It bore thinking on.
Chapter Five
Odette was both excited and terrified. She was standing up for the supper dance with Jack during the Salsteads’ ball that night, which meant she would be taking her supper with him. She would have his company, but for too short a time and with far too many people nearby. They would be permitted no tender moments, no words of love or longing. They would be allowed only the vaguely friendly interactions of two lifelong neighbors.
She dressed with extra care. This was to be her one opportunity to pretend as though she and Jack were an ordinary courting couple; she wasn’t going to waste it. She chose a gown in a flattering shade of pale blue. She asked her abigail to weave into her hair a ribbon of pastel yellow, one Jack had given her many years earlier. He had, while at Eton, used the last of his spending money before returning home for the summer holidays to purchase a length of ribbon. How well she remembered his nervousness when he’d presented it to her.
“I know you like tying ribbons in your hair,” he’d said. “There were a lot of different colors and widths and such. I hope this is a good one. I wanted you to have something from me. I wanted you to have something you’d like.”
He had been her favorite person even then, though the romantic affection between them hadn’t blossomed until years later, when they were both old enough for such things. It had been such a slow and natural progression that she’d been top over tail in love with him before she’d even recognized the change. The Summerfields moved to the neighborhood shortly thereafter, and Jack’s parents quickly made clear their preference for their son’s future wife. The timing had been horribly unfair.
“You look a real treat, miss,” her abigail, Liza, said. “The yellow ribbon against your dark hair. Lovely.”
“Do you really think so?” She was not usually so uncertain, but the evening ahead meant a great deal to her.
“A real treat.”
She repeated that declaration in her mind as she stepped from her bedchamber. She looked “a real treat.” The ball would be enjoyable. The supper dance and meal would be everything she hoped it would. Again and again she promised herself those things.
By the time she reached the entryway, where Mrs. Northrop and her parents were waiting, she had her confidence firmly intact and her exterior of haughtiness in place. She did not care for the role she was playing, but it had worked thus far. No gentlemen were vying for her hand; she would escape the Season unpromised to anyone.
Mrs. Northrop and Odette’s parents were deep in conversation and did not note her arrival.
“This may not be the most important event of the Season,” Mother said, “but it is of enough significance that we really ought to be in attendance. Her sisters would have made a disaster of their lives if we had left them to their own devices.”
Panic grasped Odette’s heart. Were her parents intending to interfere more directly? To push for someone in particular?
“I feel it best for your daughter to first begin addressing her notoriety,” Mrs. Northrop said. “I have helped young ladies do precisely that many times. Leaving her in my care will accomplish what you seek far better and far faster than if I am made to juggle the entire family.”
Odette relied upon that notoriety. Utilizing the pompous tone she had so perfected, she entered the fray. “Suppose ‘their daughter’ could not possibly care less about ‘addressing her notoriety’?”
Without the slightest hesitation, Mrs. Northrop said, “Then ‘their daughter’ is rather foolish, something I do not believe for a moment.”
“You think you can restore Society’s good opinion of her?” Father pressed.
“I am certain of it.” Mrs. Northrop shooed them away. “The two of you leave her social calendar in my keeping. All will be put to rights.”
Quick as that, Odette’s parents abandoned her to the keeping of Mrs. Northrop and her insufferable nosiness.
“Come along, then,” Mrs. Northrop said, motioning to the now-open front door. It seemed she had taken control of the household as well as Odette’s future.
Had she been less determined to attend that evening’s ball, she might have put up more of a fight. But the time she had been promised with Jack was worth being browbeaten for the moment.
They climbed into the carriage. Mrs. Northrop tapped on the ceiling, and they began immediately moving forward.
“Your parents seem particularly intrigued by the possibility of Mr. Lexington choosing to court you,” Mrs. Northrop said.
“He has given me no indication that he intends to do so.” That was not entirely true. Mr. Lexington always asked her to stand up with him at balls and spoke to her at musicales. He had chosen her to join him on a drive about Hyde Park. She didn’t think he was truly courting her, but he was showing her attention.
“Young gentlemen seldom make sorting out their intentions as easy as that.”
Odette allowed the tiniest of smiles. “I don’t think ladies are entirely innocent on that score, either.”
Mrs. Northrop shook her head. “Love is a bit of a mess at times, isn’t it?”
“Oh, were we speaking of love? I thought the topic was courtship.” She did not entirely keep the cynicism from her voice.
“Do you not think the two are one and the same?” her traveling companion asked.
“In my experience, the two are not generally permitted to be connected,” Odette said.
“That is unfortunately often the case, and it ought not be.”
Odette had not expected this lady, a matchmaker to the ton, to harbor any preference, however small, for matches based in tenderness and regard. “Do the matches you engineer take affection into consideration?”
“The matches I facilitate are governed by three unbreakable rules.” She left the comment there, not elaborating or seeming the least eager to explain.
“What are the three rules?”
Mrs. Northrop’s lips turned up ever so slightly. A bit of mischief entered her gaze. “Do you know this is the most interested you have been in having a conversation with me since my arrival? I am sorely tempted to offer only a partial answer, if only to force you to speak with me again.”
Despite her determination to be a touch cold with Mrs. Northrop, especially considering she had come to undo all that had been managed that Season, Odette could not entirely hold back an answering smile of her own. “I am to receive only one rule at a time?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Northrop nodded regally. “One at a time, beginning with the first: Neither the gentleman nor the lady can be a truly horrid person.”
The rule was an odd one and certainly unexpected. “Has this rule come into play often?”
“More often than it should.”
Odette was decidedly intrigued. “What do you do if the person for whom you are charged with securing a match proves to be horrid?”
“I leave,” she said baldly.
Odette picked at a stray thread on one of her gloves. “You have not left Barrington House yet.”
“No, I have not.” There was a gentleness to her response that pulled Odette’s gaze to her once more. “I know what people say of you, Odette. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve seen why you are viewed the way you are.”
She tried to assume her haughty expression. “‘Horrid’ is not the same as ‘pompous,’ though.”
Mrs. Northrop arched a brow. “Neither is ‘masquerading.’”
Odette’s mind simply stopped. Had Mrs. Northrop seen through the act so quickly, so thoroughly? More to the point, what did she mean to do about it?
“Ah, we are here.” Mrs. Northrop gave her a rather disconcerting smile. “This should be a very . . . interesting evening.”
Time dragged as the night wore on. Mrs. Northrop kept nearby, offering friendly welcomes to the gentlemen who requested a dance with Odette. Gentlemen’s mothers were pulled into Mrs. Northrop’s conversations at alarming rates. Were they interested because of the matchmaker’s connection to O
dette in particular or simply hoping to capitalize in the future on their acquaintance with Mrs. Northrop?
When Terrance came to offer his greetings, Mrs. Northrop was particularly welcoming. She asked questions, inquired after his family, made absolutely certain he knew he had met with approval. Though Odette did not know the remaining two rules of Mrs. Northrop’s matchmaking service, she could not deny that Terrance Lexington met the first requirement. He was a fine person, but he was not the gentleman she loved.
The supper dance arrived. She watched Jack approach. The joy she had anticipated feeling had been replaced with anxiety. She had to tell Jack what had happened; they needed to determine what to do, how to salvage the quickly deteriorating situation. And their moments together at supper would likely be the only opportunity to do so.
Could fate not give her even one evening of simple tenderness?
He bowed over her hand. Smiled. Pulling her arm through his, he led her toward the dance floor. His pleased expression did not slip as he whispered, “You appear distressed.”
“I thought I kept that well hidden.”
“I know you very well, Odette.” They would soon be too near the other dancers for even whispered words to go unheard.
“Mrs. Northrop is suspicious of Princess Pompous,” Odette said, rushing the words. “And she is worryingly interested in Terrance.”
“Terrance?” Jack looked and sounded shocked.
“I don’t know what to do. She is too clever and too observant to be kept in the dark for five more weeks.”
“We will sort it.” He likely would have said more, but they’d reached the line of dancers and were obligated to separate.
The musicians struck up the tune, and the dance began. Whenever the movements brought Jack and Odette together, they undertook precisely the inane, empty comments a romantically uninterested couple would. Jack, as always, wore an expression of friendly pleasure. He had insisted upon that. He would hide the depth of his regard, but he had utterly refused to appear displeased with her company.
That decision had been a balm to her oft-wounded heart the past months. It was again now.
By the time they walked in to supper, her worries had calmed, though not entirely disappeared. Mrs. Northrop sat at a bit apart from Jack and Odette, far enough to afford a bit of privacy. Indeed, Jack had chosen seats for the two of them at the very end of one of the many tables set out for guests to take their supper. He sat beside her rather than going directly to the buffet to fetch them both plates of food.
“How set is Mrs. Northrop on a match with Terrance, do you suppose?” he asked in a nearly silent whisper.
“Not entirely, though she does seem keen on it. I’m far more worried that she knows I am feigning my arrogance and disdain and has expressed her intention to repair that perception.”
He did not look as displeased with the prospect as she was. “I would so like for you to be known as your true self. You deserve to have friends here, to associate with people, to be happy, and you have not had any of that, aside from our ride in the park.”
“That was rather foolish.” She had worried over that again and again in the days since. “Anyone looking on was likely struck by how very different I was. We are too close to risk undoing what we have managed thus far.”
“What we have managed is your unhappiness.”
She shook her head. “We are securing our future. That is of utmost importance.”
Beneath the table, hidden by the long linen tablecloth, Jack took her hand in his. “Perhaps we should reconsider the possibility of Scotland.”
She could smile a bit at that, though only briefly.
“I do not think there is harm in softening Society’s perception of you,” he said. “Gradually. Bit by bit. You will still be viewed with wariness, which should keep suitors at bay. But when we return—”
“We,” she whispered the word as much to herself as to him.
“We. When we return next Season, together, you will have far less ground to make up, and that is a very good thing.”
“It is the very best thing if we are together.”
“We will be.” He spoke with utter confidence. “I swear we will.”
She took a cleansing, reassuring breath. “You had best go fetch us plates before people take too much notice.”
His hand released hers. She mourned the loss on the instant. When would they ever be permitted such a simple touch again? And what kind of miracle could possibly bring about the seemingly impossible dream they shared?
* * *
Now this was an interesting development. Odette and young Mr. Hewitt were quite good at giving the impression of mere acquaintance, friendship at most; Adelaide gave them full credit for that. But she knew people well. She’d learned long ago to see what they attempted to keep hidden.
The truth of the connection between these two showed in every quick glance, in the easing of tension in their faces and postures when the other was nearby, in the way they sat just a little closer to each other than was necessary. They were in love. Why, then, were they hiding it? Why was Odette pretending to be such a haughty and miserable person? Why was Mr. Hewitt pretending to have no interest in her?
Helping people piece together their futures meant delving into the chaotic corners of their lives. Something stood in the way of these two simply claiming their happiness. In Adelaide’s experience, the culprit was usually family, status, or money—sometimes all three.
My dear Princess Pompous, it is time to discover just how much you are hiding.
Chapter Six
Mother flew into the informal sitting room with all the excitement of a child who had just learned she was to have her very own pony. Dread settled heavily in Odette’s chest.
“It is working,” Mother declared, eying Odette and Mrs. Northrop in turn. “I know I should not have doubted, considering your success in the past.” This last was directed at the matchmaker. “Yet, how very exciting to see progress is already being made.”
“Would you be so good as to elaborate?” Mrs. Northrop’s question did not emerge as anything short of a gentle demand.
Mother took a seat nearby, though she did not hold still in the least. “I have been speaking with my dear friend Mrs. Hewitt.”
Jack’s mother. Odette held her breath.
“She spoke at length of the difference everyone is seeing in Odette these past days, that she is softer and less pompous.” Mother turned an apologetic gaze on Odette. “You have given that impression, dear.”
“I am well aware.” Her dry comment inspired the usual consternation in Mother and utter lack of response from Mrs. Northrop.
Mother pressed onward. “I do not know what has led to this improved opinion, but it is quite real, I assure you. Mrs. Hewitt was beyond pleased that you were more the Odette she has known all these years.”
Jack’s mother thought well of her, it seemed. That was encouraging. It wasn’t enough, but it was encouraging.
“And she could not stop speaking of you and a certain young gentleman we all know and her belief that he has developed a keen interest in you.”
Odette hoped she kept her expression adequately unconcerned even as her lungs froze. Had Mrs. Hewitt realized the affection between her and Jack? Had they been unable to fully hide their feelings? At least Mother’s recounting didn’t indicate the realization was an unwelcome one on Mrs. Hewitt’s part.
Mrs. Northrop was as utterly detached from the topic as ever. It was decidedly odd that a lady who spent her life making matches never seemed overly concerned about the subject of her efforts.
“How do you feel about this young gentleman?” Mother asked the marriage broker.
“I would happily offer my opinion if I knew to whom Mrs. Hewitt referred.”
Mrs. Northrop, then, had not noticed any particular shows of affection between her and Jack. That set Odette’s mind a little at ease.
“Why, young Mr. Lexington, of course.”
Odet
te made a very unladylike sound, something between a snort and a choke.
“He is quite eligible,” Mother insisted. “He is near to you in age—you specifically objected early in the Season to gentlemen more than fifteen years your senior.”
“A reasonable objection,” Mrs. Northrop said. “One of my rules, in fact.” She looked at Odette. “Rule two: Both halves of any potential couple must be fully comfortable with each other’s age, life experiences, and character.”
Odette knew young ladies who had been married off to gentlemen of an age with their grandfathers and others joined to rakes of such profligate appetites that no hope existed of them being faithful or conscientious husbands.
“Surely,” Mother replied, “if the young lady’s parents do not object to a suitor’s age or habits—”
“The parents do not have to build a life with their daughter’s husband. She does.” Mrs. Northrop met Odette’s eye once more. “Her wishes will not be ignored.”
To Odette’s horror, she felt emotion building in her throat and behind her eyes. Both her sisters’ wishes had been so easily brushed aside. To have Mrs. Northrop advocating for her was greater reassurance than Odette had felt in months.
Mother seemed to realize the matchmaker would not be easily swayed to support any particular suitor. “Mr. Lexington has a tidy income from his father’s estate and will inherit. The two of you get along. He was not put off by the horrid display you’ve been making this Season.” Mother counted off on her fingers the points she was making. “He has asked you to stand up with him at every ball you’ve both attended these past months. He’s taken you for a drive. He has spoken with you at musicales, and he even once visited us in our box at the opera.”
Mrs. Northrop hmm’d. She assumed an expression of pondering that washed away some of the relief Odette had felt only a moment ago. “I had not realized he was so attentive.”
“He really isn’t,” Odette insisted. “He is a friend of Jack’s, is all. He was, no doubt, wrangled into being kind out of pity for his friend’s childhood friend.”
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 4