Without any context, Kitty had accepted the anecdote at face value. Now, having heard Mr. Brummel’s mots repeated—and overhearing from the distance of the next line over on Almack’s ballroom floor the gentleman’s tone of irony—she wondered if Lucretia had taken for admiration what had been intended as satirical.
Lucretia was enjoying this moment exceedingly—this was the treat that she had intended to give Catherine by inviting her before the season began. Town bronze was the idiom used by the haut monde. Now to give Catherine a reason to call her visit short.
“For example, someone not acquainted with you, and not as well-intentioned, might be forgiven for assuming when you so precipitously introduced yourself into a private conversation between Lady Chadwick and Mr. Devereaux, that you were attempting to introduce yourself to the gentleman’s notice. Nothing could be so fatal to your chances of attaching someone eligible than to gain a reputation for being forward.”
Kitty looked at the ground to hide her hot face. So it had looked bad, then. No wonder Mr. Devereaux had taken himself off in such haste. “I must thank you for the hint, Lucretia,” she said in a suffocated voice.
Lucretia reached out to touch Kitty’s wrist with two fingers in a nicely judged gesture of sympathy. “There now. I dreaded saying anything, for you must know that anything unpleasant is foreign to my nature. We shall say no more about it. Pray, how is your dear brother? You must miss him quite as dreadfully as I do. When is he expecting to see you home? I know how happy that will make him. You will be able to tell him about Lady Taviscott’s ball tonight, for of course you must be invited. Everyone of any importance will be there, and I know the Chadwicks are of the first consideration, which requires people to invite you as well... “
o0o
Clarissa lay upon her bed, pressing her fingertips over her eyes, which were resolutely closed.
If only she could find the words to circumvent Lord Wilburfolde’s well-meant attempts to guide her life into the direction laid out by his mother! He seemed incapable of understanding that Clarissa was not of a sickly nature, and she could never tell him that he was the cause of her headaches. Or, to be strictly honest, he contributed to the cause.
She knew her own shortcomings were to blame. If only he did not bring out the worst in her nature! Every mention of that wretched letter of his mother’s strengthened her determination not to answer it, for she knew what her reward would be: more of the same. But she did not have the courage to tell him that. Again, a shortcoming.
She finally fell asleep, and woke much refreshed, to the news that Lord Wilburfolde had finally gone. Amelia bounced in to ask what she was wearing to Lady Taviscott’s ball — she did not want to make them the jest of the room by appearing in exactly the same color.
Clarissa bethought herself that no one would notice one gown from another, but Amelia was that age when dress is all-conquering. “Which of your gowns did you favor?”
“The India muslin with the cameos at each shoulder,” Amelia replied promptly. “And Lady Kitty is going to wear the white with the gold underskirt, which Mama and I are agreed goes capitally with her black hair.”
“Then I will wear my sea-green gauze,” Clarissa said. “Nothing could be simpler.”
Her mood improved with the recollection that her betrothed had accepted an invitation from a cousin to hear a lecture on temperance. With a mild expectation of enjoyment, she climbed into the coach with the others.
Lady Taviscott had apparently invited the entire town. Her enormous ballroom was filled with people when the Chadwick party arrived.
Clarissa was surprised to see her cousin arriving just ahead of them. She did not remember seeing Cousin Philip at so many balls. Once she’d made her curtsey to their hostess, Clarissa started in his direction to greet him, but halted when she observed Miss Bouldeston crossing the room to intercept him, Sophia Fordham at her elbow. The two determinedly engaged the gentleman in conversation, preventing his moving into the ballroom. Clarissa stayed with her family as they slowly navigated the press of new arrivals proceeding with excruciating slowness through the second door.
Lord Chadwick promptly departed for the card room, and James was lost in the crowd; Lady Chadwick sighed, and began to look about her for somewhere to sit.
Cousin Philip stepped up to make his bow to Lady Chadwick and offer to conduct her to a chair. She agreed with obvious thanks, and he turned to pay his respects to the rest of the family, as Amelia gazed around in search of someone she knew.
Clarissa was surprised to see Kitty behaving with stiff rectitude, but then her cousin, Amelia, Kitty, and everything else including her wits flew out of her head when she looked across the ballroom at the new arrival framed in the doorway.
Tall, elegantly attired from his black hair to his new dancing shoes, was Carlisle Decourcey, the Marquess of St. Tarval.
TWENTY
“Did you like my surprise?” James turned to his family to perform the introductions.
Clarissa was too stunned to speak. The world had begun to sparkle oddly.
A quiet voice came through it all, “Are you quite well, Miss Harlowe?”
It was he—Kitty’s brother. She couldn’t seem to find her knees to curtsey, or the words to utter a polite greeting. But he didn’t seem to expect an answer as he guided her to the nearest chair.
She roused herself enough to say, “I will be well, a moment only. It is just the heat in here.”
He did not pester her with questions, each prefaced by a my mother says. She knew it was unfair—that Lord Wilburfolde meant the best—yet the contrast could not have been more devastating, and her eyes stung.
But no one was watching, or bothering her. The gentleman had turned obligingly away, permitting her to recover her poise.
Meanwhile, Kitty was exclaiming happily, “Ned! You, too? What a wonderful surprise! How does this come about?”
“It was all my doing,” James said modestly, and at a cough, he said hastily, “Well, actually, Arden, here, played a small hand in the affair.” He tipped his chin as Lord Arden edged past a stout gentleman, who was attempting to speak across James to the people in the adjacent chairs.
James said jokingly, “I should make you all known to one another, if you promise not to challenge one another to a duel, at least not here, for I promised Lady Taviscott that there would be no pistols drawn on her ballroom floor.”
“I will introduce myself, rattle.” Lord Arden bowed, and said to Kitty, “A few days ago, we chanced to be in Grosvenor Street when your brothers were just going into your family’s house. We knew it had been shut up these several years, so you can imagine our curiosity when a pair in overcoats shouldered the door open.”
“I laid a wager it was thieves,” James admitted. “But how were we to know?”
“So we walked over and introduced ourselves,” Lord Arden went on.
St. Tarval turned to Kitty. “Though Arden will probably get a peal rung over him by the rest of the family, he told us how to go about getting the house opened up again.”
“We even unearthed the old porter,” James added. “And he brought his wife to turn the place out. Lord, the dust! Then I remembered this party, and thought it might be a capital joke to bring you here as a surprise. There you get no credit, Arden, for I braved the lioness’s den myself in order to procure them an invitation.” He finished in triumph.
Edward said, “Arden was the one who put us in the way of tailors and so forth. So here you have us.”
“I am so happy!” Kitty exclaimed, hands pressed together, her face glowing. Then her brow puckered. “But I suppose I must leave Clarissa, then?”
The marquess said, “To tell you the truth, we’ve only opened a part of the house. It’s a great barrack, the furnishings still in Holland covers. I don’t know how long Ned and I will stay. If Miss Harlowe does not object, you may remain with her, for I don’t know where I’d get hold of sufficient staff.”
“Oh, then I have nothing
else to wish for,” Kitty exclaimed.
So great a party could not but be noticed by others in the room.
“Who is that newly arrived gentleman?” Miss Fordham inquired of Lucretia Bouldeston, who was frowning at her sister fawning all over that foolish dandy she had taken up with. Really, Lucasta would make herself a laughingstock if Mama did not intervene.
Miss Fordham recalled her attention by saying insistently, “I have never met him, and yet he seems familiar. But I would remember, surely. He certainly has an air.”
Lucretia looked up impatiently, and stared, aghast.
Carlisle? This was worse than ever!
“He is—that is the marquess of St. Tarval,” Lucretia stated, striving for an off-hand manner, which did not fool Miss Fordham at all.
Sophia Fordham, at five-and-twenty, prided herself on her taste and discernment. The gentleman lucky enough to win her hand and her fortune had not yet materialized, though she had given her choices plenty enough encouragement. Mr. Devereaux, heading this select list, also headed Miss Bouldeston’s list, along with the lists of far too many single women in London. But Miss Bouldeston also displayed (in spite of her frequent claims to modesty and shyness) a taste for gossip. In short doses, she could be amusing, and there were few enough people with whom Miss Fordham could enjoy tearing apart every character of note.
Here was unexpected entertainment. Could this fine-looking man be the mysterious nobleman to whom Lucretia was all-but-engaged? Miss Fordham had come to regard this unnamed mystery man a fabrication.
She linked her arm through Lucretia’s. “Since you appear to know the gentleman, pray introduce us.”
Lucretia felt herself borne forward, her thoughts caught in a species of nightmare.
Kitty was just saying, “Ned, fie! And here I thought you would offer me a dance,” as all the gentlemen laughed at the undisguised horror in Lord Edward’s face.
“Card room’s this way,” James said briskly, spotting the approach of Lucretia Bouldeston.
Ned followed him, delivering a parting shot over his shoulder, “All I can say is, if you cannot find yourself someone to caper with in this room, Kit, then... what a set of cork-brains in this town.”
He sketched a hasty bow to Lucretia, muttered something that could be taken as a greeting, and hastened after James.
Lucretia never saw him. “Carlisle,” she said in her sweetest tones. “Oh!” The fingertip rose to her lips as she batted her eyes rapidly in the expression her mirror had told her was bashful modesty. “Pray, forgive me. Miss Fordham, may I introduce you to the Marquess of St. Tarval? So you are come to Town, after all my begging. It must take the words of a sister to get you here, but Catherine failed to tell me you were expected.”
“Kitty did not know, so you must excuse her.” The marquess bowed, his smile having lessened to politeness.
Lucretia then chattered on, asking after everyone at St. Tarval, without listening to a word he spoke, as she waited desperately for him to remember his duty and ask her to dance.
St. Tarval could see by the anger in Lucretia’s eyes and the shrill note to her voice that she was waiting for something, probably to ring a peal over him.
He was going to have to talk to her, but he had no intention of holding this conversation in the middle of a room full of strangers, so he stood there politely, determined to wait her out.
Watching all this from the other side of the ballroom was Mr. Devereaux. He had witnessed the entire scene from the moment Lady Catherine had gazed across the ballroom with such genuine, unshadowed joy. Once again her beautiful face had glowed into something beyond mere beauty.
So here was the impecunious brother. Mr. Devereaux was aware of a sensation of rue, not unlike irony, that this fellow no older than he could inspire such a reaction in his sister. Mr. Devereaux would be making a wearisome journey all too soon on Bess’s behalf, full knowing that his reward at the end of his road would be a scowl and a string of demands.
A friend appeared at his shoulder, and he turned away before the object of his attention could be descried.
o0o
The next morning, Clarissa gazed down in a bemused way at a card on heavy linen paper.
Seeing her expression, Lady Chadwick glanced at the envelope, and though she could not quite make out the broken seal, she recognized a part of the crest. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “Is that from her grace?”
Clarissa smiled. “Yes. Grandmother writes to inform me that Kitty and I would be delighted to pay her a call this morning.”
James gave a crack of laughter, and Lord Chadwick said, “Better you than me, my girl. Do give her our best, and all that.” He flung down his napkin and made his escape as though the dowager duchess loomed outside the breakfast room.
Clarissa laughed, and turned her attention to Kitty’s wide gaze of consternation. “You will like her. I promise.”
Kitty changed her gown three times before settling on the newest of her morning dresses. It was with nervous apprehension that she climbed into the coach for the short drive to Cavendish Square—the girls did not dare walk as it looked like rain, and even if the weather held off, neither wished to arrive with soot on her gloves, or smudges on her shoes.
Kitty stared at the enormous house. “She lives alone here?”
“Yes, and very nip-farthing she considers it,” Clarissa said with a quiet laugh. “Compared to the family place in Grosvenor Square, which she relinquished to her son on his marriage.”
The door was opened by a footman in old-fashioned livery, who greeted them with stately obsequiousness. Another footman conducted them up a wide, shallow marble staircase, and down an imposing hall with rococo gilding in festoons high on the cream-colored walls and around painted panels that depicted mythological creatures disporting in bright pastel colors.
Kitty recognized the style as belonging to the last century, but unlike Tarval Hall, this place seemed as if it had been painted and furnished a week ago.
They were brought to a double door and bowed into a saloon that glittered with gilding, heavy silver and porcelain ornaments, and lovely, fragile French chairs with embroidered seats. They crossed a carpet that rendered their steps completely soundless, and approached a tiny old lady who sat in state in a big carved chair piled around with cushions.
Kitty curtseyed low as she was introduced to the Duchess of Norcaster, and Clarissa bent to kiss one withered cheek.
Her grace was dressed in a brocade court gown of forty years ago, in the Parisian style. The bodice was stiff, with bows down the front, the rich skirts falling in shining folds. The lace above the bodice almost made a ruff, covering the duchess’s neck. A heavy gold necklace lay on the bodice, with an ivory cameo set around with diamonds that winked and gleamed when she breathed. Her blue-veined hands were adorned with several rings. Her hands had been fine in her youth, Kitty guessed, and the duchess was proud of them yet.
“Sit down, girls, sit down,” she said, and called to the footman, “Bring the refreshments, Thomas.” Then back to Kitty, “Now, tell me, Does London please you?”
Her grace’s face had once been fine, Kitty could see. The lineaments of her eyes were somehow familiar, her gaze sharp and intelligent.
“It is vastly amusing, your grace,” Kitty said. “I am ever so grateful to Clarissa for bringing me.”
The duchess smiled. “Lud! You are your grandmother come again, child. Ecod, she was a beauty. And you have her smile.” She turned her gaze to Clarissa. “I understand I am to congratulate you on this alliance you appear to have contracted.”
“Thank you, Grandmama,” Clarissa said.
The duchess’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more as the door opened and refreshments were wheeled in.
She waited until the footman had set things out, and indicated for Clarissa to pour out the tea. This Clarissa did, as they conversed a little about the delicious cakes and pastries.
When everyone had eaten a few bites and drunk some
tea, the duchess said, “Fi donc! You’re no more pleased than I am. Clarissa, did someone bullock you into this marriage?”
Clarissa’s rose and gold Worcester teacup clashed onto the saucer. “Grandmama,” Clarissa said helplessly.
“Don’t Grandmama me. Old I may be, but my eyes are still as good as they were. You ain’t any happier than I am. Deny it if you dare.”
Clarissa looked down unhappily.
The duchess sighed. “Clarissa. I know nothing against young Wilburfolde—from all accounts he is a hapless muffin much like his father. What I cannot stick is the thought of you bowed under Susannah Wilburfolde’s yoke. You may not have been bullied at home, but good gad, you shall know bullying when you are living under her roof. Why did you agree to it? I cannot believe that fool Chadwick gave you an ultimatum.”
“No, Papa was all that is kind—but when he charged me with my age, and hinted that I would hang around James’s neck one day...”
“So it’s a demmed faut de mieux? But why? You can live with me! Or if you can’t stick my temper, either of your uncles would take you in. Philip would take you as well, though he might put you in charge of that spoilt brat Bess. But you know these things.”
Clarissa pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. “He offered, Grandmama. At my age, I was not likely to get another.”
“Nom d’un nom! Your mother was four years older than you are now when she married. And last year, that clapper-jawed Sophia Latchmore crowed all over town about two offers.”
“They were... not serious offers.”
“Better them than Susannah Wilburfolde for a mother-in-law. Monstrous! As Susannah Millbrook she frightened half the men in town into decamping for Paris when she came out. Wilburfolde tripped over his own feet, and next thing he knew, she’d shackled him.”
Kitty gazed raptly, her teacup suspended halfway between lip and saucer. Her emotions veered wildly between intense enjoyment at this plain speaking, which matched her own sentiments exactly, and sympathy for Clarissa’s obvious distress.
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