Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2)

by Caroline Ashton

  The two exchanged bows and briefly touched three fingers.

  ‘Delighted, Countess. I was not aware Araminta had the honour of your acquaintance.’

  Rowena smiled. ‘We met at my aunt’s house earlier this year. Lady Tiverton. Just before my marriage.’

  ‘Permit me to offer you my felicitations.’

  ‘I think it’s my felicitations to Mr Neave that are due this day. I was here earlier but I forgot I stood in need of some gloves. It is a most interesting enterprise. I can think of no other establishment to equal it.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I’m amazed at what Pa . . . Papa has achieved.’

  ‘I think the only possible problem is going to be the inevitable crush when news of it spreads,’ Rowena said. She fanned her face briefly.

  Wilhelmina was not slow to discover the second opportunity of the day. ‘Mr Neave has arranged for refreshments at the rear. Perhaps your Ladyship would be pleased to accompany us and partake of some? I understand he has engaged Mr Gunter to supply them.’

  Rowena looked past the counters with their shimmering waterfalls of silks, satins and damasks. She walked forwards. He voice rose slightly. ‘What an excellent idea. I must tell you how delighted I am to have discovered you again.’ She patted Araminta’s slightly browned arm. ‘You must come and visit me. We are here for another two weeks before we remove to Ampney Park.’

  Listening to Wilhelmina’s well-bred acceptance, Rowena was more than aware that the ladies nearby, none of whom could boast her own degree of nobility in either title or character, were all taking serious note of her approval of the titan-haired girl, notwithstanding her association with Trade.

  Refreshments were to be served in a discrete area at the rear of the ground floor. Thanks to Wilhelmina’s advice, Archibald had invited Mister John Crace to design the decoration. Mister Crace held a commission from the Prince of Wales himself to provide him with Chinese works of art. He was, therefore, somewhat aghast to be approached by someone involved in Trade. His son, Frederick, well knew of Archibald’s trade with the East. It had taken him very little time to perceive a business arrangement profitable for both parties. That, and the most favourable consideration Archibald had offered, had resulted in an elegant interpretation of a Chinese pavilion in the shop.

  One table was more visible to customers than others. Rowena swept towards it. Every eye followed her, Wilhelmina’s and Araminta’s included. Both were determined to commit as many details of her appearance to memory as possible. She was a vision of deep rose and cream. It matched her delicate complexion to perfection. A cream gown rose to a high collar and was fastened from neck to hem by tiny buttons so close together the deep pink rosebuds embroidered on them looked like single garland. The style of sleeves could only be guessed but those of the rose twill half coat covered her arms to the wrist. It had no collar but was edged with ribbon patterned with more rosebuds. On her fair hair she wore a striking bonnet of cream silk. Its deep brim was pinned up to the high crown by a single dark bloom whose many petals fluttered with each move. Cream gloves and lacy parasol completed her outfit.

  Once they had settled themselves on the lacquered bamboo chairs, two of the green-gowned young women hurried to wait upon them. In moments a silver-topped glass decanter of lemonade appeared. A double-tiered china stand bearing tiny cakes accompanied it. Rowena poured the lemonade for them all with her own hands, apparently unaware of the many ladies who had suddenly invaded the space. Soon there was no table or chair to spare. Those who had failed to capture a place hovered by the nearest counter admiring the ribbons, feathers, flowers on display.

  The three women sipped the lemonade and nibbled the cakes, commenting upon the delicious flavours. The only indication of the effect they were producing were the amused glints in their eyes when their glances happened to meet.

  By the time Araminta and Wilhelmina were taking the lightest of afternoon nuncheons at home, every woman of note in London had heard how the new Countess of Conniston had spent time with a tradesman’s daughter. Many were scandalised. Several speculated that the Countess might be in an interesting condition and therefore a touch distracted. Nevertheless, she was obviously a lady of determination. As was the Earl. Heads drew closer to pour over what he might make of his wife’s predilection for such a girl. Even one who that very day had been presented to the Prince of Wales. Mention of the Prince turned speculation to his current chère amie. Delicious debate as to whether his behaviour was more or less scandalous than that of his wife, Princess Caroline, followed. The Princess, of course, had recently survived a Delicate Inquiry. Was it not dreadful that she had . . . well, let us say abandoned her marriage vows? Or rather, how dreadful it had become so publically known. Heads wagged sadly. And to think of poor dear little Princess Charlotte. So young. So seldom seen. She was in the midst of it all. Was it not a wonder that the Prince could support her? The scale of his debts was preposterous. And then there was Maria Fitzherbert. In the delighted chatter, the Countess and Araminta were soon forgotten.

  Alone with Wilhelmina that afternoon, Araminta rose from the table in the small parlour and said, ‘I think Papa’s venture will go very well.’

  ‘Indeed it will. He could not have hoped for a more distinguished patron than His Royal Highness.’

  ‘But he didn’t buy anything.’

  Wilhelmina sighed. ‘That is not the point. The mere fact that he was there and was gracious enough to accept a gift will assure visits from everyone of note.’

  A puzzled look crept onto Araminta’s face. ‘He was terribly fat, wasn’t he?’

  Wilhelmina gasped. ‘Never let comments of that nature pass your lips about anyone. Least of all His Royal Highness. They are bound to be repeated. It would ruin you completely.’ She allowed a scowl to crease her face momentarily before playing the strongest card in her hand. ‘Just think how downcast your Papa would be.’

  Araminta gritted her teeth. The frequent references to her father’s possible disappointment were beginning to grate upon her. She slumped defiantly onto the chair by the window. Her dreaded embroidery lay on a small table by its side. She prodded it with an angry finger. How she wished she could gallop Pegasus again today.

  The effect of her cautionary words was not lost upon Wilhelmina. She resolved to be more sparing of such comments in future. She walked to the fireplace and tugged the bell cord.

  A few minutes later a quiet scratch at the door heralded the entrance of a maid. She curtseyed and hurried to the table, a large tray banging against one knee. With the tray loaded, she attempted another curtsey and stepped with care to the door. It opened in her face. She squeaked. The tray tipped and a spoon skidded over the rim onto the floor. Nesbit glared at her, a silver platter balanced on one set of fingertips. Given the choice of lingering while she put down the tray to rescue the spoon or doing it himself, he condescended to pick it up. Blushing furiously the girl whispered her thanks in barely audible tones. She all but fled from the room. Another piece of cutlery clanged onto the hall tiles.

  Nesbit sighed. He advanced to Miss Orksville. ‘A message, ma’am. Delivered just this instant.’ He inclined slightly so the fold of white paper on the platter was in easy reach of Wilhelmina’s angular hand.

  ‘Thank you, Nesbit.’ Wilhelmina lifted the paper from the platter and broke the wafer that sealed it. She read the few lines scrawled inside the folds then lowered it to her lap. ‘Thank you, Nesbit. Please ask Pilton to have the barouche brought round at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’ She paused. ‘No. At half past one.’

  ‘What –’ Araminta began, only to be halted by Wilhelmina’s raised finger. She drew in a sharp breath and gritted her teeth again. Much more of this, she told herself, and I shall run away to sea. She frowned. Life in India had been so much freer. Since she had come to London with Papa there had been nothing but orders, orders, orders.

  The door closed behind
Nesbit.

  ‘Try not to comment upon your affairs when there are servants present. Otherwise your business will be the gossip of your servants’ hall. And possibly others.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Araminta said, her voice tight. ‘But what . . . does the note concern me?’

  ‘It does indeed.’ Wilhelmina lifted it from her lap. A satisfied expression filled her narrow face. ‘It’s the confirmation of the Misses Berry’s invitation. They have asked us to join them tomorrow afternoon. It is rumoured Sir Arthur Wellesley might be among their guests. They know Mr Neave was of great help to him in the India campaign.’

  ‘Oh. Is that all?’

  ‘All?’ Grey eyebrows rose. ‘All? You must realise how important this is. It’s your first invitation to the house of a member of the ton.’ She glanced at the note again. ‘This will make Mr Neave’s day perfect.’ Her earlier resolution returned to her. ‘Your application to your tasks is of great credit to you, Araminta. I could not have hoped for a more agreeable pupil.’

  ‘Oh.’ The praise was unexpected. A flush of pleasure overcame the irritation Araminta was feeling with the order of her life. Apart from galloping Pegasus of course. Her mind drifted to the conversation with Lord Frederick. He really liked Pegasus. She smiled. What could be more exciting than the possibility of a gallop across the Ellonby acres?

  Miss Orksville had the satisfaction of seeing her charge place several neat stitches of purple silk into her embroidery before the smile faded.

  Chapter Twelve

  Their pleasure at the invitation was soon to be shared. Nesbit returned, this time with a calling card on the silver platter.

  Wilhelmina picked it up. ‘How pleasant. Please show Lord Frederick into the drawing room.’

  Araminta’s expression brightened. Barely had she thought of him and here he was. He would bring relief from chatter about fashion, manners and advancement. She bounded out of her chair and pulled the parlour door open. Half a dozen steps took her to the middle of the elegant room that overlooked the street. Hands clasped and almost bouncing on her toes, she faced the door.

  Nesbit had not hurried. By the time he reappeared and announced, ‘Lord Frederick Danver, ma’am,’ Wilhelmina was at Araminta’s side.

  Frederick strode in, his eyes bright, his face full of smiles. Today he looked every inch the respectable scion of a noble house. An hour earlier, a delighted Kidwall had levered him into his newest tailcoat, hoping this presaged a permanent change. Reverent hands had smoothed the fine broadcloth over his lordship’s wide shoulders. The fit was exceptional, as was that of the cream breeches below. Under his watchful eye, Lord Frederick had gone through five freshly-laundered neckcloths before he had one arranged to their mutual satisfaction. A modest waistcoat of subdued brocade extended a good two inches below the coat’s cutaway front. A single fob watch descended from it. After such concentrated effort, Frederick was moderately pleased with his appearance, especially the high polish Kidwall had achieved on his top boots.

  Frederick swept the well-brushed beaver in his hand into a graceful curve and bowed. ‘Miss Orksville, ma’am. Miss Neave. Delighted to see you.’

  Araminta barely accomplished a bob curtsey before she stepped forward. ‘I’m delighted to see you too, Lord Frederick. Do sit, do.’ She waved a hand at the nearest chair.

  Wilhelmina inclined her head, making mental note to call Araminta’s attention to her transgression. Greeting a guest was the duty of the senior lady present. ‘How kind of you to call, Lord Frederick. Pray be seated.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but no.’ Frederick replied. ‘It was actually Mr Neave I came to see.’ His voice faded. The comment was hardly one to recommend him to either lady. It might possibly ensure Miss Neave declined to lend her Pegasus at all. ‘I mean . . . what I mean is . . .’

  Araminta grinned. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ She plumped down onto the faded settee. ‘You want to arrange with Pa to have Pegasus for a while. For your mare.’ She frowned. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten her name.’

  ‘Athena, ma’am. She’s a beauty.’

  Wilhelmina moved to interrupt the conversation before it could turn into an unfortunately frank discussion of horseflesh and foals. ‘Mr Neave is not at home at present, Lord Frederick. Nevertheless, won’t you be seated?’ she repeated. ‘I’m sure we would enjoy your company.’

  ‘Er, thank you, ma’am.’ He lowered himself gingerly onto the chair nearest Araminta. Holding his hat by its brim, his fingers inched round the edge. The hat began to rotate.

  ‘Do you stable Athena in London?’ Araminta asked.

  ‘Oh, no. Never. London air’s too dirty for her. Especially in the summer. I keep her at Lidgate. Lidgate Hall, that is. His Grace’s estate, don’t you know?’ Eagerness flowed over his face and the hat stayed still. ‘It’s only about a couple of days from here. Very easy to reach.’

  Araminta’s expression matched his. ‘Are there gallops at your Papa’s home?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Acres of them.’ Frederick spread his arms expansively. The hat dropped onto the seat beside him. ‘Acres. The Quindorn hunt’s always there.’ His face clouded for an instant. ‘Though not at present, of course. Being August.’

  ‘Really? How odd. We could hunt all the time in India.’

  ‘What a capital idea.’ Frederick leant forward. His hat fell off the chair unnoticed. ‘I wish we could. The best we can manage this time of year is a gallop across the heath.’

  ‘Oh, how I wish I could do that. I long for a proper gallop. I’m sure Pegasus does too. The Row is so short he’s had the fidgets in his legs ever since he arrived.’

  ‘Galloping on a heath is far too dangerous for a lady,’ Wilhelmina said. ‘Far too uneven a ground.’

  ‘Ah.’ Frederick knocked the knuckles of his clenched hands together. After a moment his face brightened. ‘Miss Neave could always try the water meadows. They’re quite flat.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Araminta was not quite sure what a water meadow was. Anything . . . any place . . . that would allow her to gallop for miles earned her immediate approval. ‘I’m sure it would be wonderful.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Frederick’s fingers spread as if to catch the idea. ‘I’m sure Mama would be delighted to invite you and Miss Orksville to visit us, ma’am.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Wilhelmina said before Araminta could accept an unissued invitation, ‘it would be as well to let your Mama decide whom she wishes to invite.’

  Araminta’s face fell.

  ‘You must not forget, my dear, that some ladies might view Mr Neave’s trading empire with less enthusiasm than did His Royal Highness this morning.’

  ‘Royal Highness?’ Frederick blinked. ‘Which Royal Highness?’

  Wilhelmina’s expression threatened to become a trifle snug. ‘The Prince of Wales deigned to call upon Mr Neave’s new Emporia in Bond Street when they opened today. I understand he had been visiting some sort of sporting establishment nearby.’

  ‘Bond Street? That must be Jackson’s boxing saloon. Or . . . no . . . no, it’s bound to be Angelo’s. Fencing you know.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t, Lord Frederick.’ Wilhelmina felt obliged to drag the conversation back from activities in the gentlemen’s world. She rose. ‘If Her Grace should be so gracious as to invite Araminta to Lidgate Hall, I’m sure Mr Neave will be delighted to have her accept.’

  Lord Frederick recognised the hint. He rose, his face overcome with chagrin. Araminta thought he looked about fifteen.

  ‘I’m sure Papa will agree,’ she said. ‘We’ve had an invitation from Miss Berry for tomorrow. I’m certain he’ll agree to that.

  ‘Miss Berry? Don’t she live at Twickenham?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Wilhelmina replied. ‘Little Strawberry Hill.’

  Frederick’s demeanour recovered. ‘In that case, ma’am, I must insist you permit me to accompany you.
It’s a long way to Twickenham and you must cross Barnes Common. You never know what emergency might occur there.’

  Wilhelmina rubbed the bridge of her nose to hide a smile. She knew quite well the distance could be no more than a dozen miles and was usually patrolled during the day.

  ‘Oh do, please. It will be the greatest fun,’ Araminta said. Any outing would be fun, she thought. Any relief from the dullness of deportment, embroidery and such was bound to be.

  The notion that Miss Neave was actually a bluestocking in disguise despite her obvious love of horses pasted an apprehensive expression on Frederick’s face.

  Wilhelmina calmly explained. ‘Miss Berry said she expected Major-General Wellesley to call. She knows of Mr Neave’s connection with him in India. Miss Neave would be honoured to meet him.’

  Frederick’s mouth fell open. ‘My goodness, how George would envy you, ma’am. He’s forever banging on about him and his victories.’

  Wilhelmina inclined her head. ‘It is most considerate of you to fear for our safety, Lord Frederick. Thank you.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, no trouble at all, ma’am, I assure you. It will be a pleasure. At what time shall I wait upon you?’

  The time was agreed and a happy Lord Frederick rescued his hat and bowed himself out of the room. He strolled across the square to the Ellonby mansion confident that he would persuade Miss Neave’s father to permit him the use of Pegasus.

  By the time he reached his father’s front steps his good humour was considerable. He generously decided not to mention the possibility of seeing Sir Arthur to George. He would only be disappointed. Knowing George, he would probably drag on about it too. Frederick paused. That would upset their Mama. Upsetting Mama did not feature in Frederick’s plans. If he wanted her to invite Miss Neave to Lidgate, which he most urgently did, an upset Duchess was to be avoided at all costs.

  Lost for an activity to fill the late afternoon he decided instead to wander round to Bond Street and cast an eye over this new emporium. The prices of decent horseflesh he knew but had not the vaguest idea how much it cost to live in St James Square. He suspected it was not for the purse-pinched. That being so, Mr Neave might be at a low ebb with little to spare after opening a small shop. Not to mention paying over the odds for Pegasus. He set off to assess whether the offer of a fee for Pegasus might be welcome.