'It's only a family dinner party,' Peg reminded her. 'Any of these gowns would be suitable.'
Louise nodded. She knew she was being capricious, unlike her normal self, but she excused her behaviour with the thought that this was her first London social occasion for five years. There would, she assumed, be only family there, but somehow she needed to have on the right gown so that she felt confident. After all, she had to give Matilda a good example, show her how to behave in society, and she could only do that if she felt confident.
'I'll have the green silk,' she decided. 'I'll wear my diamonds with it. No, I won't, the coral necklace will be better. I don't want to be overdressed.'
'No, my lady,' Peg sighed. 'Has Miss Matilda chosen her gown?'
'I told her the pink one, and I'm depending on Jenny to make sure that's the one she wears.'
Peg grinned. 'She will,' she said. 'Jenny's the only one Miss Matilda is afraid of.'
Jenny, the new maid chosen by Lady Barlow to look after Matilda, was a woman in her thirties. She was stout, and short, but stood no nonsense. Louise had expected complaints, but Matilda had appeared satisfied, and Jenny had a way of dressing her hair that even Matilda knew was flattering.
They were both ready, and drove the short distance to Mount Street in silence. Louise knew it would be pointless to repeat the instructions she had given Matilda earlier in the day, about her behaviour. Since the episode in the Park Matilda had been subdued, and remarkably compliant. Louise could only hope this behaviour would be maintained.
Emily's butler admitted them, and led them up to the drawing room. Flinging open the door he announced them, and Louise went in. The first person she saw was the Earl of Newark. In evening dress he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she heard Matilda, behind her, gasp and utter a quiet 'Oh!' Then Emily came forward and she had to force her attention to making appropriate remarks.
*
Rupert hoped Lady Rushton would be at the party. He'd had little chance to talk with her on the ride back through the Park, and no opportunity of calling on her, but after the information given him by his colleague he felt he knew her well. A widow, somewhat reclusive, now bringing out a young cousin in her first visit to London for several years. She rode well, and was fearless. Her blonde hair and dark grey eyes had attracted him, and her beauty was unusual. It was quiet, delicate, and not immediately obvious until she smiled. Then it felt as though a radiance and vitality were surging from her.
When she came into the room he knew instantly that his memory was not at fault. She was as lovely, even more so, than he remembered. He could not permit his gaze to linger, or his hand to hold hers for longer than convention decreed. He forced himself to turn to greet the girl who followed her into the room.
Matilda, he thought her name was. She was short and slightly plump, with dark curly hair and bright but cold blue eyes that regarded him without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Though pretty enough her mouth, in repose, tended to turn down at the corners. Lady Barlow, meeting him the day following the incident in the Park had given him a graphic account of the way the child had mangled the reins and precipitated what could have been a dangerous accident. He decided, meeting that look, that the child was spoilt, and likely to be defiant if chastised. He pitied Lady Rushton, and any future husband.
Another couple entered the room, and he heard his host take a deep breath.
'I didn't know Emily had invited the Bridlingtons,' Sir Martin said to the older Lady Rushton, before he moved to greet them.
Rupert turned towards her. 'Do you know them?' he asked. 'I believe they live just along the street.'
'Yes, they are invited to make up the table, but also because they have two sons,' she replied, her tone dry. 'Emily is eager to find a husband for Matilda. It's a wonder she did not invite them too, but I imagine they will soon be introduced to Miss Hoyland.'
He grinned. Had he also been invited as a potential husband for the chit? Or was it merely to thank him for his intervention in the Park? He hoped the latter. He had no taste for young girls who were too forward.
They were soon ushered into the dining room, where to his relief Rupert found himself seated between Lady Barlow and Louise. Matilda, apparently not best pleased, was between Sir Henry Goodger and Mr Bridlington. She caught his glance and gave a wry smile. Perhaps, after all, there was hope for her if she had a sense of humour.
As he talked to Lady Barlow he heard snatches of Sir Henry's conversation. He was apparently asking Matilda how she had liked his horses.
'An excellent pair, not too frisky, and if you wished to borrow them again, my dear, I'd be only too willing to lend them.'
'Thank you, Sir Henry,' she replied, 'but I have decided I don't care for driving myself. In London, that is. Of course I drive in Yorkshire. Louise, my cousin, you know, assures me there are plenty of young men who would be willing to drive me.'
'And not so young,' he replied.
The old goat! Lady Barlow had also caught these words, and she struggled not to break into laughter. Rupert hastily began to talk about the latest news from the Peninsula, and his wish to rejoin his regiment. Soon, Emily turned to speak with her other neighbour, and Rupert was free to turn to Louise.
'You have suffered no ill effects, I hope,' he said quietly.
'Ill effects?' She looked startled. 'Oh, you mean in the Park. No, thank you. I ride every day at home. Actually, I relished the excuse for a gallop in that hallowed Park, even such a short one!'
Her smile really was enchanting. 'Home? Where is that?'
'Near Dartmoor. Do you know Devon?'
'Not well,' he said, making a resolution to remedy the situation, especially if she returned home soon. But she would remain in London for the Season, surely. Perhaps an early return to Spain was not such a desired move as he had thought. He wanted to know this woman better.
*
Chapter 4
Matilda was thoughtful on the drive back to Half Moon Street. Louise was puzzled. Had her first London dinner party caused her to be so subdued? On the following morning, though, when Matilda came into the breakfast room, it was explained.
'The Earl of Newark isn't married, is he?' Matilda demanded as she helped herself to ham and kidneys. 'How old is he?'
Was the child setting her sights on him? Louise frowned. It was not unknown for older men to fall in love with schoolgirls, or those just out of the schoolroom, but she doubted the Earl, who seemed a sensible man, would be attracted to Matilda's naivety.
'I think he must be thirty,' she replied now, 'and no, he is not married. He's a soldier, has probably been too busy for marriage.'
'Why is he in London then, if he's a soldier?'
'He was wounded.'
'But will he go back to Spain?'
'My dear Tilda, how do I know? He is working at the Foreign Office now, I presume giving advice on the army. Perhaps he is better employed there.'
'Good. When can we see him again? I want to get to know him. I was cross I didn't sit next to him, but it was better being able to watch him. He's so handsome! Do you think, if I asked, he would take me driving? I heard him tell Sir Henry he drove a phaeton.'
Was the girl interested in him only as a potential husband, or because he drove a phaeton? Did she, despite what she had said, still harbour ambitions to drive?
'It would be impolite to ask him to drive out with you,' Louise said. She suppressed the thought that she did not wish to see Matilda and the Earl together, and refused to consider the reason.
Matilda frowned. 'But if I am not to ask him, how can I make sure he asks me?'
'You can't.' Good heavens, was she expected to teach the child how to flirt? She suppressed a giggle. There were many books on etiquette she could have given her, but she did not know any on the art of flirtation.
'Sir Henry invited me to drive with him. He owns those dreadfully badly trained pair that ran away with me, and he wouldn't believe me when I said they bolted.'
She sighed and poured more coffee. 'Yes, for I haven't met any other men apart from the Earl yet.'
'If you are driving in the Park, Sir Henry will introduce you to others,' Louise said, hoping this was true. She knew Sir Henry lived in London for most of the year, though he owned a manor house somewhere in Norfolk, which he rarely visited, so he must know lots of people.
Matilda looked more cheerful. 'Yes, he will, won't he? And they will ask me to drive with them. And we are bound to see the Earl. His name is Rupert. That's much more interesting than Henry.'
'He may not drive there when you do,' Louise felt obliged to warn her. 'He is working, he will be at the Foreign Office during the day.'
'I told him I would try and ride there early in the morning, so I expect he will do so too.'
Louise frowned. She had intended, when Fire was rested, to ride in the Park herself during the early hours when there would be few people there. Was she obliged to take Matilda with her? Then she remembered the child was not an early riser. Perhaps even the chance of meeting the Earl would not stir her into getting out of bed some hours before was her habit. Ought she to change her own plans? She did not wish him to think she was riding early in the day in order to encounter him.
*
They had been invited to take tea with one of her mother's friends that afternoon, and Louise hoped there would be other young people there. Her hopes were granted. The large drawing room in Berkeley Square was full when they were announced, and there were several young people. Matilda was soon drawn into a group of young girls, and soon some of the young men joined them.
On the drive home Matilda was excited. 'I am driving out tomorrow with Cedric Dubarry,' she announced. 'He's the Earl's cousin, and his heir. I'll be able to find out all about him.'
Louise considered the advisability of suggesting that Matilda did not spend the drive talking about another man, then decided it would be a waste of breath, she would neither listen nor take the advice. Matilda had also had an invitation to drive out the following day with another young man, and had been promised invitations to two balls being given by other debutantes. Soon, Louise hoped, she would have a circle of friends and plenty of social occasions to occupy her time.
In Half Moon Street they found Lady Barlow, who had come to ask them to pay her a call the following day, when she hoped one, or even two of the patronesses might be calling on her.
'But I'm driving out with Cedric Dubarry,' Matilda said.
'That won't be until after the call, and you can send a note to his rooms to ask him to come for you at Mount Street,' Lady Barlow said. 'But do you really want to make friends with him? He does not have a good reputation.'
'Yes, he said people were always condemning him, out of jealousy,' Matilda replied. 'But I think he is fashionable, his clothes are just the crack.'
Lady Barlow shrugged. 'He's a dandy. If you are drawn into his set your own reputation will suffer,' she warned.
'He can introduce me to other people,' Matilda said. 'He is the Earl's heir, isn't he?'
'He is, but only until Rupert marries and has a son. Rupert can't stand the sight of him.'
'That's just because he dresses fashionably, and the Earl does not,' Matilda explained.
Louise thought of the exaggerated collar which had made it impossible for Cedric to turn his head, the scarlet and green waistcoat, and the superfluity of fobs and rings he wore, plus his habit of surveying everyone through a large, ornate quizzing glass. His cousin, the Earl, was sober, even dull by comparison, though his clothes were of the finest materials and fitted superbly. He wore only one ring, a signet.
Did she care whom the girl married? Was it her duty as chaperone to monitor potential suitors and deter those she thought unsuitable? And what was unsuitable? She would try to drive away obvious fortune hunters, but if the girl were truly in love with a poor man, who was honourable, did she have the right to prevent a match? She did not think Matilda would settle for an heir to an earldom when she had clearly set her sights on the Earl himself, but she would make enquiries about Cedric.
He had an allowance from the Earl, she discovered on the following morning. For the rest, he lived by gaming and leaving his bills unpaid until his cousin rescued him. Even if he succeeded to the earldom, her informant, one of her mother's friends who met her in Bond Street when she was visiting Hookham's library said, he would soon come to ruin.
'We keep urging Rupert to marry and get himself a few sons,' the elderly lady said, 'but the man's too damned particular. He's had the pick of the debutantes whenever he's been in England, since he was eighteen. Now I suppose he'll soon be going back to Spain, and miss another crop of the young gels.'
Louise laughed. She enjoyed the uninhibited manners and language of the older generation. But it made her wonder when the Earl was due to return to the Peninsula, and why he was still in London when he appeared to have recovered from his wounds. The scar on his cheek was surely not sufficient to prevent him from rejoining his regiment. Was it just because his knowledge and experience were so valuable that he was being kept at the Foreign Office?
*
To Louise's relief Matilda behaved perfectly that afternoon, and was rewarded with the promise of vouchers for Almack's. She went off in Cedric's curricle, and came back to Half Moon Street in fizzing spirits, saying they had met several of Cedric's friends, who had all asked if they could call.
'Cedric was very short with them,' she said, giggling. 'He has begged me for the waltz when we go to Almack's, before any of the others have the chance.'
Louise frowned. 'I didn't know they now permitted the waltz. But you must not dance before one of the patronesses has given permission,' she warned.
Matilda looked mutinous. 'But Cedric is one of the nobility, surely he is allowed to do as he wishes?'
'Not at Almack's. To be admitted there is social acceptance, but if you defy their rules the vouchers can be withdrawn. That would be a social disaster, one you could not recover from. If you wish to make a good marriage, you must obey Society's rules.'
Two days later was the first of the balls to which they had received invitations. It was at a house in Grosvenor Square, and Matilda fumed impatiently as their carriage joined the line of others depositing their occupants at the front door.
'It would be quicker to walk.'
'And ruin your dancing sandals? You cannot be sure the paving is clean, and besides, everyone would laugh.'
Louise had discovered that Matilda hated to be laughed at. It was a useful ploy when she had no other means of deterring the girl from some folly. Matilda sat back and frowned. Eventually, when even Louise's patience was being sorely tried, they reached the front door and were helped down onto the red carpet that led across the pavement and up the shallow steps. Inside the large entrance hall, with marble pillars and a checkered floor, and classical statues on plinths all around, Matilda seemed awed. She made not a sound as they joined the procession of guests up the wide staircase to where their host and hostess, and the daughter whose ball it was, waited to greet them.
Matilda dropped a slight curtsey, while Louise was greeted with exclamations of pleasure, and delight that she was once again gracing London with her presence.
'Don't run away to the country again, we miss you. And this is your young friend? Welcome, dear. Now go and find yourselves partners.'
Louise had not intended to dance. She regarded herself as mainly a chaperone, and though in her debutante year she had enjoyed dancing, she had decided it was not appropriate for her to do so now.
She had dressed in a gown with a small train, but her mother had appeared in Half Moon Street and insisted she changed it.
'You are young, my girl, three and twenty, not three and forty, and you must not hide yourself in the chaperones' corner. Now, what have we? Yes, this green ballgown brings out the colour of your
eyes.'
'My eyes are grey, Mama,' Louise said, laughing.
'The green of the gown is reflected in them. Now, change, it's almost time for you to leave, and I must go back to Mount Street. I have to go in the Barlow carriage, but I'll see you in Grosvenor Square, so don't think to defy me!'
'No Mama,' Louise said, laughing, and secretly pleased. Perhaps one or two of the older men who remembered Richard might ask her to dance.
She made sure Matilda had found some of her new friends, and was walking towards the chaperones' corner when someone caught at her arm. Startled, she swung round and found Rupert Dubarry at her elbow.
'You can't escape,' he said, laughing. 'I mean to dance with you.'
*
The Earl had not intended to go to the ball, even though it was being held just a few doors away from his own town house, and his sister Amelia and her husband David, who lived there when in town, were attending. He had gone to White's when he left the office, to have dinner and a game of piquet before going home. He was just finishing his meal when his cousin Cedric appeared at his side.
'Ah, Rupert, I was hoping to catch you. How are you these days?'
'Well, thank you,' Rupert answered brusquely. It was frustrating that they still refused to let him rejoin his regiment, and he did not care for it to be generally known that he still had occasional blackouts. He felt that to be undignified, whereas a visible wound was a sign of bravery.
'I thought you'd have been sent back to Spain by now,' Cedric went on. 'But as it happens, it's fortunate. I've had a run of bad luck lately.'
'When do you not?' Rupert asked, sighing.
'I do win sometimes.' Cedric was offended. 'But the damned snyders are dunning me, and I'm due to settle for the new pair I bought. Real high steppers, pure black, they are. So I was wondering if you could not increase my allowance?'
'Not just pay off your current debts?' Rupert was suspicious.
'Well, that too, if you would. I've met the latest heiress, you see, and she seems friendly. If I could catch her I'd no longer need to ask your help. She's loaded, a rich Yorkshire family, and she's the only child. But I have to be able to sport the blunt, you know. These girls are capricious.'
Louise Page 4