by Lucy Muir
Catherine slipped into a chair halfway down the table and wondered who would choose to sit next to her when the gentlemen came in. Lord Woodforde, of course, would sit at the head of the table, and Lady Manning and Lady Ellsworth had taken the chairs to his right and left. Catherine had not long to wait to find out who would choose to sit by her, for the men entered the dining room soon after the women, continuing a lively discussion about politics as they selected their places. Catherine’s spirits sank as Mr. Ellsworth took the chair to her right.
“Woodforde sets a fine table, does he not, Miss Trevor?” the young gentleman commented as he sat. “Demme if he does not!” he added as he viewed a tureen brimming with a savoury soup.
Catherine smiled politely at the young man as she agreed with his observation, noting that Mr. Ellsworth’s dress was more restrained today than it usually was: his waistcoat, which was cut short and straight across in the new fashion, had stripes of only two colours; his coat and breeches were of a modest puce hue, his wig had only two side curls, and his face sported only three star-shaped patches.
“Must say you are looking particularly fine this afternoon, Miss Trevor,” Mr. Ellsworth continued. “I am certain I have not seen that gown before. It is demmed becoming.”
Although she was saving most of her new gowns for when Lord Edgecombe arrived, Catherine had chosen to wear one of her new gowns to Lord Woodeforde’s dinner; a white silk trimmed with two falls of exquisitely fine sea-green lace around the neckline and the three-quarter sleeves. A simple neck chain with pearls accented the gown, and the picture Catherine presented was as light and delicate as the Adam filigree decorations that graced the walls.
“Thank you, Mr. Ellsworth,” Catherine acknowledged the compliment. “You are looking unusually well yourself,” she added, and then was sorry she had, for his eyes lit up and he appeared to take her compliment as encouragement. Hurriedly, she turned to Mr. Henry Applequist, who had taken the chair to her left, and engaged him in conversation about his new hunters.
When the guests had finished their soup, the covers were removed from the serving dishes that loaded the table, revealing several roast meats, roast fowls, boiled tongue with horseradish sauce, fillet of veal, salmon, crayfish, vegetables, and truffles that had been placed on the table for the first course. Catherine noted with gratitude that no dishes of hare were among the array, and was certain Woodforde had so ordered for her sake.
A second course of pork and mutton pies, sausages, baked savouries, and additional roast meats and vegetables followed the first, and a dessert course of cherries, strawberries, and creams heralded the end of the meal some three hours after its start. Catherine leaned back in her chair, satiated, as coffee and tea were served, wondering if she would ever be able to fit into her other new gowns.
“Lady Manning, would you do me the honour of leading the ladies into the drawing room?” Lord Woodforde asked Catherine’s aunt, the ranking lady guest, since he had no female relatives living at Woodforde Park to act as mistress of his home.
“I shall be most pleased, Lord Woodforde,” Lady Manning accepted, rising from her place at his right. The other women rose as well and followed Lady Manning into the drawing room while the men prepared to relax with their port free from the inhibiting presence of ladies.
“Would you do us the favour of playing for us this evening, Miss Louisa Ellsworth?” Lady Manning asked when the women had settled in the drawing room. Louisa acquiesced, and, seating herself at Lord Woodforde’s fine harpsichord, began to play a sprightly two-part invention by Bach.
“Who is for a rubber of whist?” Lady Ellsworth asked, spying four inlaid Pembroke tables, tops folded down, next to the drawing room wall.
Lady Manning and Miss Ellsworth stood, indicating their willingness, and were followed by Miss Stillington-Fyfe, Miss Emily Stillington-Fyfe, and Miss Amy Applequist.
“Will you join us, Miss Trevor?” Miss Ellsworth invited, seeking a fourth for the second table.
“You know I should only irritate my partner,” Catherine refused. “I have never been a competent whist player; nor do I have great skill at any other card games. Perhaps Lady Ashe will make your fourth.”
“I shall be pleased to do so,” Sarah’s mother replied, joining the others at the card tables, and leaving Catherine and Sarah to themselves.
“I see you have not lost Mr. Ellsworth as an admirer,” Sarah teased her friend as they sat together on the sofa. “Should you fail to attract the notice of the marquess when he arrives, you may always accept Mr. Ellsworth’s hand in marriage. You did say that you did not consider a gentleman being a macaroni to be a bar to a betrothal.”
Catherine grimaced. “Perhaps. Had Mr. Ellsworth other qualities I admired, his foppishness would not have been an insurmountable barrier to marriage. But we share no interests at all, that I can see. Surely some interests in common are necessary for a comfortable marriage.”
“Yes, I would have to agree,” Sarah replied. “The Squire and I share a love of music and gardening, although I do not share his passion for the hunt. It would be quite lonely, I think, had we nothing in common with each other.”
Catherine watched Louisa playing upon the harpsichord, her hands moving expertly up and down the keys. “Miss Louisa Ellsworth plays the harpsichord, I play the harp. She enjoys a game of whist, I garden,” she commented. “It would seem we are evenly matched in our contest for the marquess’s approbation, once he arrives, given the interests we have heard Lord Edgecombe has.”
“Do not forget Louisa will have the advantage of living in the house where he stays,” Sarah warned.
“That may or may not be an advantage,” Catherine noted. “Sometimes that which is near at hand is not as attractive as that which is at a distance.”
Louisa, having played several of Bach’s two-part inventions, slid from her place at the harpsichord and joined Catherine and Sarah.
“I admire your new gown excessively, Miss Trevor,” Louisa commented as she took a chair next to those of her friends. “I do believe it makes you look quite a half-score years younger.”
“Thank you,” Catherine responded, surveying Louisa’s own gown, a formal gold brocade with full skirts made to appear fuller with hip pads. Louisa had her dark hair up in a more formal style as well; a sprinkling of yellow powder dulling its natural colour. “Your gown quite enhances your mature qualities. I find formal styles most elegant for that reason.” Although Catherine was normally far too kind to indulge in cutting remarks, she found herself powerless as ever to resist replying to Louisa’s gibes.
“That would explain your choice of the newer, less formal styles,” Louisa riposted.
“When does the marquess arrive at Ellsworth Hall?” Sarah made haste to interject, anxious to stop the barbed exchange.
“In a fortnight,” Louisa replied. “Lord Edgecombe wishes to arrive in time for the first shooting. No doubt Squire Turner will wish to come to Ellsworth Hall for it as well, Mrs. Turner. Papa says the birds are quite abundant this year.”
“I am certain he will be anxious to do so, thank you,” Sarah replied.
“Miss Trevor, Papa also bids me inform you that if your brother will be coming for the shooting as he usually does, Papa wishes Mr. Trevor to join them also and bag as many birds as he wishes at Ellsworth Hall,” Louisa added. “Papa always enjoys shooting with Mr. Trevor.”
The door from the dining room opened and the gentlemen entered the drawing room. Lord Trevor, Lord Ellsworth, and two other gentlemen quickly made up another whist table, while the remaining gentlemen came to sit with the ladies.
“Miss Louisa Ellsworth, would you do us the honour of playing upon the harpsichord once more?” Woodforde asked his guest. “We heard you as you played earlier and should enjoy more of your music.”
“I shall be happy to, should you join me,” Louisa answered.
Woodforde acquiesced, and Louisa returned to the harpsichord, followed by her host. She abandoned Bach, this time
choosing to play a simple air she accompanied with her light, clear soprano. Lord Woodforde chimed in with his rich baritone, and within a few minutes several of the other guests had joined the group around the harpsichord, adding their various voices. Squire Turner, who had brought his violin in the hopes of being able to play, joined the group as well, and the guests who were not engaged at cards listened to the impromptu concert with great enjoyment. Catherine, who played only the harp and who felt she did not have a pleasing singing voice, enjoyed the novelty of being among the audience instead of the performers.
“I wonder Woodforde and my sister have never made a match of it,” Mr. Ellsworth observed as he watched Louisa singing with the marquess, their dark heads together. “Certainly Louisa would have had him in a minute,” he added ingenuously. “Woodforde must still be wearing the willow for his wife.”
“That is understandable,” Catherine gave her opinion, glancing toward an occasional table that held a miniature of the marquess’s late wife. “Lady Woodforde was extraordinarily beautiful and accomplished. Any other woman must fall short.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Stillington-Fyfe said robustly as he took out his snuffbox and helped himself to a pinch. “One cannot bed a memory. Daresay that will bring Woodforde around in time. He must choose one of our fair young ladies sooner or later.”
The comments of Mr. Ellsworth and Mr. Stillington-Fyfe struck Catherine forcibly and her eyes strayed toward Louisa and Woodforde more than once during the evening as the musical guests continued to sing several more airs. Why had she never thought of the possibility herself? Louisa was an obvious choice for a wife when Lord Woodforde became serious about seeking a mother for Anne, Catherine realized, and was surprised to find how distasteful the thought was to her. She must be selfish indeed, Catherine chastised herself, not wanting Louisa to succeed in gaining the attentions of Lord Edgecombe because she wished them herself, yet also not wanting Louisa to succeed with Lord Woodforde, whom she herself had refused repeatedly. It did not speak well for her character, Catherine feared. Still, the discomforting thought remained with her for the rest of the evening.
Rain fell steadily, obscuring the view from Rosemont’s breakfast room window. Lord Trevor, prevented from making his usual morning rounds of the estate, his tenants, or the home farm, sat at the table sharing a light mid-morning breakfast of chocolate and cakes with his sister and daughter.
“I hope William will not take a chill,” Catherine worried as she looked out the windows at the fine grey mist of rain. “There is no place for him to seek shelter in the garden.”
“I have no doubt a great many hares are surviving the rain on the grounds of Rosemont this very moment, daughter, not to mention the rest of the county and country,” Lord Trevor pointed out as he folded his newspaper and placed it on the table beside him. “Likely he will take cover under a large leaf or beneath the vines.
“Your hare appears to be taking an inordinate amount of your time,” the viscount added, “I hope you are not neglecting your household duties entirely.”
Lord Trevor was a strong proponent of the belief that women of all social classes should involve themselves in the hands-on running of their households, however large, even making their own beds, occasionally washing their own china, helping in the brew house, and experimenting with new dishes in the kitchen. His sister Lady Manning provided Catherine with a sterling example of a competent householder, and Catherine had taken care to learn from the older woman.
“No, Papa, I have not been neglecting my duties,” Catherine assured her father. “I have a new receipt for a china wash from Mrs. Turner I shall try today, and I promise that tomorrow I shall endeavour to prepare a preserved gooseberry fool to serve at your supper.”
“Is that a carriage arriving?” Lady Manning commented as she noticed the shadowy outline of a vehicle through the curtain of rain outside. “I wonder who would brave this weather for a call.”
A few minutes later James appeared at the breakfast room door. “Miss Stillington-Fyfe has arrived, Miss Trevor. I have shown her into the small drawing room.”
Catherine rose from the table. “I had best find out why Miss Stillington-Fyfe has called this morning,” she excused herself. She entered the small drawing room a few minutes later to see Miss Stillington-Fyfe attempting to repair her rather bedraggled curls before the glass above a small occasional table.
“Good morning, Miss Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine greeted her guest, not being a close enough friend to address her by her Christian name. “I trust your gown came to no harm from the rain.”
The younger woman turned from the glass, a rueful smile on her plain face. “Good morning, Miss Trevor. I selected an unfortunate day for my errands,” she said, surveying her rain-spotted skirts. “I thought to change my plans when it looked like rain, but Mama was set upon me bringing you a list of gentlemen she is suggesting for the next meeting of the Blue Stocking Society. The one after next month’s, that is” she explained, slipping her hands through the slits in her skirt and searching the pockets beneath. “I hear Mr. Cowper is to be the guest this month. I am on my way to town to visit the Applequists and told Mama it would be no trouble to leave it. Ah, here it is,” she said triumphantly, pulling out a folded paper and handing it to Catherine.
“May I offer you some tea or chocolate to warm you from your chill?” Catherine asked as she unfolded the paper.
“Thank you, chocolate would be welcome,” her guest agreed.
Catherine rang for James and ordered the chocolate, then sat down to peruse the list.
“I doubt Mr. Adam would come for a meeting of our small society, though he might for one of the founders’ groups,” Catherine commented as she read the list of architects Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe had put forward as potential speakers, “but I am certain at least one of the others would be willing to speak to us. Does Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe care to write the gentlemen, or does she wish me to do so?”
The maid entered with a pot of chocolate which she placed on a low table near Miss Stillington-Fyfe.
“I am certain Mama is willing to write—she only wished to see which speaker you might prefer,” Miss Stillington-Fyfe said as Catherine poured her guest a cup of chocolate.
That is very warming,” Catherine’s guest added appreciatively as she sipped the chocolate.
“Please inform Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe she may write to whomever she wishes; I believe any of the gentlemen would prove to be informative speakers,” Catherine assured her guest.
Miss Stillington-Fyfe took several more sips of chocolate and relaxed in her chair. “Have you heard that the Marquess of Edgecombe is to stay at Ellsworth Hall for the hunting season?” she asked her hostess.
“Yes, Miss Louisa Ellsworth informed me of it some weeks ago,” Catherine admitted. “His presence should make for an interesting autumn.”
“How fortunate you are, Miss Trevor,” the younger woman sighed.
“How is that, Miss Stillington-Fyfe?” Catherine asked.
“So many gentlemen admire you,” Catherine’s guest said with a shy smile. “Lord Woodforde partners you often at assemblies, I believe Mr. Ellsworth calls upon you, and there was Mr. Stone, although I suppose I must not count him amongst your admirers any longer since he is now married. And when the marquess comes this autumn I am certain he also must admire you. It is no wonder you cannot choose among them.”
Is that how her neighbors thought of her, Catherine wondered, as a woman who was unable to make up her mind which gentleman to accept among many? She supposed it was flattering, but she also wondered how much longer it would be before they simply referred to her as a spinster and forgot that any man had ever sought her company.
“I am certain you have many admirers of your own, Miss Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine responded politely, although she could think of no gentleman who had yet paid the young woman any particular interest. Miss Stillington-Fyfe had no obvious faults of figure or face and her light brown hair was of unusual
thickness and beauty, but she lacked countenance and tended to sit tongue-tied at assemblies and other social gatherings.
“I am afraid I have not,” the young woman admitted candidly. “I know I have little style. Perhaps I should stop at the dressmaker’s while I am in Moreton today and order some new gowns.”
“If I might make a suggestion, I think gowns of soft colors, such as rose or lilac, would complement your colouring excessively well, Miss Stillington-Fyfe. And of course white.”
“Thank you for your advice, Miss Trevor,” her guest replied. “I shall heed it. With new gowns, perhaps even the Marquess of Edgecombe might notice me. Papa says the marquess is immensely wealthy and has fine collections of porcelain and paintings. He also grows roses, so no doubt he will wish to see your gardens here at Rosemont.” She set down her cup and turned to look out the window. “I believe the rain is not as heavy as it was. I must be on my way now, Miss Trevor, or the roads may become too muddy and I shall be late returning home after my errands and Mama will fret.”
Catherine accompanied the young woman to the entrance hall.
“Oh, I almost forgot, Miss Trevor,” Miss Stillington-Fyfe said as the footman opened the doors. “I heard you are keeping a hare in your parlour. I have not the time this morning, but might I see him one day?”
“Please come any time you wish,” Catherine replied graciously. “He does not seem to object to visitors provided they are quiet and do not move quickly.”
“Oh, I have no doubt I am quiet enough,” Miss Stillington-Fyfe responded with a wry smile. “Thank you, Miss Trevor. I shall inform Mama she may write whichever gentleman she wishes for the meeting.”