by Allison Lane
Excepting Marchgate, the family was already gathered in the drawing room when she descended. Thomas’s older brother and married sister had joined them for the evening. Eleanor introduced her brother, then drifted over to converse with Emily and the countess, leaving the two alone.
Viscount Hartford was quite outside Caroline’s previous experience. Slender and of medium height, he had light brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a long face, but few observers noted those details, for he was undoubtedly the pinkest of the pinks. Pushing the bounds of even foppish attire, he appeared in a silver-blue tailcoat with lapels extending well beyond his excessively padded shoulders, and with buttons as large as his palm.
Nor could she visualize how he had squeezed into it, so tight was the fit. Rose satin breeches clung to padded thighs. His waistcoat was heavily embroidered with pink, blue, and yellow butterflies. A matching posy of hothouse flowers covered one lapel below shirt points so high and a foot-tall cravat so stiff he could turn his head not at all. A plethora of fobs and seals in assorted shapes dangled from his slender waist. His face rippled in a faint shudder as he quizzed her with his glass.
“I agree,” Caroline said. “My first stop in the morning will be at a modiste’s.”
“But naturally, you have jutht arrived. How horrid of me to expect perfection tho thoon,” he lisped, mincing closer and finishing with an affected giggle. He made an exceedingly elegant leg and smiled.
She hurriedly composed her face lest she laugh at his antics, unable to tell if he was serious or clowning. She rather suspected the former. “Such rudeness!” she declared, a broad smile softening her words. “Do you quiz everyone you meet, my lord?”
“Merely depressing pretensions. Does it really bother you?”
“No, for I have no pretensions to depress.”
“I was shocked to learn of my dear brother’s marriage,” continued the viscount, applying a delicate pinch of scented snuff to each nostril before returning his elaborate gold and crystal snuffbox to a pocket.
“Not unpleasantly, I hope,” she rejoined.
“No, no, my dearest Caroline – I may call you Caroline, may I not?”
She nodded.
“And I am Robert. But I cannot think what bedevils me tonight. My manners are sadly lacking. I meant no insult.” He daintily dusted his fingertips with a lacy handkerchief.
“I took none, Robert,” assured Caroline. “Thomas decided it was time to claim his inheritance.”
“Ah.” A languid hand fluttered with understanding, his lisp growing more pronounced. “But here ith my thithter Emily, Viscounteth Wembley. Emily? Caroline. Thomath’th wife.”
Emily’s coloring matched Robert’s, as did her features. Caroline knew Emily was also two-and-twenty, married three years before and mother to a young daughter. Her husband devoted his time to politics. She exuded an elegant sophistication that Caroline could only admire even as she was swept with embarrassment at her own countrified appearance and lack of address. But Emily showed no signs of censure. She greeted her warmly while Robert minced across the room to speak to his mother.
Caroline discovered an instant rapport with her sister-in-law and soon broached the subject of clothes.
“I must acquire some decent gowns,” she declared. “But I am at a loss. Eleanor has invited me to accompany her in the morning, but I do not know what to buy. We will not be in town for long, nor can I spend a great deal. Thomas needs all he can find for the estate.”
“Madame Suzette, Eleanor’s modiste, can help you decide. Her prices are reasonable and her styles becoming.” She paused a moment to evaluate Caroline’s appearance. “I expect you would look best in soft greens, roses, and perhaps muted blues, but there may be other colors that would flatter you. And what about your hair? A looser style would help, I believe.”
“I had not thought about it.” Caroline frowned, trying to picture her face surrounded by either Eleanor’s ringlets or Emily’s upswept knot. She failed. But she had to admit that her tightly coiled braid was more suited to the governess she had expected to be than to a young matron of the ton.
“Why don’t I join you tomorrow? We can spend the morning shopping, then return to Wembley House for luncheon. My dresser is an artiste with hair. Perhaps she can contrive something.”
Caroline’s thanks were cut off by the arrival of the earl. Emily tactfully slipped away.
“I am enchanted to meet you at last, my dear.” He smiled warmly, raising her hand to his lips.
“As am I, my lord.” One look placed the origin of several family characteristics. His height had passed on to Thomas, his coloring and long face to his other children. Thomas had also inherited his address and his unconsciously seductive voice.
“I understand some emergency kept Thomas at Crawley?” None of his wife’s disappointment tinged his voice. Instead, she detected a hint of... What was that elusive note? Pride? Yes, pride. And why not? Given Thomas’s history, a demonstration of responsibility would certainly raise pride in his sire’s breast.
“Only briefly.” She explained yet again about Jacobs’s accident.
The earl nodded approval. “And how is Crawley?”
“Improving. Have you been there yourself?”
“Not for twenty years or so. It was run down even then. I assume it is worse now.”
“As near as I can tell, not a shilling has been put into the place from that day to this. Nor has any attempt been made to maintain buildings, improve productivity, or apply even the slightest form of modern agricultural practice.”
The earl almost suppressed a shudder. “That bad, is it?”
“You would not believe its appalling state when we arrived. Indicative of conditions was the manor’s roof which contained a large, long-standing hole noticeable to anyone approaching along the main drive, but of which the bailiff was unaware. But things are improving. Thomas’s new bailiff has worked wonders, as has a crew of ex-soldiers he hired. And he has completely renovated the stables.”
“I am glad to hear it, and not as surprised as you might think. Thomas has always pursued his interests with obsessive single-mindedness. I only hope this one lasts longer than the others.” He excused himself, leaving Caroline with much to consider as she chatted with Eleanor.
Was the earl implying that Thomas’s pursuit of Alicia was now history? Very doubtful. Besides, no one knew she was aware of the attachment. Was his purpose to warn her that Thomas was prone to obsessions? What other activities had he embraced to excess? Raking, for certain. He had denied drinking and gaming before Alicia and she had no reason to doubt his word. Was he a prankster? Or perhaps the earl’s last comment was merely an aside to himself.
She moved on to greet the countess. It was interesting that Thomas received his coloring from his mother but his height and physique from the earl. His siblings were the opposite. Emily and Marchgate seemed to share Thomas’s intelligence. It was too early to tell if it lurked beneath Eleanor’s giddiness, the countess’s cool reserve, or Robert’s silly affectations. But one thing was clear: Lady Marchgate doted on her eldest son. At best, she would treat Thomas equally.
Dinner proved to be another unobtrusive test. Despite holding continuous conversation with Eleanor and Robert, who flanked her at the table, the countess surreptitiously watched everything Caroline did, from her manners to the way she treated her dinner partners. Fortunately, Mrs. Cummings had taught her well, and she had attended enough meals with the squire and other local gentry that formal dining posed no terrors. The only new experience this evening was the food, for Marchgate employed an exceptional cook. As the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, Caroline hoped she detected a slight thawing.
* * * *
The addition of Emily to Eleanor’s proposed expedition proved acceptable and the three arrived at Madame Suzette’s early the next morning. Not that Caroline considered it early. Unaccustomed to town hours, she had awakened at her usual time, surprised to discover only the earl not still abed. He
was taken aback when she entered the breakfast room, but they spent an amiable hour discussing Crawley and her family, parting in mutual approval that allowed her to relax for the first time since Thomas had announced this trip.
Eleanor was immediately whisked off to complete her fittings, but Suzette was busy with another customer. Unsurprised, Emily and Caroline perused fashion plates until Suzette could attend them.
“This would look stunning on you,” said Emily, holding up the plate of an evening gown with a neckline so low Caroline gasped.
“Surely that is scandalous,” she murmured.
“Not for London,” insisted Emily. “I will show you my wardrobe this afternoon if you do not believe me. But your reaction is quite common among first-time visitors.”
“Well, perhaps,” she conceded. “But I will not believe stunning. Some improvement I would expect, but my face is too plain.”
“You exaggerate. I grant you are not a diamond, but then neither am I, and glad of it. I have yet to meet an incomparable who is not spoiled and self-centered. You have a nice-looking face, despite that your severe hairstyle exaggerates your cheekbones. But we must do something about that country tan. Dawson, my dresser, has a cucumber concoction that she swears will fade it in a few days.”
“We shall see. What about this?” She held up an unusual afternoon gown with sweeping lines.
“Lovely. You have the height to carry it off. I never could. And here is another one perfect for you.” She proffered a riding habit cunningly embellished with braiding.
“Yes. Interesting. With a shako hat, I believe.”
“Excellent eye. For you a shako would be far more effective than this,” and she tapped the plate.
A noisy altercation suddenly erupted in one of the fitting rooms. “Incompetent fool! How dare you imply that I ordered this rag!” an imperious voice demanded. “I never wear periwinkle, and the sleeve doesn’t begin to fit!”
Emily glanced up only long enough to ascertain that Eleanor was not misbehaving, but Caroline’s mouth gaped at such rudeness.
“Oui, my lady,” soothed a heavily accented voice. “Impossible that we cannot fix today. You prefer the blue of the morning sky, non? With just a hint of violette. Trés bien. All will be well by luncheon.”
“Impossible,” snapped the first. “I never deal with bacon-brained idiots. Cancel the order. I shan’t be back.”
“Good heavens,” murmured Caroline in shock. “Who is that?”
“Lady Darnley,” responded Emily automatically, her mind on fashion plates. Her eyes lit up over an evening gown that would perfectly enhance her own figure. “She has the most waspish temper in the ton.”
“Why would anyone receive such a harridan?” Surely this could not be Alicia, reflected an amazed Caroline. Thomas had more sense than that.
Emily laughed lightly and turned her full attention on her sister-in-law. “You have much to learn about society, Caroline. An unpleasant personality does not doom any titled person to anonymity. Nor does a wretched reputation if that title is high enough. Do you believe she shows this face to either gentlemen or the patronesses of Almack’s? Her bad behavior is reserved for tradesmen and social inferiors. She is a diamond of the first water, drawing men to her side like flies to honey. And there is little we can do. No lady can criticize another to a gentleman without diminishing her own consequence. Not even to expose a Tartar like Lady Darnley. She regularly mistreats her servants, but they are helpless to stop it. Without a reference, none can leave her service and expect to find another position. Lady Stafford saw her take a carriage whip to a street urchin last year when a crowd jostled the boy into her path, forcing her to swerve. We had hoped that time would steady her temperament. But marriage has certainly not improved her. She has been far worse since she returned to town last month. Darnley reportedly suffered an apoplectic fit several weeks ago that left him partially paralyzed.”
“The poor woman,” Caroline murmured.
“Save your sympathy for someone deserving, Caroline. She certainly spares none for him. Rumor has it that she is furious at him for tying her to a sickbed. She certainly expected him to die quickly. After all, he is well past sixty and she barely nineteen.”
Caroline stifled a gasp. It was, indeed, Alicia. How could Thomas idolize such a bad-tempered shrew?
Emily continued. “Everyone was shocked when she accepted his hand for half the ton was pursuing her. Darnley didn’t even figure in the betting books. The wagering heavily favored–“ She suddenly stopped in confusion as she recalled whom she addressed.
“You needn’t worry,” retorted Caroline dryly. “I am well aware that Thomas was the leading contender for the fair Alicia’s hand. He made quite a cake of himself over her.”
“True. He has always thrown his heart into everything he does. But I am glad you know. It makes conversation less delicate. And I was ecstatic at her betrothal. Imagine having that for a sister-in-law! Did he really tell you about it?”
“No, and I doubt he is aware that I know, not that he would deny it if asked. Ours is not a love match, as you well know. But he is throwing his heart into Crawley at present, and we muddle along quite well together.”
“Is he finally over her, then?” dared Emily.
“Oh, no. Nothing has changed. It should be an interesting sojourn in town,” she added bleakly.
Emily’s response was forestalled by Alicia herself, who chose that moment to exit in high dudgeon. Caroline refrained from staring, but could not help a comprehensive glance at her husband’s idol.
Even with her features twisted in fury, Alicia remained beautiful. Golden hair cascaded from a high knot to drift in tantalizing ringlets about her face. Sensually gowned, her figure both invited protection and demanded caresses. But no visual charms could erase the image her own temper had created. Caroline would not have liked her even if Alicia exerted no hold over her husband.
She wondered about Darnley’s seizure. When had it occurred? What had triggered it? Was Thomas somehow responsible? But she dared not voice these questions lest she start further rumors connecting them. She refused to be responsible for any revival of old gossip.
Madame Suzette appeared and an enjoyable two hours ensued. Caroline bought more than she would normally have considered prudent, urged on by Emily’s assurances that every gown was necessary for town, by Thomas’s sneer about not shaming him, and by her lingering irritation at Alicia. The modiste had several dresses already made up that were easily altered to fit. Others would be finished within the week. Caroline wondered at this, and at the peculiar look she received from Suzette when Emily introduced her.
“But, of course,” explained Emily as they examined gloves and fans in a nearby shop, having dispatched Eleanor and her maid back to Berkeley Square. “She will wreak revenge on Lady Darnley by turning you out as elegantly as possible. She is well aware of the connection and equally aware that every compliment paid you will poke a dart in Lady Darnley’s pride.”
“You exaggerate!” protested Caroline, laughing.
“Not at all. But you must understand the rules if you are to succeed in town. The ton is a remarkably petty and shallow institution revolving around appearance and consequence. Rumor is king. Common sense is an alien concept. Ridiculous, I agree, yet we all play the game. Even those who are eminently sensible and intelligent become frivolous in town. It takes years to learn the difference between those who don the garb only in London and those who embody it always. Robert is one of the latter. The lisp and clothes are affectations, of course, but the empty-headedness is real. Papa frequently despairs of ever turning him into an earl. Wembley and Thomas are genuinely intelligent and usually quite sensible – though I grant my brother seems a candidate for Bedlam lately. Father is sensible as well. Mother falls somewhere in between, unfortunately making most decisions based on what society would think rather than what is right.”
“I could never live like that,” said Caroline, shuddering in distaste.
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“Of course not. You weren’t raised to it. But don’t condemn the fribbles out of hand. Many literally have nothing else to do. That is true of most of Thomas’s friends, by the way. They are heirs to titles but they own no property and control no fortunes. They are discouraged from military or government pursuits, ineligible to sit in the Lords even if their parent has no interest in doing so, and barred by convention from pursuing trade. And so they fritter away their lives gaming and drinking and strutting about town. Once they finally accede to their titles and become absolute despots over their properties, they cling to their newly won importance by denying their own heirs any responsibility.”
There really was no response to Emily’s analysis, reflected Caroline. Nor was there a solution. A few fortunate heirs with understanding parents were encouraged to learn about their estate or even given small properties to manage. But too many men would die rather than relinquish even a portion of their authority.
The coach returned them to Wembley House for a delightful luncheon and a lengthy session with Dawson. Emily had not exaggerated her dresser’s abilities. Caroline was amazed at her transformation. Several lemon rinses lightened her hair and added a range of blond and bronze highlights. Dawson then cut it and arranged soft waves around her face that modified its shape, devising several styles that complemented her regal stature. And that was another surprise, for her new gowns, with their lower bodices and simple lines, bared a long, arched neck that added elegance to her height. And delight in the results put a sparkle in her eyes.
“But how will I ever manage this myself?” she wondered aloud. “The maid assisting me has no talent for hair.”
“I believe I can help,” assured Emily. “Dawson’s sister is free just now. Her employer moved to Scotland, but she refused to leave town. Would you give her a try, knowing she would never move to Crawley?”
“Certainly,” agreed Caroline, and her new dresser appeared at Marchgate House that evening.