Table of Contents
Extract
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
'Can you guess who is going to be at the ball?' asked Lucy, taking a cup of tea. I could see that she could barely wait to answer her own question.
'Who? Do tell!' I replied.
'Why, the Honourable Johnny Hughes, no less!' giggled Lucy.
'Ah, the Adorable Johnny Hughes!' I laughed, mentioning a nickname often used for him. 'We might meet him at last! He is, by all accounts, this season's "must-have" accessory – but what makes him so special, do you know?' I enquired.
'Well, let's see now . . . They say he's the handsomest man in England! And one of the wealthiest. My sister Catherine saw him at a masked ball at Carlton House last autumn – without the mask, I should add – and she said he was simply dreamy,' Lucy told me eagerly. 'Plus, my maid, Daisy, who you know came to us from the Earl of Oxford's country estate, says that she has seen Mr Hughes, and that he is a rare mixture of strong and gentle, with a handsome face and a tall broad frame. And, what is more, simply everyone says he has a warm, good heart! Oh, Sophie, it must be true!'
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The
Secrets of
Sophia Musgrove
Dancing and Deception
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ISBN 9781407049625
Version 1.0
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DANCING AND DECEPTION
A CORGI BOOK
ISBN: 9781407049625
Version 1.0
Published in Great Britain by Corgi Books,
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
A Random House Group Company
This edition published 2009
Copyright © Janey Louise Jones, 2009
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For Amber Caravéo,
with grateful thanks for all her help
ENGLAND, 1803
Chapter One
I had just returned from a most successful shopping trip in Mayfair with Mrs Willow, who is my mother's cousin and my governess-turned-chaperone, when our butler appeared and announced the arrival of two guests. It was chilly out and I was warming my hands by the roaring log fire in the receiving room of Musgrove House.
'Hurrah! Visitors! Who are they, Hawkes?' I asked.
'It is Lady Lucy Pennington, accompanied by Lady Lennox,' he replied, looking nearly as pleased as I was. My best friend, Lucy, has this cheering effect on everyone she meets – even Dinky, my sweet little King Charles spaniel.
'Lucy! Yippee! Well, show her in at once please,' I said as Mrs Willow quickly put on her indoor lace cap – ever mindful of the fine social standing of Lucy's aunt, Lady Lennox. 'And send Annie in with tea, please,' I added as Hawkes withdrew. I had not seen my best friend for more than a month as she had been in the Lake District at one of her family's country homes. I couldn't wait to hear all her news.
Lucy burst through the door, beaming from ear to ear and carrying a vast array of bags from various stores around Piccadilly. She looked as pretty as usual, wearing a deep-rose-pink coat fastened over a biscuit-coloured day dress of the new Greek cut which, being less fitted than the traditional style, hung elegantly on her tall slim figure. Lucy is quite beautiful, and her French-style bonnet framed her peachy complexion and wide blue eyes perfectly.
Lucy always has the nicest clothes in London.
Lady Lennox trotted behind with more bags, looking rather dull in comparison to her charge, in a grey wool outer coat.
'Greetings!' cried Lucy as she handed her bonnet and coat to Hawkes and came to hug me warmly. 'Look what I've got, Sophia!' she said, reaching into her reticule and pulling out an invitation to Queen Charlotte's annual ball. 'Do you have one yet?'
'How exciting! The ball is next Saturday, isn't it? My invitation hasn't arrived yet, but perhaps the Queen's office simply gave it to my mother. I'll check. In the meantime' – I turned to Mrs Willow – 'perhaps you would like to entertain Lady Lennox in the drawing room, Mrs Willow?' I suggested, hopeful of some privacy. But Mrs Willow frowned. She loves to hear all the latest news – especially from Lucy, who knows everybody in London society and relates all the stories about them with such humour.
'No need to heat another room just now, Sophia, dear. We will stay in the warmth and catch up on all the news,' she replied. 'But don't worry, we won't eavesdrop. Lady Lennox and I have our own interesting lives to discuss!'
'I don't believe it,' muttered Lucy under her breath with a giggle. Our chaperones are employed to accompany us in public at all times and keep us out of trouble, since our parents cannot always be with us. My mother is often away at Kew, where she is chief lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, which means that she plans the Queen's diary and coordinates her clothes, amongst many other duties. Lucy's mother is always busy with her huge family. Lady Pennington simply loves having babies, and as they grow bigger, she somehow forgets about them, or so it seems. But our chaperones, Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox, make sure we are never alone for long – unfortunately!
'We were never taken on shopping trips to fancy stores, were we, Clarissa?' said Mrs Willow with a smile, moving to the other end of our vast receiving room and settling herself down on one of the sofas with Lady Lennox.
'No indeed, Annabel,' replied Lady Lennox, and soon they were chatting happily about the many new luxuries we enjoy tod
ay, and Lucy and I were able to talk freely by the fire at last.
'Can you guess who is going to be at the ball?' asked Lucy, taking a cup of tea provided by Annie, our sweet new general maid. I could see that she could barely wait to answer her own question.
'Who? Do tell!' I replied.
'Why, the Honourable Johnny Hughes, no less!' giggled Lucy.
'Ah, the Adorable Johnny Hughes!' I laughed, mentioning a nickname often used for him. 'We might meet him at last! He is, by all accounts, this season's "must-have" accessory – but what makes him so special, do you know?' I enquired.
'Well, let's see now . . . They say he's the handsomest man in England! And one of the wealthiest. And, what's more, he's a real man, not a dandy like the insufferable Prince of Wales!'
'Well, that has to be a good thing,' I said. 'The Prince is a bit too much in love with himself for my liking.' I often bump into the Prince in the corridors of the White House when I am visiting Mama at Kew. He always seems incredibly vain to me, and the gossip columns in the newspapers confirm my suspicions. 'But, Lucy,' I continued, 'since we've never seen this Mr Hughes ourselves, how can we be sure that all this wonderful talk about him is true?'
'Well, my sister Catherine saw him at a masked ball at Carlton House last autumn – without the mask, I should add – and she said he was simply dreamy,' Lucy told me eagerly. 'Plus, my maid, Daisy, who you know came to us from the Earl of Oxford's country estate, says that she has seen Mr Hughes many times at weekend parties there, and that he is a rare mixture of strong and gentle, with a handsome face and a tall broad frame. And, what is more, simply everyone says he has a warm, good heart! Oh, Sophie, it must be true!'
'Hmm, I should like to see him with my own eyes,' I said cautiously, although I was very intrigued, to tell the truth. 'He is very elusive – what with his military career taking him abroad all the time. If all this is true, then he sounds like a proper hero, I agree! Oh, Lucy, just imagine, if he has been decorated in battle as well, then he would be the perfect gentleman!'
'You are right!' Lucy agreed. 'But what am I thinking of ?' she cried, suddenly bending to rummage through her bags. 'I've been here a full ten minutes and haven't yet shown you my purchases!'
I leaned forward eagerly; we both so love to shop at the magnificent new stores in Pall Mall and Piccadilly. Even though most of our dresses are made by our mothers' dressmakers, there are still shoes, reticules, perfumes and jewellery to find.
'What do you think of these little beauties?' exclaimed Lucy, pulling a pair of exquisite satin shoes from one of her bags. 'One size too small, but well worth the Ugly Sister squeeze!'
'They are quite heavenly,' I breathed, admiring the shapely high heels and lace trim. 'They look incredibly French!'
'Exactly,' said Lucy. 'I know we are supposed to hate the French because of the blessed war and all their revolutionary ways, but I, for one, say: Vive la France! They are quite the most stylish people! Who cares about their politics? If Queen Marie-Antoinette hadn't been so thoughtless, they wouldn't have chopped off her head, would they?'
We giggled. This was treasonous talk – almost. But we often drooled over Parisian fashion magazines and begged our dressmakers to copy the styles, which they invariably declared to be 'common' and 'vulgar' and 'impractical'.
'Oh, that reminds me,' I said. 'I went shopping myself this morning – and picked a French hat for my sister's wedding! Would you like to see it?'
'Ooh, yes please!' cried Lucy. 'Do go and get it, Sophie!'
The hat was still in its glorious satin box in the hallway and I ran to put it on. I re-entered the receiving room in fashion-plate mode, posing daintily and tilting my head from side to side.
'Sophia, I love it. It frames your face perfectly. Your shiny brown curls look gorgeous under it and I am so jealous of your long dark lashes. Of course, Estella will steal the show – that is only proper – but you will be almost as spectacular in that delicious French confection!' Lucy declared.
'Isn't it perfect? But I have to be careful,' I told her. 'If my father hears me admiring anything French he makes me wash out my mouth with soap and water. He is fiercely loyal to the Prime Minister, Mr Addington, who you know is always raising taxes to fight the French.' I sighed. 'The only good aspect of war, as far as I can see, is the dashing soldiers' uniforms,' I concluded.
Lucy nodded in whole-hearted agreement and reached for another shopping bag. This was a work of art in itself, made of chintz cloth, hand-embroidered with silk stitching in violet, lilac and old-rose pink. Inside was a huge selection of lotions and perfumes set in a pink silk-lined box.
'These are the very latest creams we've been waiting for, Sophie,' Lucy explained.
'Oh, I've been wanting them for ages. Allington's didn't have any. Where did you manage to find them?' I asked.
'In The Rosewater Company,' Lucy replied. 'This is Milk of Rose. And see, this one is Bloom of Ninon. And at the end of the routine you must apply the Morning Dew as a tonic,' she explained.
I was impressed, for I had read all about all these potions in the Lady's Magazine. 'Can I try some?' I asked.
Lucy nodded and carefully undid the caps. 'This will make your skin really soft – and your lips too,' she said. 'You are lucky as you have rosebud lips to start with.'
'Me? Do I? I wish I had a large, full smile like yours,' I said. The creams smelled wonderfully fragrant and we enjoyed dabbling with them as we chatted.
'I presume your mother is at Court just now, Sophie?' Lucy asked.
'Yes, unfortunately,' I replied. 'I miss her so much. We are hoping she will be back with us next month, but in the meantime we have to make do with visiting her at the White House, which is a trial, I can assure you.' I lowered my voice as I continued. 'The King is totally cuckoo just now, Lucy. He scares me a little when he is over from Kew Palace. He thinks I'm Princess Amelia, his youngest daughter, and often tries to kiss me!'
'Ugh!' exclaimed Lucy. 'That is the most repulsive thing I've ever heard! He's ancient.'
'Exactly!' I agreed, shuddering dramatically. 'And he thinks that one of the noble ladies at Court, Lady Pemberton, is his wife, and he doesn't recognize the poor Queen at all – though she has borne him fifteen children!'
'Oh, it sounds like a madhouse. Why doesn't your mother just stop being a lady-in-waiting?' wondered Lucy.
'Because it is an "honour"!' I sighed. 'I wish heartily that my father would not allow her to put herself out so much for the Queen, but as a politician he must maintain his social position and so Mama's role at Court suits him well. And,' I conceded, 'I really think she pities the Queen. It is a sad state of affairs for the Royal Family. Do you want to know a secret?' I asked, lowering my voice.
'Naturally,' said Lucy, who can never resist a tasty morsel of gossip.
'Well, the King will not let the older Princesses be wooed by foreign Princes in case they must move overseas, so they sometimes have romances with their servants!'
Lucy's eyes widened in surprise, for this was really shocking. Young ladies like ourselves have to romance suitable gentlemen from our own circle, and the Royals are expected to have even higher standards.
Just then, Hawkes came into the receiving room with a letter.
'Aha! This will no doubt be your invitation to the ball, Sophia,' said Lucy gleefully. 'And not before time, with only a few days to go!'
Hawkes cleared his throat. 'It's a message from the Royal Court, Miss Sophia. An urgent message. You must read it at once!' he said.
I did not think that a belated ball invitation could be classed as an 'urgent message' so I felt a little worried as I took the letter.
Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox joined us hastily from the other end of the room and I broke open the royal seal on the back of the envelope and read the note aloud:
'The White House
Kew
The fourth day of April, 1803
For the urgent attention of Miss Sophia Musgrove
Dear Miss Mu
sgrove,
As your older sister is in the country, we have been asked by your mother to contact you directly. We are sorry to inform you that your mother, Lady Musgrove, has been taken seriously ill at the White House. She has asked for you to attend her. We would be pleased if you could come to her bedside with the greatest haste. We have notified your father also.
Yours,
Charles Lacomb, Esquire
Surgeon to the Royal Court'
Lucy gasped and clutched her throat.
'We must go to her at once!' I said shakily.
Mrs Willow came over to embrace me. 'All will be well, Sophie, when we remove her from that royal madhouse. Fear not, dear child. Hawkes, please have Ted bring the carriage round to the front door at once, and ask Lily to prepare Miss Musgrove's outdoor things.'
'At once, ma'am,' said Hawkes, looking somewhat dazed by the unexpected turn of events.
'Sophia,' continued Mrs Willow, 'prepare yourself and we will meet at the front door in five minutes. Lady Lennox, Lady Lucy, I regret that we must bid you farewell,' she said calmly, and I felt a rush of affection for her orderly, dependable nature.
Lucy embraced me, as did her aunt, and they left as swiftly as they had arrived – with expressions of concern for my mother, of course. I went straight to my room, where my maid, Lily, was currently filling my best embroidered reticule with a handkerchief, comb and coins. I saw that she had already brushed down my green wool coat.
'Oh, Miss Sophia, is Her Ladyship very bad?' Lily asked, full of concern. Her own mother had died just a year ago.
'Lily, I can't say,' I told her. 'I have to see her, that's all I know – especially as I fear Papa will be too caught up in political debate at Westminster to attend her straight away.'
'May I come with you?' asked Lily shyly.
'Yes, Lily, please do,' I said, grateful for the moral support. 'Go and tell the housekeeper of your departure and fetch your warm coat.'
'Right you are, miss,' said Lily, clearly glad to be of help. 'I'll meet you in the carriage.'
How will we tell Estella? I worried to myself as I tidied my hair, which Lily had earlier pinned in a loose topknot. I automatically took off my fashionable hairband and put on my shako-style high hat trimmed with ostrich feathers. It will take a day to get a message to her at the Daisy Park – this is our country residence near Cheltenham, where Estella was preparing for her forthcoming marriage. My little brother, Harry, was at school. I was anxious about my siblings being kept in the dark, but even more concerned about Mama. I decided to concentrate on her well-being for now, which I knew was what my sister and brother would want. There would be time enough to inform them of her condition when we knew more about it.
The Secrets of Sophia Musgrove Page 1