by Candace Camp
“Really?” Constance looked at Francesca in surprise. “He was in the army?” It was an uncommon venture for the eldest son, the heir to the estate.
Francesca nodded. “Yes. The Hussars. He was wounded, in fact. But fortunately, he survived. And then, of course, when Terence died and Dom became the heir, he had to sell out. I think he misses it.”
Constance nodded, understanding now. It was common for younger sons to enter the military, or the diplomatic corps or the church, but if the oldest son died and the younger one became the heir, his future would change. He would one day inherit all the wealth and responsibilities of the estate, and the career he had been engaged on would have to be put aside. Besides, it would not do to have the heir to an estate risking his life in a war. Among noble families, the inheritance was all.
“And so now that he is the heir, he is fair game for all the marriageable young ladies.”
Francesca chuckled. “Yes, poor boy. He does not enjoy it, I can tell you. I suppose there are men who thrive upon that sort of popularity, but not Dom. Of course, he will have to marry someday, but I suspect he will put it off as long as he can. He is a bit of a flirt.”
Constance wondered if Francesca was giving her a subtle warning about her brother, telling Constance, in essence, not to endanger her heart with him. She looked at the other woman, but she could see nothing in Francesca’s lovely face to indicate any hidden meaning. Still, Constance did not need a warning. She was well aware that a man of Lord Leighton’s standing would not marry someone like her.
But, Constance told herself, as long as she was aware of that, as long as she knew not to give her heart to him, there would be nothing wrong in flirting a little with the man. She could dance with him, laugh with him, let herself have a little fun. And, after all, that was all she could reasonably expect from this Season.
When they reached the house that her aunt and uncle were leasing, Lady Haughston went inside with Constance. Aunt Blanche goggled at the sight of Lady Haughston’s coachman bringing in a number of boxes, with Constance carrying several more and even Lady Haughston herself helping out with the last few bags.
“My lady! Oh, my goodness. Annie, come here and take these things from her ladyship. What—” Aunt Blanche stumbled to a halt, looking from her niece to Lady Haughston in befuddlement.
“We haven’t bought out all the stores, Lady Woodley,” Francesca assured her gaily. “However, I do think that your niece and I put something of a hole in Oxford Street’s wares.”
“Constance?” Aunt Blanche repeated. “You bought all this?”
“Yes,” Constance replied. “Lady Haughston assured me that my wardrobe was sadly lacking.”
“Constance!” Francesca exclaimed, laughing. “I never said such a thing. You will have your aunt thinking that I am the most lack-mannered woman imaginable. I merely suggested that you add a few things here and there.”
Francesca turned toward Lady Woodley. “I find that girls rarely realize how many frocks they need for a Season. Don’t you agree?”
As she expected, Lady Woodley nodded her head, not daring to disagree with one of the foremost members of the Ton. “Yes, but I—well, Constance, this is a little unexpected.”
“Yes, I know. But I am sure I have enough room in my dresser for everything. And Lady Haughston has kindly agreed to help me sort through my gowns and decide what to do with them.”
At the news that one of the most elegant and highborn ladies in the land was going to be upstairs in her niece’s tiny room rummaging through her small store of decidedly ordinary dresses, Lady Woodley appeared torn between elation and embarrassment.
“But, my lady, surely…I mean, Constance should not have asked such a thing of you,” she said finally, stumbling over her words.
“Oh, she did not ask me,” Francesca assured her. “I volunteered. There is little I like more than dressing up one’s wardrobe. It is such a challenge, don’t you think?”
She swept up the stairs behind Constance, with Lady Woodley following them, babbling offers of tea and other refreshment, interspersed with admonitions to Constance not to impose on Lady Haughston.
At the door to Constance’s room, Aunt Blanche hesitated. The little room, barely large enough for the dresser, bed and chair that occupied it, seemed even smaller now with the piles of boxes and bags. There was hardly enough room for the three of them, as well, yet Lady Woodley clearly hated to leave Lady Haughston.
So she hovered by the door, looking uncomfortable and chattering on, while Francesca and Constance pulled out Constance’s dresses and laid them out on the bed.
“Such a small number of gowns, my love,” Aunt Blanche tittered. “I told you that you should bring more to Town. But, of course, a girl never foresees how very many gowns one will need.” She turned toward Francesca with a confidential look that suggested that the two of them were old hands at the social whirl. “And, of course, Constance is merely chaperoning the girls.”
“But what nonsense,” Lady Haughston said briskly. “Constance is much too young to be a chaperone…as no doubt you told her.”
“Oh, my, yes, of course!” Aunt Blanche exclaimed. “But what can one do? Constance’s nature is rather retiring, and she is, after all, well past the age of coming out herself.”
Francesca made a noise of disdain. “There are a good many years before Constance reaches that point. One has only to look at her to see how ridiculous it is to place an arbitrary age on a girl’s come-out. Some women are far more beautiful at this age than they were when they left the schoolroom. You have noticed that yourself, I am sure.”
“Well…” Aunt Blanche trailed off uncertainly. She could scarcely disagree with Lady Haughston’s pronouncements, especially given the way she so graciously linked Aunt Blanche’s thoughts with her own.
Lady Woodley watched as Francesca and Constance matched up ribbons and lace to some dresses and discarded others as unfit for anything but the most mundane daily wear, and talked of lowering necklines and adding overskirts or demi-trains, of replacing dull sleeves with others slashed with contrasting color.
Constance, too, had experienced a certain embarrassment at exposing her unimpressive wardrobe to Lady Haughston, but Francesca’s manner could not have been more matter-of-fact or uncritical. Her eye for color and style was unerring, which did not surprise Constance. One need not look at her long to realize that she was an artist when it came to clothes. But Constance did find it rather peculiar that someone like Lady Haughston should be so conversant with ways to modify, update and generally renew one’s wardrobe. It was as odd as her knowing where to buy ribbons, lace and other accessories at the best prices. Constance could not help but wonder if Lady Haughston might not suffer from something of a lack of funds herself. She had heard no rumors to that effect, of course, but clearly Francesca was quite adept at hiding such a thing, at least in regard to one’s wardrobe.
Before long, Georgiana and her sister drifted down the hall and stood with their mother, looking awestruck as they watched Francesca bustle about the little room. When, finally, Francesca left, reminding Constance that she was to come to her house the following afternoon before the ball, the two girls turned to their mother, their voices rising in a wail.
“Why is she going to Lady Haughston’s?” Georgiana cast a disparaging glance toward Constance. “Why can’t we go, too?”
“I am going because Lady Haughston asked me,” Constance told her calmly, refraining from pointing out the obvious corollary that Georgiana and Margaret were not going because Lady Haughston had not invited them.
“I know that,” Georgiana snapped. “But why? Why does she want you there? Why did she take you out today?”
Constance shrugged. She was not about to tell her relatives of Francesca’s plans for her.
“And how did you buy all these things?” Margaret added, looking at the dresses and adornments scattered all over the bed.”
“I used money I’d been saving.”
“Yes, well, if you have so much money, you might have thought to help us a little,” Aunt Blanche sniffed. “We have been giving you a roof over your head and food to eat for the past six years.”
“Aunt Blanche! You know I give you money every month!” Constance cried. “And I always pay for my clothes and personal items.”
Her aunt shrugged, as though Constance’s argument had nothing to do with what she had said. “I cannot see why Lady Haughston has such a preference for you. It is most inexplicable. Why does she not ask to take out Georgiana?”
“What about me?” Margaret asked indignantly.
“I am the eldest,” Georgiana told her sister haughtily.
The two girls began to squabble, and Constance turned away to begin to fold and put away the things that now lay all over her bed. After a few minutes, her aunt and cousins moved out of her room, continuing their conversation in the more comfortable arena of the sitting room.
But the subject did not die. Georgiana and Margaret brought it up again at the dinner table, until finally their normally lax and imperturbable father snapped at them to be quiet. The two girls lapsed into a sullen pout, but they took up their grievances again as soon as their father had retired to his port after dinner. Their mother, of course, agreed with them that it was neither right nor fair that they had not been taken under Lady Haughston’s wing instead of Constance. Constance retired early, claiming a headache—which was indeed the truth, after listening to the other women harp on the subject of Lady Haughston all evening. The next day she stayed to herself as much as possible, working quietly in her room on the various small things that she and Francesca had determined could be done to her dresses. The larger alterations, of course, she would have to take with her to Lady Haughston’s for the more skilled hands of Francesca’s maid.
Constance even considered foregoing her luncheon. Sir Roger always went to his club during the day, so there would be no one to put a stop to Georgiana’s and Margaret’s complaints. Their mother rarely reined them in, and in any case, Constance knew that Aunt Blanche also disliked the fact that Lady Haughston preferred Constance to the rest of them. Her worst fear was that Aunt Blanche would forbid her to go to Francesca’s house, even though it would clearly work against her own best interests. Aunt Blanche was often as slowwitted as her daughters, and much more stubborn.
However, Constance reasoned that if she did not show up for the meal, her aunt would decide that she was feeling ill and should not go either to Lady Haughston’s or to the ball this evening. So she went downstairs, vowing to keep a rein on her tongue and her temper, an ability that was often sorely tested by her cousins and aunt.
Just as she had feared, Georgiana and Margaret started in on what they saw as injustice before they even sat down at the table. Constance did her best to disregard them, but she could not ignore it when her aunt at last said to her, “Constance, I am thinking that, if the matter is going to cause this much dissension and misery in the house, perhaps you should not go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon.”
Constance looked at her, trying to hide her alarm, and pondered briefly what would be the best tack to take with her aunt. “I should not like to offend Lady Haughston, Aunt. She is very powerful in the Ton, and she seemed most adamant about my joining her this afternoon.”
“Yes, well, I am sure that she would understand if you sent her a note telling her that you were feeling a trifle under the weather and could not come.” Lady Woodley’s face brightened. “In fact, the girls and I could call on her and deliver your regrets personally.” She nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Yes, that might be best.”
Anger flared up in her, but Constance firmly thrust it down. “But I am not feeling at all ill, and I should like to go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon,” she replied calmly. “And I am not sure whether she would like anyone else to go to her house, uninvited.”
Her aunt’s eyebrows shot up. “She has called here. That makes it perfectly acceptable for me to call on her.”
“She will not like it if I do not come,” Constance told her aunt firmly. “She might very well retract the invitation to Lady Simmington’s ball tonight if she is displeased.”
“She can hardly expect you to come to her house if you are ill.” Aunt Blanche looked at her, her eyes hard.
“I am not ill.” Constance looked back at her, making her gaze as obdurate as she was able.
“Lady Haughston will not know that,” her aunt reasoned.
“Yes, she will,” Constance replied flatly.
Her aunt’s eyes opened wider in surprise. It was a moment before she could speak. “Are you—Do you defy me?”
“I intend to go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon,” Constance replied calmly. “I do not wish to defy you, of course. Therefore, I do hope that you will not forbid me to go.”
If possible, Aunt Blanche looked even more astounded. She gasped, then opened and closed her mouth without saying anything, looking remarkably like a fish.
Constance took advantage of her aunt’s momentary speechlessness to lean forward and say earnestly, “Lady Haughston is very important. Her father is an earl. She is friends with the Duke of Rochford. She can do much for you and the girls, as you well know. But it would be equally ruinous for you to cross her. Pray, however angry you may feel at me, do not offend Francesca.”
Her aunt had been swelling with ill-feeling during Constance’s words, and Constance knew that she wanted to break into a long, loud tirade against her niece. But even as she opened her mouth, something flickered in her eyes, some bit of reason or caution, and she closed her mouth.
“Francesca?” she said at last. “She gave you the use of her first name?”
Constance nodded. She had spoken Francesca’s given name deliberately, for the use of it indicated a close relationship. She was glad to see that her aunt had noticed that fact.
“Please,” Constance said. “I know you do not like this. But think about the ball tonight. Think about telling your friend Mrs. Merton what Lady Haughston said to you when she called on you yesterday. Then think about not being able to say such things in the future.”
“You ungrateful wretch,” Aunt Blanche spat at her. “After all that I have done for you!”
“I am well aware of all that you have done for me, and I have told Lady Haughston about it. I have no desire to be on bad terms with you.” Constance forced herself to keep her voice firm, and her gaze equally calm and unyielding. She had often yielded to Aunt Blanche out of a sense of obligation and a desire to live in peace. But this time she was determined not to bend, even if it meant coming to a complete break with her aunt. She was discovering that she wanted this Season very much. “I am sure that Lady Haughston’s friendship will not last past this Season, and then our lives will return to normal. But think of how much you can accomplish for your daughters in the next few months, if only none of us act foolishly.”
Aunt Blanche’s nostrils widened, her lips thinning with fury, and for a moment Constance was afraid that her aunt would be unable to control herself. But after a moment the older woman swallowed hard, unclenched her fists and let out a long breath. Turning back to her food, she said in a cold voice, “Naturally, I would not stop you from going to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon, despite your insolence toward me. I shudder to think how your poor dear father would have felt had he seen you address me in this manner.”
As Constance was well aware that her “poor, dear father” had disliked his sister-in-law intensely and thought up any excuse to be absent when she came to visit, Constance rather thought that he would have applauded her actions. However, she refrained from saying so to her aunt and merely finished her food as quickly as she could, aware of her cousins’ amazed gazes upon her. As soon as she was done, she asked to be excused and was granted her request in frosty tones.
She fled upstairs, where she put the dresses for Francesca’s maid to redo into some of the boxes and bags that she had brought home the day befo
re. Then she sat down to wait for the Haughston carriage. Fortunately, she did not have to wait long before Jenny, the downstairs maid, knocked on her door and announced with some awe that a grand carriage waited for her in the street.
Constance forced herself to stop and bid her aunt and cousins a pleasant goodbye. She was met with three silent, furious stares. Obviously, she thought, it would take some time to mend her relationship with them. Still, she could not regret what she had done, no matter how chill the air might be around the household for the next few weeks.
It was no surprise that Haughston House, an elegant white stone mansion in the classic Palladian style, lay in the center of Mayfair, that most fashionable of London districts. Constance, stepping out of the carriage and gazing at the imposing black iron fence railings and the enormous house beyond them, felt rather daunted. It was easy to forget when one was with Francesca that she was a descendant of men and women who had moved among kings and princes—as well as the widow of a man from another such family.
She wondered for a moment about the man who had been Francesca’s husband. Francesca had not mentioned him to Constance, even when they were talking about marriage and love. Constance was not sure exactly what that meant. She knew that the man had died several years ago, and that Francesca had never remarried. The romantic rumor was that she had loved Lord Haughston too much to ever marry another man. However, Constance thought that precisely the opposite might be true—that her first husband had given her a profound distaste for marriage.
Whatever anxiety the house inspired in Constance was erased, however, when Lady Haughston herself came sweeping down the staircase, hands extended in friendship. “Constance! Come up to my room. Maisie has worked her usual wonders. I cannot wait until you see.”
A wave of her hand sent one of the footmen hurrying to take Constance’s boxes, while Francesca herself took Constance’s hand and led her up the wide, curved staircase to the floor above.