The Last Debutantes

by Georgie Blalock

  Elm raised his glass. “To telling Vivien what’s what.”

  “And friends at the 400 Club.” She clinked her glass against his and took a sip. Champagne and a Viscount. The evening was really shaping up. She considered kicking off one shoe and leaving it behind in the hopes he or Richard might bring it home, but didn’t dare. That was all fine and dandy in movies, but it didn’t happen in real life.

  The music ended and Elm set down his glass before taking hers out of her hand and placing it on the table. He never let go of her as he raised her out of her chair and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. She barely noticed the people passing them to reach the parquet, not even Dinah and Richard until Elm stopped them.

  “Hello, old man. I see they’re letting the riffraff in.”

  Richard laughed. “We’ll take over the place in no time if you lot aren’t careful.”

  “Then we’ll have as much fun as our few free hours allow. It’s back to work for us in the morning. You to the wards, me to the barracks, while the lovely ladies enjoy their beauty rest.”

  “You’re the one who needs the rest,” Dinah challenged. “Burning the candle at both ends the way you do.”

  “Nonsense. The new recruits are better faced half-tight.”

  “Same with some patients and certain members of society.” Richard glanced at Valerie’s hand in Elm’s and she couldn’t read the fleeting expression on his face. He shouldn’t mind her dancing with Elm. They were friends having a marvelous time and there was nothing more to it.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Dinah could barely hold back her smile. “Have fun, you two, but don’t have too much fun.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Elm clapped Richard on the back, the two parties continuing on.

  Elm swept her into his arms with a smooth practiced flourish, sparing her the rough handling of most of her usual partners. “There won’t be any champagne left by the time Richard, Jakie, and Michael are done, but better they drink it than let it go to waste. I never order anything I can’t finish in one night.”

  “How very prudent of you.”

  “I’m nothing if not prudent.”

  “Hello, Elm,” a cooing voice interrupted. “What a pleasure to see you.”

  Elm’s hand went stiff in hers.

  “Miss Digby.” He shifted them around to see the Honorable Pamela Digby dancing with the distinguished Fulke Warwick, Earl of Warwick. With dark eyebrows above languid eyes, it was no wonder MGM had placed him under contract. It’d been quite the sensation in the newspapers, a lord in the pictures, and he counted Douglas Fairbanks, Leslie Howard, and the rest of the British film stars as part of his set. He was also a good ten years older than Lord Digby’s pudgy redheaded daughter, and a married man.

  “How formal you are tonight.” Pamela giggled, batting her eyelashes at him, much to Lord Warwick’s irritation. “Are you attending Ascot? I’d so like to see you again.”

  How often had she seen him before?

  “I haven’t decided.” Elm stared over Valerie’s shoulder at some spot on the far wall, doing his best to ignore Pamela and end the conversation. Pamela didn’t either notice or care, and was about to ask another question when Lord Warwick had the tact to cut her off. “Let’s not trouble Lord Elmswood and his partner. We’ll sit out the rest of the dance.”

  “I don’t want to.” Pamela pouted, her lips a daring shade of red that matched her far too low-cut dress.

  “Yes, you do. Lord Elmswood.” Lord Warwick offered a terse nod, then tugged the petulant Pamela off to a shadowed table.

  “Are you two intimately acquainted?” Valerie asked.

  “I’m acquainted with her reputation, and thanks to her current escort, so are you.”

  Liar. “Are you saying she isn’t all innocence?”

  “She and some others I could name, but I don’t want to shock your delicate sensibilities.”

  She could tell him a few things that’d turn him a whiter shade of pale but she wasn’t about to leave him with a bad impression of her. “But we need something fun to discuss over tea. We wouldn’t be proper society ladies if we didn’t.”

  “Then why not talk about me?”

  “You aren’t nearly so interesting.” Even if what she’d learned about him tonight was rather shocking.

  “I can be extremely fascinating when I want.” He swung her around, making her hair and skirt twirl out before he settled them into a steady sway. “Or so my parents tell me. They think I’m too serious about some things and flippant about others. I’m quite serious about my red Bentley and my rank in the Coldstream Guards, one befitting a viscount and future marquess.”

  A superficial list, but she wasn’t surprised. There wasn’t a man with a title who didn’t think the way he did. They simply weren’t as charming in their self-centeredness as Elm. “Difficult to believe they don’t consider those real concerns.”

  “The nerve of them, especially when they chide me for worrying I won’t live long enough to really enjoy them.” He peered off into the dim lights beyond the dance floor, his body moving from habit, not intention. “I wish they’d get on with this war instead of leaving us to wonder and wait.”

  “There won’t be a war to get on with. I believe in Uncle Neville’s commitment to peace.”

  “That’s comforting, coming from the debutante in Downing Street.” He let go of her, stepping back to applaud with the others at the end of the dance, all smiles and charm as he escorted her to the table. “We’ve returned.”

  Elm pulled out her chair before taking his place on her left. Richard sat on her right, the two of them leaning across her from time to time to exchange jokes and ribbing. The conversation flowed as fast and easy as the music, everyone crowded around the table, cocktail glasses empty, champagne glasses full. If any of them were the worse for wear, they, like most of their class, hid it well. If there could be more evenings like this, Valerie would gladly sneak out to every nightclub in London. Dorothy might bang on about rules, but there were other, whispered ones she’d follow too and wring more fun out of the Season. Dinah was right, the only way to truly enjoy it was to be a little daring.

  “Did you see Pamela Digby?” Dinah whispered to Valerie. “Hard to believe she can wrap men around her pudgy finger the way she does. I heard she and Lord Warwick spent a weekend in Paris together. She tried to play it off as a shopping trip but everyone knows her family doesn’t have that sort of money. He’s paying her bills.”

  “If everyone knows, then why is she still here?” According to Dorothy, debs, even ones from last Season, who weren’t good girls were immediately shunned.

  “Amazing what a family name and a modicum of discretion can do, but it won’t last. She isn’t that discreet.”

  There was a bit of hope. If Mr. Shoedelin or Mavis decided to tell tales, as long as they were whispered about and not broadcast across a luncheon ballroom she might come out of this better than she believed. There were no guarantees, especially with Mr. Shoedelin having made himself scarce, but he couldn’t speak if he wasn’t around. As for Mavis, who knows what mischief she’d decide to make? Until either was decided, Valerie must continue to do everything she could to force people to see her as the Premier’s niece and not as her father’s daughter.

  “Ladies, I hate to be a rotter, but if you have any hope of maintaining your ruse of being good little girls you’d best be on your way.” Jakie made a show of checking his watch. Dinah grabbed his arm and read it.

  “Oh dear, we must be off.”

  The women rose, bringing the men to their feet.

  “Whatever will you do without us when we scurry back to the theater?” Christian gathered up her purse, her rosy cheeks brighter from the excitement and the champagne.

  Elm finished the last of his drink and set it on the table. “The usual. Attend some dance or other until it’s time to motor back to Windsor. Richard will keep an eye on me, won’t you, old chap?”

  “The respon
sible one as ever,” he said with pride as they made their way out of the club. “Friends must watch out for one another. If they don’t, few others will.”

  “I’ll say.” It was exactly what she and Their Excellencies did.

  “Thank you chaps for a lively evening,” Dinah said as Jakie’s car pulled to the curb. “Far more fun than that boring old film.”

  Richard held open the door and the girls filed in. “Our pleasure. I look forward to doing it again.”

  “So do I.” Valerie paused, about to say more, when Elm came up behind Richard and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “The Bentley’s around the corner. I’ll give you a lift. Good night, Valerie.”

  “Good night, Elm.” Her name spoken by him didn’t have the same rich ring to it as it did in Richard’s voice, but it was quite chic on the lips of a viscount. “Until next time.”

  “Until then.” Richard closed the door behind her and he, Elm, Jakie, and Michael strode off down the street in search of more amusements.

  “The chaps have all the fun, free to do what they like, while we have to be proper,” Christian complained as the car drove away from the lights of Leicester Square.

  “They don’t have nearly as much freedom as you think.” Dinah rested her feet on the seat between Katherine and Christian. “Richard is practically chained to St. Thomas’s, and Aunt Nancy has such a tight thumb on Michael he can barely do anything.”

  “None of us can, not yet.” Katherine kicked off her shoes and wiggled her stockinged toes. “Once we’re married we’ll be free to do more of what we like.”

  “I’m not ready to be married or even close to it. What am I to do until then?” Christian challenged.

  “Enjoy yourself. This nasty business with Germany might make it so none of us has a say in anything for a long while.” Dinah trilled her nails on the edge of the car window, surprisingly serious, until the marquis for the Plaza came into view. “Pull yourself together, ladies. We’re almost there.”

  They powdered their noses and applied fresh swipes of lipstick, checking each other for any telltale signs that they had been anywhere but mingling in the lobby of the Plaza.

  “Mr. Jackson, drop us here,” Dinah instructed the chauffer, who let them out in front of the building beside the theater. “If anyone asks, we were outside getting some fresh air. Are we ready, ladies?”

  “We are.”

  All four of them strolled leisurely up the pavement and into the lobby, quickly blending into the mass of guests milling about. They stayed off to one side where no one noticed them until Christian’s and Katherine’s mothers came to collect them. They were too busy speaking with friends to ask their daughters what they’d thought of the film.

  There was no one to trouble Valerie or Dinah, who stood beside a large urn filled with a spray of flowers. They waved off a footman’s offer of champagne, both having had their fill for the evening.

  “If I wasn’t mistaken, and I rarely am . . .” Dinah began.

  “Spoken like Lady Astor’s niece.”

  Dinah shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped. “Richard was none too happy when Elm danced with you, and you were the only thing he talked about when I danced with him.”

  This made her heart race more than it should. “Come off it. They were only having fun, like Jakie and Michael.”

  “Those two could do with a little less fun now and again, but not Richard. He needs more of it. You could do worse. His father is a baron from an old line and I’m sure his family wouldn’t look askance at having the Prime Minister’s niece join their ranks.”

  “How mercenary you make it sound.”

  “You have to be a skilled hunter to catch a husband. I’d say you have a nice tiger in your sights.”

  “I’m not about to pull the trigger on anyone.” It was hard to resist the excitement of Elm. When he wasn’t dreary, he was the dashing lord who swept her off her feet, but Richard’s levelheadedness held a certain appeal. She’d endured enough flighty people like Father to appreciate this quality, but now was no time for matchmaking. “Society is quite enough to contend with, and I want to be myself for a while before I become a wife.”

  “So do I, but don’t rule it out completely. The Great War made a lot of women spinsters. If you get a chance, you’d be smart to take it. It may not come again.”

  Chapter Nine

  What’s all this?” Valerie entered the breakfast room to find a selection of china laid out on the table, a single place serving with a different pattern at every seat, and all of them far grander than anything the Chamberlains or No. 10 owned.

  “It’s a sample of Buckingham Palace’s collection. I’m to select the set to use for Their Majesties’ first dinner with us. What do you think?” Aunt Anne asked.

  Valerie studied the various settings emblazoned with coats of arms, lions, and crowns. Some were gaudily floral in the Victorian fashion, while others were more Art Deco sleek with platinum edgings and stylishly intertwined ERs. “The platinum-rimmed one with the Grecian border will complement the candelabras and epergnes nicely.”

  “I agree. Mr. Watson, the Greek setting, if you please.”

  “An excellent choice, Mrs. Chamberlain. I’ll arrange it at once.” The grave-faced Government Hospitality butler in his immaculate uniform snapped his fingers and a cortege of palace footmen swept in to carefully pack away the samples.

  “Thank you, Mr. Watson.” Aunt Anne laid her arm around Valerie’s shoulder and escorted her from the bustle of the breakfast room to the serenity of the White Drawing Room. “How are we doing, Miss Leaf?”

  “Sir Alec sent word that he’s consulting the Royal Arms about whether the Marquess of Lothian or the Marquess of Fallington has the oldest title.”

  “Speaking of the Marquess and his family, with Lord Elmswood there it might be a good opportunity to secure an escort to the Queen Charlotte’s Birthday Ball. You don’t want to wait and be caught out,” Aunt Anne advised Valerie.

  “No, I don’t.” She’d practically have Elm to herself at the royal dinner, the two of them the youngest in attendance. It would be the perfect time to ask him. Imagine what Lady Dunsford and Lady Ashcombe would think when they saw her on the arm of a viscount at the ball. She shouldn’t be so petty but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I have another surprise for you.” Aunt Anne slid a red and gold Cartier box off of Miss Leaf’s desk and held it out to Valerie. “The Vickers-Armstrongs company sent it as a thank-you for christening their ship.”

  Valerie gasped when she lifted the lid. A square, cushion-cut diamond dangled from a line of three smaller ones connected to a diamond-encrusted lavaliere, and four smaller diamonds flanked the chain. It was far from outlandish but it was the most impressive piece she’d ever owned. Father had pawned whatever jewelry he’d inherited years ago, and lost his family’s signet ring while drunk, the fool. “I didn’t think bracing the rain to swing a champagne bottle at a hull was enough to earn this.”

  “It’s common for companies to send gifts. I have quite a collection of jewelry from the Birmingham businessmen I’ve opened factories for over the years.”

  “If something like this is going to arrive every time I launch a ship, I’ll gladly do it again.” She unhooked the lobster clasp and put it on, the platinum warming against her skin. She skipped to the large oval looking glass between the two far windows, turning this way and that to admire the brilliant sparkle. She imagined walking into the King and Queen’s dinner wearing this, and what Elm might think of it. No dowager in her family gems would look twice at it, but it drew attention to all her right places.

  “It’s a touch too ostentatious for a debutante, but we’ll find an appropriate place for you to wear it when the Season is over.” Aunt Anne held out the open box. “I’ll have Mr. Dobson put it in the safe.”

  Valerie unhooked the necklace and reluctantly laid it in the box, hating to lock it away when it should be worn, but, as always, the rules of the Season made their demands.
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  “While Miss Leaf and I see to the seating arrangements, you must finish your thank-you notes.”

  “Must I?” Valerie sighed. Every event she attended required a personal note of thanks to the hostess. What she wouldn’t give for preprinted cards. At least Aunt Anne wasn’t forcing her to learn flower arranging like Katherine’s mother was doing to her daughter. “The social secretaries are the only ones who ever read them.”

  Miss Leaf kept a list of who’d sent what cards. They were all opened, but Aunt Anne rarely saw them.

  “They are tedious but they’re good practice for future correspondence.” She held up a letter with the Buckingham Palace crest on the top. “Don’t forget, you’re taking my place at Mrs. Corrigan’s dinner tonight.”

  “Will I get another diamond necklace out of it?”

  “No, but you’re sure to garner a few good stories to share with your friends.” Aunt Anne led Miss Leaf out of the room, leaving Valerie to wonder what exactly was in store for her tonight. What waited for her at present were thank-you notes.

  She sat at the Queen Anne writing desk in front of the window with a view of the garden and fingered the fine paper on the blotter and the expensive fountain pen. Her suffering at the convent school would’ve ended a great deal sooner if she’d had these, and more stamps, but then she wouldn’t have garnered so many more glorious secrets to bury inside her.

  She uncapped the pen and selected a piece of paper and the list of politely composed sentences of gratitude she kept in the desk drawer. It ensured she never sent the exact two pithy lines to the same hostess. While she wrote, she marveled at her handwriting. Great-Aunt Lillian had helped turn Valerie’s once-illegible scrawl into a more refined hand, and had greatly reduced her need for the dictionary. She might not ride to the hounds but she could compose respectable correspondence.

  A small cough from the doorway made her turn.

  “Good morning, Miss de Vere Cole. I’m sorry to intrude, but I have a note for Mrs. Chamberlain.” Miss Holmes handed Valerie the letter. “The Government Office has yet another question about her plans for the King and Queen’s dinner.”