.
Sadly, Jack Harris waved his baton to silence the orchestra and brought their dance to an end. Valerie and Dr. Cranston clapped with the rest of the crush before he escorted her off the dance floor.
If it wouldn’t horrify Dorothy to hear that Valerie had danced with the same gentleman twice in one night, she’d have demanded every dance from him and Elm, but she couldn’t, especially not with Mr. R. M. Chaplin approaching. “Thank you for an interesting turn about the room.”
“It was my pleasure. Until the next dance.”
“Until then.”
He handed her off to Mr. Chaplin, who escorted her out. To her shame, she glanced over her shoulder at the doctor, pleased to catch him looking at her. He raised a gloved hand, then returned to David, Jakie, and Michael, falling back into conversation with them.
At least there’s still Jakie and Michael to look forward to. She’d do all she could when they danced to pique their interest. It wasn’t like her to pursue gentlemen, but the wider her circle of acquaintances, the more successful the Season. Nearby, Christian danced with a tall chap with dark hair who bounced up and down more than he swayed. Valerie had no idea where Dinah and Eunice had gone off to, but they were sure to catch up later.
“What have you been doing with yourself since we last danced?” she asked Mr. Chaplin.
“Discussing adjustments to the training schedule with my groom.”
Her aunt was certainly right about one aspect of the Season. By the end of it, Valerie was going to master conversing with almost anyone on nearly any subject.
Chapter Seven
I’ll have to be more thorough in vetting dance partners.” Katherine plucked another sandwich from the hamper resting on the car’s hood. The girls sat on the runners of Dinah’s and Katherine’s cars parked close together to offer some protection from the steady breeze. Despite the sunshine brightening the green fields and white fences of Hawthorn Hill racecourse, the air hinted at the coming rain that would dampen tomorrow’s races and the second day of the Household Brigade Steeplechase Meeting. “A barrister or doctor is passable for a husband. Their wives can be presented at court. But a solicitor . . . one would have to be out a few Seasons and still on the shelf to be quite so desperate.”
“What if you fell in love with one of those doctors?” Christian tucked the edges of her houndstooth tweed skirt under her legs. There were no toppers and fancy dresses at Hawthorn Hill, but a sea of sensible country tweed for racing enthusiasts and those like Valerie who were here for society rather than a rousing flat race.
“Heaven forbid.” Katherine rolled her eyes. “Who was that chap you were waltzing with at Cecily Berry’s ball?”
This was their first proper chat since Lady Dunsford’s dance three days ago, each of their social diaries so full, they’d been pulled this way and that. If it weren’t for Miss Leaf’s meticulous calendar, Valerie wouldn’t know where to be when.
“John Miller. We’ve known eac
h other for ages. He lived near us in Scotland and was ever so sweet to brave the bohemians of Chelsea to call on us when he arrived in London.”
Valerie wondered at Christian’s Chelsea address. It didn’t seem fashionable enough for the debutante daughter of a Scottish baronet, not that Valerie was one to throw stones at other people’s neighborhoods, not after some of the horrid places she’d lived in at Ascain.
“Does Mr. Miller have money, a title, lands?” Dinah asked, as direct as Lady Astor. “Aunt Nancy says a woman shouldn’t marry for money but should always look for love where money is. It makes life a great deal easier.”
Valerie drew her fitted tan coat a little closer around her neck, surprised at the turn in the conversation. Their Excellencies weren’t usually snobs and she wondered if they’d be more discerning about spending time with her if they knew how low Valerie had been forced to sink in France for lack of money. None of them was ever going to find out because she had no intention of telling anyone that secret. She was here to build herself up, not let her past tear her down. As for the rest, she’d shared a number of things with them over the last week during teas at Claridge’s or while sitting out dances. It was everything from the silly advice Dorothy gave her to whatever gossip she could get out of Mary, but she’d been cautious about revealing too much, taking Uncle Neville’s advice to wait and see. With the exception of this conversation, Their Excellencies had yet to disappoint her.
“Is this where you’ve gone off to?” Jakie peeked over the Daimler’s black curved hood, making the girls jump.
“Where have you been?” Dinah swatted at her cousin, catching the sleeve of his herringbone jacket. “Half the day is over.”
“We had a devil of a time getting here.” Michael helped himself to a sandwich and sat down on the runner between Dinah and Christian. “Elm’s Bentley ran out of petrol.”
“I thought my man had filled it. I’ll have a word with him when I return.” Elm leaned against the Lagonda saloon’s deep green hood and traced the sleek chrome ornament. “Were you disappointed we weren’t here?”
He eyed Valerie from beneath his snap-brim fedora and she nearly choked on the last of her biscuit, wanting to shift closer to Christian but not about to admit how easily he flattered and unnerved her. Instead, she’d give as good as she got. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned him with a teasingly reprimanding look, her voice far more velvety than jovial. “We were terribly disappointed, you’re such good fun.”
“Luckily, there’s still the afternoon races.” He arched one eyebrow at her and she couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or about to laugh. Either way, she’d caught his attention, and that was never a bad thing.
“Where’s David?” Katherine glanced around for her brother, oblivious to the little tête-à-tête between Valerie and Elm. “And Richard?”
“David was summoned by your parents and Richard is walking the wards,” Jakie replied.
“No rest for the weary doctor.” Michael plucked a biscuit out of the hamper and popped it in his mouth. “At least he has something worthwhile to do, that’s more than I can say.”
“Still banging on about working?” Elm asked, examining his fingernails.
Michael narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Thanks to Mum, I haven’t got anything to do but bang on about it. She wants to dictate my life, but I won’t let her. I’ll find something instead of waiting for her to tell me what to do.”
“Where’s that American friend of yours?” Jakie poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, changing the conversation before it could escalate into who knows what. “Ambassador Kennedy’s daughter.”
“Eunice is at a luncheon for the French President and his wife.” Katherine exchanged a curious look with Christian. “Why do you ask?”
“We want to know if it’s true what they say about her father.”
“What do they say?” Valerie and the girls perked up, ready to rush to their absent friend’s defense.
“He thinks Britain is sunk if there’s a war and we should do everything we can to stay out of one.”
“Especially since it’s bad for business, his specifically,” Michael said.
“We heard he commandeers cargo space on government ships for his private liquor import.” Jakie finished his coffee and poured another cup. “He doesn’t care about anyone except himself and his interests. Certainly not ours.”
“How nasty of you both,” Dinah scolded. “Especially when Eunice isn’t here to defend her father.”
“We didn’t say we believed it.”
“We simply want to know if it’s true. Is it?” Michael and Jakie looked at Valerie as if she had the answer.
She didn’t know anything about Ambassador Kennedy’s private thoughts on Britain, but Uncle Neville didn’t care for the balding and bespectacled ambassador. He’d said so a few times during their morning walks in St. James’s Park before all the business in Europe had made him scarce. Of course, she wasn’t going to breathe a word about this to the chaps, but she had to give them something. They were looking to her for insight and if she offered a reasonably intelligent reply they’d do it again.
“He’s not wrong about war being bad for business. Your families are in banking and must’ve seen that during the Great War. Even horse racing faltered back then. With Newmarket the only track allowed to run, all those trainers and stables went off to America and never came back.” She silently thanked Mr. Chaplin for this little bit of horse information. “Ambassador Kennedy wants to avoid war as much as Uncle Neville and so many others do. He has sons who’ll have to fight and I’m sure he doesn’t want them on the battlefield any more than your fathers want you in harm’s way.”
“Our fathers may not have a say in the end, and neither will we.” Elm flicked the end of the chrome hood ornament, making it ring. “We’ll be shipped off with no idea who’ll return and who won’t.”
Laughter from a nearby group of young marrieds and their husbands carried on the breeze along with the neighing horses and the crush of gravel beneath a passing car’s wheels.
“Don’t be so frightfully dull.” Dinah stood and brushed the crumbs off her skirt as the bugle sounded for the first afternoon race. “There isn’t a war today and no one is in danger of dying from anything but a chill. Don’t let Europe’s troubles ruin our fun.”
“I agree.” Elm pushed off the hood, his mood shifting as fast as it had on the dance floor at Lady Dunsford’s. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”
“Come on, then,” Dinah urged. “I’m rooting for Discretion and I want to see him win.”
“Are we going to stalk the whole thing?” Jakie asked.
“We didn’t come all this way to sit with the nonsporting folk, by Jove.”
“What about you, Elm?” Katherine asked, adjusting her felt jockey hat.
“If I had my horse I would, but I couldn’t bring him. I have to report to the barracks this evening.”
“What a pity. I wish I had mine. I’d love to follow the race.” Katherine fell in with Dinah, Elm, Jakie, and Michael as they made for a prime viewing place at the fence. The chaps would ride out together like many spectators did to watch the race from the track.
“What’s got your interest?” Valerie asked Christian, who dallied beside her reading the day’s racing program. “I didn’t think you mad for horses.”
“I was before Father died and Mummy moved us to London.”
“I’m very sorry about your father.” It was something she didn’t wish to have in common with anyone.
“It’s all right. Riding was the only thing we had in common. I’m lucky I learned to read, what with the way he ignored me and my siblings, but I suppose I should be glad. When he did notice me, all he could say was how plain I was and that no man would ever want me. He didn’t get to see his ugly duckling turn into the swan before you.” She held out her arms and twirled around as if his insults had never mattered; but they had, it was in the heaviness of her eyes before she re
turned to reading her program.
“My father wasn’t much better.” Valerie’s heart thudded in her ears. Dorothy claimed the world would stop spinning if she so much as uttered a word about her past, but she wasn’t one to allow a person to believe they were alone. “Literature was the only thing we had in common. If it hadn’t been for his love of books and drilling quotes into me, I’d be quite illiterate too.”
“It’s a wonder any of us English girls know how to read, what with the awful governesses and dame schools.”
“The Cambridge one I attended was dreadful. The headmistress made Miss Minchin from A Little Princess look like a doting mother. The lessons, when she bothered to glance up from her novels long enough to teach, were as rubbish as the meals.” Father had been horrified by how little she’d learned after seven years there. He might’ve noticed sooner if he’d paid her any mind, but she doubted he’d have done anything about it. There wasn’t a single mistake he’d made that he’d ever worked to correct. “If it hadn’t been for the library in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, I’d be a complete fool.”
“Eunice says Americans actually educate their daughters and Mrs. Kennedy expects her to go to university when they return home. Can you imagine our mothers thinking that?”
The Last Debutantes Page 10