A London Season

by Patricia Bray

  “Indeed not,” Glendale replied. He started to laugh and then attempted to cover it by coughing. Once started he could not stop, and Lord Frederick began to helpfully pound him on the back. Glendale only laughed harder.

  Jane glared furiously at the pair. How dare they mock her? Was this how Lord Glendale treated his friends? She could feel her aunt’s gaze boring holes in her back, but refused to turn around to acknowledge her censure. She waited until Glendale had himself under control, and then rose unhurriedly from her seat. With a stiff nod to the gentlemen, Jane retreated to the far side of the room, where she stayed next to her aunt for the rest of the evening.

  “Well, that was a deuced dull evening,” Lord Frederick remarked, climbing into the carriage. “Can’t imagine why you dragged me along.”

  Glendale eased himself back against the velvet squabs, stretching his long legs with a sense of relief. “But I needed you, Freddie. Would you have condemned me to face Lady Barton on my own? My heart quakes at the thought.”

  Freddie gave a snort of disdain. “Don’t try to gammon me. There isn’t a woman alive who could frighten you. No, you were expecting another one of Lady Barton’s tediously proper entertainments, and refused to suffer alone.”

  “As you say,” Glendale agreed. “But the night is still young. I promised you a round of cards at White’s, did I not? Or we could seek more convivial company.”

  “White’s by all means,” Freddie agreed.

  Glendale gave the necessary instructions to the driver. As the carriage started off, he gazed at his companion. Lord Frederick was a good friend. They had much in common, having both assumed their titles and family responsibilities at an early age, when their contemporaries were still sowing their wild oats. But whereas Glendale had never had any trouble commanding respect, Freddie was cursed with boyish good looks and an obliging nature. Strangers took one look at Freddie’s cheerful round face and immediately assumed that he was a decade younger than his actual age. With ladies it was worse, for they treated Freddie as a younger brother or favorite nephew, and took advantage of his good nature.

  In his quest to appear a gentleman of consequence, Freddie had lately taken to a passionate following of the latest fashions. Tonight was no exception. His dark blue coat and black silk breeches were unexceptionable on their own, but Frederick had chosen a red- and yellow-striped waistcoat to set them off. Not content there, he wore enough fobs, seals, and pins to make the fingers of any pickpocket itch.

  Glendale was one of the few who realized that beneath the dandyish exterior lay a capable brain. Even if Freddie did have the unfortunate habit of always speaking his mind.

  As he was doing now. “That niece of Lady Barton’s was quite the surprise,” Frederick commented. “Lady Barton will have her hands full with that one.”

  “Miss Sedgwick was quite lively,” Glendale observed diplomatically.

  “Lively!” Freddie gave a bark of laughter. “Hoydenish is more like it. She’ll never last a week if she doesn’t learn to watch that tongue of hers. Never been to a dance indeed.”

  Glendale felt compelled to defend the absent Miss Sedgwick. “All she needs is to acquire some town bronze, and she will do quite well. Even you must admit that she looked fetching this evening.”

  Indeed he had hardly recognized her. Miss Sedgwick had been striking, in a pale blue gown that showed her youthful figure to advantage. Her ebony tresses, piled high for the occasion, set off her creamy white skin. She was not a beauty in the accepted mode, but he had found himself captivated.

  “Fetching? I suppose, if you have a taste for Long Megs. Not all of us are giants like yourself. No, the chit is much too tall to be fashionable, and much too gauche to last the Season. I’ll wager that Miss Sedgwick will be packed off to the country in a month.”

  “Done,” said Glendale, recklessly. “I’ll wager you a hundred pounds that she lasts the month.” It would be a shame if Miss Sedgwick left Town. He had been looking forward to watching her maneuver her way through the Season.

  Freddie straightened out of his careless sprawl and extended his hand across the carriage. “I’ll enjoy taking your money, Glendale. This is one wager I can’t lose.”

  The next morning dawned fresh and clear, bringing the illusion of a country spring to the busy metropolis. Matthew Kingsley stood on the steps of his family’s town house, pausing a moment to savor the sunshine on his face, after so many weeks of cold and rain. If it weren’t for the noise of rattling carriages and crying hawkers, he could almost imagine himself back in the country.

  Thoughts of the country led to thoughts of last night’s dinner, and Miss Sedgwick. And to that foolish wager. He had accepted on impulse, feeling an unexplainable need to defend her.

  He and Freddie had proceeded with due solemnity to White’s, where Freddie, somewhat the worse for the bottles of brandy they had consumed, entered the wager into the betting books. Even before the ink was dry, Glendale had begun to regret his acceptance. He had no chance of winning. He might as well write Freddie a draft for the hundred pounds now and be done with it.

  Perhaps there was a way he could increase the odds in his favor. Pausing before climbing into the waiting carriage, he called up to the driver. “Gardner, I’ve changed my mind. Take me to the Bartons.”

  “As you wish, my lordship,” the coachman replied.

  As the coach moved off, Glendale congratulated himself on his inspiration. Cornelia Sedgwick was about to become the toast of London. With his help, of course. All the chit needed was a firm hand to show her the way. And he would have the satisfaction of outwitting Lord Frederick yet again.

  “Lady Barton is not at home, my lord. Shall I tell her that you called?” Browning suggested, with the grave tones of someone imparting a state secret. Years of being in Lady Barton’s employ had rubbed off on the man, to the point where the butler had a vastly inflated idea of his own consequence. Normally Glendale enjoyed baiting the staid butler, but today he had far more important things on his mind.

  “Is Miss Sedgwick at home?”

  Browning hesitated, glancing upstairs to where the strains of music could be heard, before replying, “Miss Sedgwick is not receiving visitors.”

  A crash sounded from above, followed by the sound of someone cursing in broken Italian.

  “I see Miss Sedgwick is having her dance lesson,” Glendale observed, handing his hat and gloves to Browning. Shrugging off his cape, he headed towards the stairs before the officious butler could react.

  “But, my lord!” Browning exclaimed. “I have specific instructions from Lady Barton. Miss Sedgwick is not to receive visitors.”

  No doubt Lady Barton hoped to smooth some more of the rough edges off her charge before allowing her to mix with society.

  “I am certain that she did not mean to exclude me. After all, I am family.”

  Running up the stairs two at a time, he soon reached the music room and the source of the commotion. He had guessed correctly. Miss Sedgwick was there, looking not at all repentant as a middle-aged gentleman lectured her, gesticulating wildly.

  “Mees Sedgwick, I tell you once, I tell you again. Graceful. You must skip lightly. Like a deer. Or a goat. Not stomp like—like elephant!” The instructor spotted Glendale and turned to him for aid. “See? Here is a man who knows. You tell her, sir. Tell her that young ladies do not stick their big feet out to trip the gentlemen.”

  “How do you expect me to concentrate when you are always yelling at me? If you would just be quiet, I am sure I could figure this out. Are you certain that you’ve never had any problems with the girls you’ve taught before?” Miss Sedgwick countered. “Oh, good morning, Lord Glendale,” she said, belatedly acknowledging his presence.

  “Good morning, Miss Sedgwick,” he replied politely. “I trust that I am not intruding?”

  “No, no, I am certain Signor Mancini is grateful for the interruption.”

  Glendale looked at her enquiringly, and Miss Sedgwick rushed to complete
the introductions.

  “Lord Glendale, this is Signor Mancini, who is attempting to teach me the rudiments of dance. And Mrs. Mancini, who has condescended to play the pianoforte for us this morning.”

  Mrs. Mancini seemed overwhelmed by his presence, rising and curtseying nervously. Signor Mancini took things in stride, bowing jerkily and proclaiming, “I, Mancini, am at your service, your lordship. Tell me how Mancini can be of assistance.”

  Glendale winced at the comic opera accent. He had never heard anything like it, not even during his sojourn in Italy. From their looks the Mancinis hailed from no further south than South London, but no doubt the accent was part of their professional image.

  “Do not let me disturb you,” he said, with an airy wave of his hand. “Pray continue with the lesson.”

  Miss Sedgwick shot him a reproachful look, before assuming her place in the center of the floor. Glendale snagged a nearby chair from against the wall, and sat down to watch the spectacle.

  Mrs. Mancini resumed her seat at the pianoforte, as her husband took his place opposite Miss Sedgwick. They made an odd sight, as Signor Mancini was at least a foot shorter than Miss Sedgwick. The poor man’s head was tilted back at an angle, for if he looked straight ahead, he would be gazing at Miss Sedgwick’s well-endowed bosom.

  “We will go back and begin again,” Mancini instructed. “And one and two and…”

  Judging from the expression on her face, Miss Sedgwick was concentrating fiercely. She began the dance well enough, but began to lose her place under the constant barrage of instructions from Mancini.

  “And turn left, no left, and head up, and smile, and watch your arms, and hop, and back to place, and advance, and look up, not at the feet—”

  The last instruction was ill timed, as Miss Sedgwick, dutifully looking up, advanced towards her partner with such diligence that she stomped on his foot.

  “Blast it!” Mancini wailed, hopping around on one foot, while holding the other with his hand. The music trailed off uncertainly in the background. “’Aven’t you ’eard a word that I said? Or did you think I was just yammering for me ’ealth?”

  Signor Mancini’s veneer of sophistication was cracking, and Glendale judged it time to intervene.

  “May I offer a suggestion?” Glendale said.

  “No,” Miss Sedgwick replied, with an air of injured dignity. “Not unless you know of another caper merchant. Preferably one with fewer sensibilities.”

  Signor Mancini placed his injured foot back on the ground, and regarded Glendale with a look of desperation. “My lord? You see how hard Mancini work. Miss Sedgwick is difficult, yes, but Mancini will manage.”

  The idea of a new instructor had merit. Miss Sedgwick would never learn anything under that constant barrage of criticism. About to agree, he glanced over to where Mrs. Mancini sat at the pianoforte. Mrs. Mancini averted her eyes, but her white face and set expression told their own story. Heaven knew where Lady Barton had found these two, but it was clear that the Mancinis could not afford to lose this student.

  The Mancinis’ problems were no worry of his, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to turn them off. It was not an act of kindness on his part, but mere practicality. After all, the dance was in just a few days. It would be difficult to find another instructor before then, and who knew if the new one would prove any better than the old.

  “Well?” Miss Sedgwick prompted.

  There was no other choice. “Why don’t I take a turn?” he suggested, rising from the chair.

  “You?”

  There was no reason for her to sound so surprised. “Me. After all, you promised me that dance. I have to be certain that you won’t disgrace me.”

  Jane swallowed nervously, wiping suddenly damp palms on the skirt of her gown. Having Lord Glendale witness her earlier humiliation was bad enough, but this was impossible. What if she tripped him up? She would never be able to face him again.

  Glendale took his place opposite her. From a distance she was aware that Signor Mancini had replaced his wife at the pianoforte.

  “Are you certain that you want to do this?”

  “Relax,” he said, giving her a brilliant smile. “Trust me. I’ve done this before you know.”

  Jane gathered the shreds of her confidence. She essayed a weak smile in return.

  “Besides,” he said. “Unlike Mancini, I am wearing riding boots. You can’t possibly harm me.”

  How dare he poke fun at her. Jane glared at him, no longer afraid. The music began, and Jane curtseyed to her partner. She began the steps, paying no attention to her feet, instead keeping her gaze fixed on Glendale’s face. The man had the gall to look as if he were enjoying himself. To her surprise, the figures of the dance flew by.

  It was a pleasure to dance with Glendale. It was not just that he didn’t have to crane his neck to look into her eyes. His steady gaze was filled with admiration and his smile held the warmth of long friendship. He made her feel special, as if there was nothing that he would rather be doing than dancing with her.

  She faltered only once, looking down at her feet when she reached the point where she had tripped the hapless Mancini.

  “You are doing fine,” Glendale reassured her. She looked back at him in surprise, realizing the truth of his words. She wasn’t a hopeless case, after all. With renewed self-confidence she continued the rest of the dance.

  The music stopped and Jane blinked, reluctant to have this moment come to an end. “That was wonderful!”

  “It was nothing,” Glendale replied. “You just needed someone with a bit more experience to show you the way.” He extended his arm to her.

  Jane hesitated, then placed her hand tentatively on his arm. She could feel his powerful muscles under the fabric of his coat. Her hand tingled from the contact. His nearness affected her in ways she didn’t understand. Looking up at his chiseled features and wavy brown hair, she realized just how devastatingly attractive he was. She had been thinking of him as a friend, but mere friendship did not explain why it felt so good when he held her in his arms.

  She wondered if he felt the same way about her, and then dismissed the thought as foolish fancy. She wasn’t the first young woman he had danced with. In his years on the town he must have had dozens or even hundreds of elegant and sophisticated ladies vying for his attention. Which made it odd that he had never married. Perhaps he was the sort of man who found it impossible to limit his attentions to one woman.

  Mancini’s effusive compliments kept her from pursuing the thought further, as he said, “Oh, your lordship, that was perfection itself. Such elegance! Such style! With such a partner, how could Miss Sedgwick be anything but graceful?”

  Jane hurriedly removed her hand from Glendale’s arm.

  Glendale frowned at the interruption, but when he turned to Mancini his tone was all politeness. “I have no doubt that Miss Sedgwick will soon be an accomplished dancer, under your fine tutelage.”

  Mancini preened under the compliment.

  “And now, Miss Sedgwick, I must take my leave.”

  “So soon?” It seemed he had just arrived, although a glance at the wall clock showed he had been there for almost an hour. Jane couldn’t help feeling disappointed, even though she knew that Glendale surely had more important things to do than to wait on her.

  “Yes, I only stopped in for a moment.”

  “Well I am sorry you must leave, but I will not keep you. Please accept my thanks for calling,” Jane said. “I don’t know how we would have managed without you.”

  Glendale smiled at her, a devastating smile that must have captured a thousand hearts. “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Sedgwick.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips for a kiss. Jane blushed furiously at his gallantry.

  “Perhaps I could call again later this week to see how you are progressing? And to pay my respects to Lady Barton, of course.”

  “That would be most kind,” Jane replied, hoping fervently that Lady Barton would not
be at home when he called. She knew instinctively that Lady Barton would never have approved of the impromptu dance lesson.

  Glendale bowed, and Mancini escorted him to the door where they exchanged parting words. Mancini returned and resumed the lesson with a new spirit of enthusiasm. Glendale’s influence must have done some good, for Mancini kept his comments to a minimum, and Jane made only a few mistakes. But it was not the same. The excitement had departed with Glendale, and she wished that he would return.

  Chapter Four

  “Wasn’t the levee just too terrifying? I vow, when the equerry announced my name, I thought I would die on the spot,” Miss Blake confided.

  Jane nodded, her patience showing signs of strain around the edges as Miss Blake continued to prattle on. When Browning had ushered Miss Blake and her mother into the morning room, Miss Blake had hurried for the empty chair next to Jane’s. Miss Blake declared herself thrilled to see Jane again, claiming to remember her from their mutual presentation to the Queen.

  Jane’s chief impression of that afternoon was her relief when it was over. She had felt ridiculous in the old-fashioned court dress with its wide-hooped skirts and plumed headdress. But the Queen was reputed to be very strict about such things, and Jane had the comfort of seeing that all the other young ladies were similarly attired.

  What Jane remembered most was the tedium. The antechamber had been packed with people, the heat adding to the discomfort of the gown. The room was filled with young ladies, who all seemed to have known each other since the cradle. A kindhearted girl, hardly older than Rosemarie, had attempted to engage Jane in conversation, but it soon became apparent that they had nothing in common.

  By the time it was her turn, Jane had ceased to be nervous. She just wanted to get it over with. She entered the receiving room, walking with care so as not to trip over the hoops. She approached the Queen, and then made an elegant curtsey. The Queen nodded, and the attendant signalled Jane to rise. Jane backed out of the room, feeling a sense of anticlimax. It had hardly seemed worth all the fuss.