The Husband Season

by Mary Nichols

  He had seen her the day before in a carriage with an older woman—a relation or guardian perhaps? Not a very protective one to let her out to be molested by common soldiers. He smiled at the memory; she was a feisty young lady, to be sure, and by no means cowed, even when her clothes were wet and muddy and she had lost her bonnet. He turned out of the gate and made his way back to South Audley Street. He had better put her from his mind; he had more important things to think of than a slip of a girl, however fetching. He had a speech to compose.

  The foreman at the mill had warned him that Henry Hunt, known as Orator Hunt, was planning another great rally, but he had no idea where it was to be. He had a great deal of sympathy for the plight of the workers, who subsisted on very low wages that his fellow mill owners had no compunction in cutting when profits went down. Wages for a weaver, which had been as much as fifteen shillings for a six-day week in the boom year immediately after the war, had now dropped to five. Their hardship was not helped by the Corn Laws, which kept the price of wheat, and therefore bread, so high they were hard put to afford it.

  Sir John Michaelson, a neighbouring mill owner, was particularly insensitive to his workers, many of whom had left him to come and work at Bamford Mill as soon as they heard he had a vacancy. It did not endear him to his neighbour, who’d come to him in high dudgeon the last time it had happened.

  ‘Look here,’ he had said. ‘You can’t go paying exorbitant wages. It gives the men a false value of their worth and makes them uncontrollable. You’re making them soft and undermining the rest of us. A little hunger never did them any harm. Makes ’em work harder.’

  ‘They are not just hungry, they are starving,’ Adam had answered, referring to Michaelson’s workforce. ‘Starving men cannot work well.’

  ‘So you feed ’em, too.’

  ‘If I give my workers a dinner, that is my affair, not yours, Sir John.’

  ‘If we don’t stand together, we won’t win,’ the man said truculently.

  ‘I have no doubt that is what the men are saying,’ he had said.

  ‘And you, no doubt, know exactly what they are saying. I am disgusted with you. You are a traitor to your heritage.’

  * * *

  Adam was soon back at Wyndham House and settled down in the library to write his speech. He was not a natural orator like Henry Hunt and had never made a public speech before, except to talk to his workers. He believed in keeping them informed of how the business was doing, telling them when a big contract had come their way and how long they had to fulfil it and congratulating them if they fulfilled it on time, paying them a bonus, as well. They worked the better for it. Now he had to make a speech to his peers, men who probably held the same views as Sir John and whom he had to persuade. He had covered several sheets of paper, all of which he had screwed up and thrown aside, when Mark came in.

  ‘You look as if you’ve been busy,’ his cousin commented.

  ‘All to no purpose. I can’t seem to find the right words.’

  ‘The words you used the other night sounded good to me.’

  ‘Two or three sentences when I have to write a whole speech. And my audience will be less sympathetic than you.’

  ‘Make your speech to me and I will act as devil’s advocate.’ Mark laughed. ‘I will even heckle you, if you like, and see how you deal with it.’

  * * *

  An hour later Adam was feeling a great deal better about the ordeal.

  ‘You are much more convincing when you speak from the heart,’ Mark told him. ‘You don’t need to write out the whole speech. Simple notes will suffice to get you going.’

  ‘Do you think I have a chance of swaying any of them?’

  ‘Those who are undecided, perhaps, but the diehards will be more difficult. You might have more luck in the Commons, if you could find a sympathetic member to take up the cudgels.’

  ‘I know neither of the members for Lancashire will do anything. They are in Sir John’s pocket. Two members of parliament for a whole populous county and two for a little place like Dunwich, which has all but disappeared into the German Ocean, is ridiculous. Parliamentary reform is long overdue.’

  ‘I agree, but you will hardly persuade the members for those rotten boroughs to give up their seats.’

  ‘Now, if workingmen could vote, that would be different,’ Adam went on. ‘And if they could also stand for election, we might have a more equitable means of governing the country.’

  Mark laughed. ‘And that is what you advocate, is it? I advise you to take one step at a time, coz, if you don’t want to sink your whole argument. Now, you have done enough. I am hungry. What do you say to repairing to the club for something to eat? Then I will tell you my plans and you can advise me.’

  Chapter Three

  Sophie decided she needed some ribbon for the evening gown she intended to wear for Mark’s concert. It was a rose-pink gauze worn over a white silk underdress. In her view it was too plain and needed a long ribbon tied in floating ends beneath the bust and to embellish the puffed sleeves. She had suggested as much to Jane when she was altering it, but her sister had said it was fine as it was. On the other hand, she really could not allow herself to be outshone by Cassandra. ‘You never know whom I shall meet,’ she said to Bessie. ‘Mark might contrive to introduce me to eligibles of his acquaintance. I wonder if his cousin will be there. He is staying at Wyndham House, you know.’

  ‘No, I did not know. Do you know the gentleman?’

  ‘I don’t know. I might have met him at my sisters’ wedding.’

  ‘He cannot have made much of an impression if you cannot remember him.’

  ‘I might if I knew his name, but Mark did not mention it when he told us a cousin was staying with him. I wonder if he is like Mark?’

  ‘So you are adding frippery to impress someone you do not know.’

  ‘Certainly not. I simply want to look my best. Wyndham House is quite grand, you know, and no doubt Mark’s friends are top of the trees. I know Cassandra will be showing herself off. I cannot be seen to lag behind.’

  ‘Has Lady Cartrose ordered the carriage this morning?’

  ‘Yes, but not for me. She is going to fulfil a long-standing engagement with some old friends and I am not required to go with her. Goodness knows where Teddy is. You will come with me, won’t you? We can walk.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will come.’

  As soon as Lady Cartrose had left, Sophie and Bessie set out on foot for Bond Street. It was no longer so cold, but it had rained again and the streets were wet and muddy, and they were obliged to lift their skirts a little and watch carefully where they were putting their feet. Bessie would rather have postponed the outing, but Sophie would not hear of it. ‘Don’t be so poor-spirited, Bessie,’ she said. ‘It is not so bad.’

  They were walking down the busy shopping street when a high-perch phaeton sped past them, spraying Sophie, who was walking a little ahead of Bessie, with filthy water. ‘Of all the inconsiderate muckworms,’ she said, staring after it, fury on every line of her face. ‘Now look at my gown. I shall have to go back and change.’ She was turning to go back the way they had come when she realised the vehicle had stopped and its driver was descending with the intention of coming back to them.

  Bessie pulled on her arm. ‘Do not speak to him, I beg of you.’

  ‘Why not? I mean to tell him just what I think of him.’

  It was only when he turned towards her and she could see his face that she recognised Sir Reginald Swayle, one of her erstwhile suitors. ‘Oh, lord, it’s that dandy, Reggie,’ she murmured.

  He wore a double-breasted long-tailed coat in dark blue superfine, a flamboyantly tied cravat, yellow pantaloon trousers and a tall hat with a narrow brim, which he doffed on approaching her. ‘A thousand pardons, Miss Cavenhurst. If I had known it was
you, I would have stopped and taken you up.’

  ‘Meaning, I suppose, that if it had been anyone else you would not have stopped at all,’ she said. ‘Very chivalrous of you, I am sure. It is too bad of you, sir. Driving like a lunatic down these busy streets is the height of folly and inconsiderate of pedestrians.’

  ‘I was not driving like a lunatic. And ladies should know better than to walk down streets wet after rain.’

  ‘Oh, so it is my fault my dress is ruined and instead of going shopping, I am now obliged to return to my aunt’s to change.’

  ‘No, I am not blaming you and I have said I am sorry. Allow me take you back to change your dress and then I will take you to buy a new one.’

  ‘That will not be necessary.’

  ‘Oh, but it is. Come, let me help you into my carriage.’

  ‘There is no room for my maid.’

  ‘She can walk.’

  ‘Don’t go, Miss Sophie, I beg of you,’ Bessie said. ‘If we walk quickly, we shall be back in Mount Street in no time.’

  ‘I don’t care to walk through the streets looking like a dish mop,’ Sophie told her. ‘It is not as if Reggie is a stranger.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ he said, offering her his arm to escort her to the carriage.

  She took it, while addressing Bessie over her shoulder. ‘I will see you back at Cartrose House.’

  He helped her up into the extraordinary vehicle, climbed up himself and picked up the reins. ‘I shall have to go a little farther along the road before I can turn round,’ he said. ‘But it should not cause more than a few minutes’ delay.’

  She was sitting almost at first-floor level and had to admit, if only to herself, that it was exciting to be so high, looking down on lesser mortals. ‘When did you acquire this monstrous vehicle?’ she asked.

  ‘It is not monstrous. It is all the rage and it is fast.’

  ‘So I observed. Too fast for city streets.’

  ‘It cuts quite a dash in the park. I was on my way there. Should you like to try it? I cannot conveniently turn round before we reach Piccadilly and we would be almost at the park before we could turn up Park Lane. I collect your maid mentioned Mount Street.’

  Unfamiliar with the side streets of the city, she accepted this explanation. ‘I do not think that would be altogether proper,’ she said. ‘And my dress is all muddy.’

  ‘No one can see it,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘The top half is not affected. You look very fetching.’

  ‘Is this a ploy to make me change my mind about turning down your proposal?’

  ‘Would it succeed?’

  ‘No. What are you doing in London? Did you hear that I was here?’

  ‘The doings of the Cavenhursts in Hadlea are an open book, my dear, but I cannot say it was my whole reason for coming. If I cannot have you, then I must settle for second best.’

  ‘Then I pity her. To be second best must be altogether too humiliating. If I were her, I would never agree to it.’

  ‘Oh, she would never know.’

  ‘Do you not think she might guess? I am sure I should.’

  ‘Perhaps it will not become necessary.’

  ‘No, you might fall genuinely in love.’

  He laughed and manoeuvred the carriage through the park gates. ‘It is as easy to drive along here as it is up Park Lane,’ he said. ‘We can drive out through the Grosvenor Gate.’

  She was becoming slightly alarmed that he might be trying to abduct her, but shook the idea from her thoughts. He was unlikely to do anything so outrageous in Hyde Park, where there were hundreds of people to whom she could appeal. The hundreds of people were the bigger problem. Her aunt had introduced her to so many friends and acquaintances on their carriage ride, she could not remember half of them. Supposing they saw her and recognised her? Sitting so high above everyone else, she could not fail to be seen. She had no chaperone and did not even have the protection of a parasol, for there had been no sun when they set out and she had not needed one. The only thing she could do was brave it out.

  ‘This is the most extraordinary vehicle,’ she said, turning towards him so that her face was turned from the occupants of a carriage then passing them. ‘I am not sure I feel altogether safe.’

  ‘Oh, it is safe enough in expert hands,’ he said. ‘Though if a greenhorn were to attempt to drive it, he might come to grief.’

  ‘And you, I collect, are an expert.’

  ‘Yes. Shall I show you?’ Instead of turning north to the next gate out into Park Lane, he turned down Rotten Row and set the horse to a trot, exposing them to yet more stares.

  ‘Reggie, I beg of you, don’t,’ she said, hanging on to the side of the carriage. ‘Please turn back and take me home.’

  ‘You are not afraid I shall overturn you, are you? I never knew you to be so chicken-livered. Come, Sophie, where is your spirit of adventure?’

  ‘It is not my spirit that is lacking,’ she said. ‘I am concerned that we are attracting attention.’

  ‘Admiring glances, what is wrong with that?’

  ‘You know perfectly well what is wrong with that, Reggie. You will quite ruin my reputation if you do not slow down to a sedate walk and turn round. Even then I fear it will not do.’

  ‘There is no room to turn round until we reach the end.’ Nevertheless he did slow the horses, though this had the effect of taking them longer to reach a turning point and longer for them to be seen and either admired or criticised. If she could have sank down on to the floor, she would have done. All she could do was pray no one would recognise her. In that she was to be disappointed and by the person she least hoped to see.

  He was riding towards them on his bay and on coming level lifted his hat and bowed. He did not speak, but the amusement was evident in his brown eyes. She endeavoured to ignore him.

  ‘Who was that?’ Reggie asked as they passed him.

  ‘I have no idea, but it seems every time I go out, I encounter him. He is the most odious man.’

  ‘Top of the trees,’ he said. ‘I wonder how many cravats he ruined getting that one tied like that.’

  ‘I do not know and care even less.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said changing the subject abruptly, ‘are you enjoying your Season? That is why you are in London, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, and I am enjoying it excessively.’

  ‘Ah, then, no doubt you have dozens of hopeful swains vying for your hand.’

  ‘Dozens,’ she agreed in the hope it might put him off.

  He sighed as they reached a spot where he could turn round without colliding with other carriages. ‘So you like being admired and setting off one suitor against another. It is cruel of you, Sophie.’

  ‘I do not do it on purpose, Reggie.’

  ‘My trouble,’ he said regretfully, ‘is that you know me too well. I do not represent the excitement of conquest.’

  ‘Riding in this contraption is excitement enough, Reggie.’

  They rode on in silence until they were once again in Park Lane and turning down Mount Street. She was never more thankful to reach the door of Cartrose House. He jumped down to help her out and it was then Teddy came out of the house.

  ‘There you are, Sophie. I was just coming to look for you. Bessie was in such a taking, nothing would satisfy her but I come out and search for you.’ He noticed Reggie and then the high-perch phaeton. ‘Hallo, Reggie. So this is the vehicle Bessie was so upset about. What is it like to drive?’

  ‘Easy enough when you know how,’ Reggie answered him. ‘You have to be careful not to take too tight a turn, but it can really go with the right cattle.’

  Sophie left them talking and went indoors, where Bessie greeted her in floods of tears. ‘Where have you been, Miss Sophie? It don’t take but a few minutes to get from
Bond Street to here in a carriage and you’ve been gone over an hour.’

  ‘Is it that long? Dear me, I had no idea. The high-perch phaeton needs a very wide turning circle, or so I was persuaded, and we had to drive down to Piccadilly and then to Hyde Park corner. And then Reggie decided to drive in the park.’ She was mounting the stairs as she spoke, followed by her worried maid.

  ‘Oh, Miss Sophie, how could you be so wanting in conduct as to allow that? Whatever would your mama and papa say?’

  ‘They will never know of it, Bessie. Now I must change. I fear it is too late to go looking for ribbons today. I shall have to go tomorrow.’

  ‘With Lady Cartrose, I hope, for I declare I could not endure another outing like today’s.’ She busied herself pouring water into the bowl on the nightstand for Sophie to wash her hands and face.

  Sophie stripped off her muddy dress and went over to the nightstand. ‘Bessie, I have mud on my face!’ she exclaimed as she glanced in the mirror that hung above it. ‘How mortifying.’ Her thoughts went immediately to the strange, yet familiar, rider who’d had amusement written all over his face as he’d bowed to her.

  ‘Yes, but you would go off with Sir Reginald and did not give me time to point it out to you.’

  Sophie dipped a cloth in the water and scrubbed at her cheek while Bessie rooted in the cupboard for a dress for Sophie to wear. ‘What about this green muslin?’

  ‘Yes, that will do. And, Bessie, you will not say anything to Lady Cartrose about this morning, will you?’

  ‘You may rely on me, Miss Sophie, but what if you were seen by some of her ladyship’s friends? It would not do for her to hear of it from one of those, for they will put the worst complexion on it.’

  ‘You think I should tell her?’

  ‘It would be best, then she will be forewarned and have her answer ready.’