Josette, struggling for tolerance said, “And for this you wake me?”
Amy shook her again, then jerked the pillow from her sister's face. “We've been invited to London.”
This roused Josette enough to examine Amy's flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
“We?”
“You and I have been invited to accompany Lady Berclair to London.”
“With Miss Berclair?”
“Aye, Jo! Won't we have a time of it? Parties and balls, and carriage rides in the park.”
“With Lady Berclair,” Josette reminded her. She couldn't think of a more off-putting chaperone, but perhaps it would be a perfect solution for her sister's flightiness. “Mama couldn't bear to do without us,” Josette said decidedly. She did not want to go to the big city. Not with Lady Berclair or her daughter.
“But Edward's there!” Amy cried. She eyed her sister meaningfully.
“You go.”
“Not without you.”
“You don't need me.”
“I need your advisement.”
“You'll have Miss Caroline Berclair for that.”
“Yes,” Amy said, agreeing somewhat too hastily for Josette's feelings, “but you're my sister.”
Josette sighed. “Papa must agree, Amy. I would reign in your expectations if I were you.”
Her sister frowned then lit up once more. “Mama will convince him. She will if I beg for her to.” She gave a spoiled, clever look and glanced toward the door as if their parents were listening on the other side of it.
Josette stared back in wonder. “You are shameless, Amy Price.” And indeed she was, for their father allowed that evening that they should make haste less the Season begin without them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lady Berclair’s barouche arrived for Josette and her sister the following week. The four women together had many things, but their belongings left well before them so they were free to enjoy the journey. Amy rattled along with excitement, just like the grinding wheels, and Lady Berclair would interject now and then, “Hold your tongue, girl!”
This would make Caroline smile demurely and Josette inwardly grin. Her sister, she'd learned, had no fear of conversing with anyone in close quarters, but in a room full of people she became as quiet as a mouse.
“I have a wonderful room for you,” Lady Berclair announced to Josette, who tried to look charmed. “It was my sister's apartment once upon a time.”
“I do not mind sharing with my sister.”
“Nonsense,” said the old dragon. We have enough space for a dozen Price girls.”
“But there's only two of us,” Amy interjected. Her mouth had been still for too many moments.
“It looks out over the street,” Caroline boasted. “You'll have a view of everyone coming and going from Berkeley Square, and the sun shines just so in the morning.”
Josette translated this to mean that it would be a noisy affair, and she would be blinded into wakefulness at dawn.
“And what of my room?” Amy begged.
“You will be next door to me,” Lady Berclair stated. “I enjoy being read to before my morning calls.”
She smiled sharply, and Josette watched Amy's face sag. To know her sister's ambitions would be reigned in gave her somewhat of a guilty relief.
“I'm happy you don't prefer it after dinner,” she couldn't help but say.
Amy looked horrified as opportunities of endless parties slipped somewhat from her grasp.
“I would not allow you and Caroline to make the rounds unchaperoned,” Lady Berclair snapped.
Josette wondered at Caroline's tolerance for her mother. Perhaps the young woman was to be admired after all.
“Your father has given me your allowances, but you will not need it with my credit,” the old woman continued. She tried to sneak an examination of Josette's traveling gown but their eyes met, so she needled Amy instead. “You have fine clothes for the country but you will need embellishments.”
“We'll go to Howden’s,” Caroline informed them.” It's a menagerie of the finest fabrics anywhere in London and is the best draper on Oxford Street.
Josette wondered how far her allowance would spend in such a place. She had not often concerned herself with the frills of femininity, her parents' self control over their own income had influenced her to that degree.
“I must have coquelicot,” Amy breathed.
“Too bold,” Caroline chided. “You'll show your age and your address. Why even on trimmings it’s hardly done.”
“I want to show my age,” Amy said, stubborn at her friend for once.
“Let me show you what colors work for your complexion and rank, and you will thank me.”
Lady Berclair added, “And what colors will work for Miss Price, too.”
Josette glanced down at her brown traveling dress. She knew what colors they would find suitable: mace and mastic and plain old green. She inwardly sighed but chastened herself. She was here to enjoy the Season and keep an eye on her sister. It didn't matter what she wore, because she wasn't trying to impress. Amy wanted a husband; Edward. Josette didn't fancy she wanted anyone at all.
Lady Berclair's nephew popped into her thoughts to contradict her. No, she'd already refused that man. If there were ever to be another…Her vitals twisted at the idea of settling for someone else.
“Bother,” she muttered and dropped her head against the window. Better to marry herself off to Beddingfield Park. Perhaps Edward would keep her on as a chatelaine of sorts. The countryside dipped and swelled as it raced by. She willed herself to sleep and found it, but the image of Captain Carter stayed with her.
≈ ≈ ≈
The bone-rattling journey of two days came to a close as the Berclair carriage pulled up before the townhouse in Mayfair. Just around the corner of Berkeley Square, it featured the same flat facades as its stone-faced neighbors, with gleaming white stories that towered over the street. There were pleasant old trees, tall and well-tended, to cast dappled shade for the elegant carriages rolling along through the traffic.
Josette breezed through the polished blue door into an open hall. The design was impressive, she allowed. Black and white marble gleamed underfoot. A narrow staircase wound up to the first floor in elegant iron scroll. She noted the elaborate dining room to her right and a tasteful waiting room across the hall. It was more fashionable than Beddingfield, and to be sure, more modern, but it did not intimidate her.
Mrs. Pip, head of the household staff, directed her up to the third floor and to a girl who presented herself as Molly, while the rest of Josette’s companions disappeared to lie down in their own rooms one level below.
Molly helped her unpack. There was a settee before a modest fireplace, and a writing desk beneath a cheery, but small window.
“I've heard of this grand view,” Josette said to Molly, and the girl grinned.
The window indeed had a view of the street below and the neighbors across the way. It was high enough to let in the sky and Josette basked in the warm sunlight streaming through the glass. “I imagine this would get uncomfortable in July,” she said aloud. She looked to Molly for affirmation but the girl, somewhat discomfited, only smiled again. “It's lovely now.”
“Yes, Miss,” the girl agreed with obvious relief.
The adjacent room had a bed, vanity, and armoire. Josette admired the blue linens and flowered paper on the walls. “Lovely,” she reassured Molly who seemed to watch with concern.
Lady Berclair must have given implicit instructions that her guest be pleased with her accommodations, though it was at the front of the house and three floors above the street. Perhaps it had been used for other purposes once upon a time, but it made no difference to Josette.
“Can I bring you some tea?” Molly nervously twisted her fingers.
Josette smiled and shook her head. “I think I'll write my mother at the lovely window. Is there foolscap?”
The girl hurried to set out a writing box and two s
heets of pressed paper and then Josette kindly dismissed her. Hannah or her girls had never been so attentive. She scratched a brief missive to her mama then crept downstairs to an elaborate drawing room with high ceilings and rose-colored furnishings.
Lady Berclair was roosting by the mantle with a mound of calling cards. “Your sister has not risen.”
“I’m sure she’s very tired.”
“How did you find my sister's apartment?”
“She had elegant taste.”
“You suppose yourself a candid observer, Miss Price.” Lady Berclair then returned to her papers, squinting through an antique eye-piece that made her look masculine and amusing. “Invitations have already arrived, and I have yet to schedule our calls.” Evidently pleased, she mumbled under her breath and Josette imagined she dissected the dispatcher. “We will dine in three nights with Sir Lufton. His mother was my mother’s especial friend, and his daughter has just married a baronet, you know.”
Josette nodded as if she never let the on dit columns pass her by. She wondered if the lady read the ship-news.
“There will be a ball in Grosvenor Square on Saturday, thrown by a dear cousin of mine whose son is to inherit ten thousand a year when his uncle dies. We must see to your wardrobe as soon as possible.”
Josette pressed her lips together, determined not to be disagreeable. She did not care to meet anyone only because they were to inherit. Would Edward’s attendance be more welcome with the ton since he would get Beddingfield Park?
“I must say, you're very brown,” said Lady Berclair at her silence.
“I appear to absorb the sun’s light despite my protective measures.”
“You should try harder, gel, to reflect it.”
Offense shot up her spine, and Josette found herself staring back crossly.
Lady Berclair studied Josette without any inclination to be subtle. “And you wear your corset too lose.”
Josette jerked her eyes down and felt her cheeks redden. How much she loved her mother at that moment; kind, patient, mama would never direct attention to her bosom.
“There will be plenty of opportunities to educate you on appearances. However, I do find your manners agreeable.”
“I've been to town before,” Josette said with petulance. She did not feel agreeable. It seemed Lady Berclair was intentionally trying her temper.
“But not with me,” Lady Berclair returned without pause. “With your mother still mourning, I feel it is my Christian duty to oversee your sister's Season. And your own. “
“Oh,” Josette laughed, and she tried to be playful though irritation gripped her by the back of the neck, “I'm almost on the shelf. My obligations are to the park and my parents.”
Lady Berclair took the hint but sniffed before saying, “Your obligations, yes, and your cousin’s, too.”
“Edward?”
“The one who fancies writing over duty.”
“Edward’s already returned to town.” Surely this had not escaped the old woman's notice.
“I'm sure he will be busy with his thespian friends.”
Josette did not miss the disdain. “He promised to call should we come.”
“It would be in his best interest, to be sure. I wonder though, Josette Price, would it be in yours?”
“You are too kind to concern yourself with what is best for me.”
“I am merely concerned,” stated Lady Berclair, “about what is best for Beddingfield Park.”
There was a sly look in her eye that Josette did not miss. Concerned for her family home? She recalled Edward's plans of renovating the park, his inconstancy and wild dreams. It did make a sort of sense. Anyone within riding distance of the neighborhood would be wise to be uneasy about the future of Beddingfield Park, Josette admitted to herself.
≈ ≈ ≈
Amy slept for so long she was almost late for dinner. Her excitement for the shopping excursion the following morning was not contagious, and by bedtime she had still not left Josette's room.
“You must let me sleep,” Josette pleaded but Amy could not stop blathering about slippers and bonnets. When dawn broke in its blinding glory, Josette’s fatigue was almost unbearable.
Lady Berclair required all three of the young ladies to accompany her to deliver cards that announced their arrival to Berkeley Square. Next she had scheduled, apparently some time prior to their coming, a late morning appointment at Howden’s where she had carried an account for many years.
“He gets the best fabrics that come through the blockade,” Lady Berclair promised, “though he's selfish and secretive with his fashion plates. Old goat,” she muttered. The young ladies in the carriage pretended not to hear.
Once received, each girl was escorted to a private dressing room. Josette's exasperation grew as Lady Berclair continually popped in unannounced at her most blushing moments.
“Not that!” she would order, tossing anything less than mull to the floor. The shop girls were in a tizzy, and Mr. Howden himself could be heard at one point to exclaim, “Three silk petticoats, my lady? No less than five will do!”
Josette refused to take advantage of her neighbor’s kindness and declined more than a few underpinnings. She asked for more stockings and ribbon, could not refuse an afternoon dress with a smattering of jonquil-colored bouquets that was almost finished, and fancied a spotted white muslin for morning.
A harried seamstress interrupted her with Lady Berclair at her side, seemingly nonplussed.
The woman had an armful of colors that Josette had seen before: creams, off-whites, prints with smatterings of olive and puce, and a shade that was introduced as Egyptian Brown. For my poor complexion, she mused.
She let the ladies study and pity, and protested only when Lady Berclair ordered ribbons in Pomona green. “It will flatter your eyes,” her chaperone snapped and Josette hissed, “Bother!” at the looking glass to the seamstress’s shock and dismay.
They were not finished there, for there were ball gowns to consider. “The pièce de résistance,” crowed Lady Berclair as a shop girl brought in a snowy muslin with gold threading that puddled to the floor in a twinkling swathe.
“Oh,” was all Josette could reply. She saw herself at once in the gauzy stuff, shimmering by candlelight.
The observant seamstress said, “Gold suits a girl with color.”
“Yes,” agreed Lady Berclair slowly. “So my nephew has said. No pearls for this Miss Price.”
So bold did Josette feel after this compliment, that she chose a bonnet with wine trimmings, and reluctantly agreed to the lower cut bodice for her evening wear without so much as a downward glance at her lack of bounty. Not that Carter would ever see her so.
After allowing Amy to share her own orders and envying the whites, pinks, blues, and primrose, Josette was satisfied they would be acceptable for making the rounds and dismissed the obligations from her sleepy mind.
Caroline declared her self put out and demanded they visit her favorite coffee house as they bustled out into the wonderful weather.
After taking refreshment that roused Josette enough to keep her from nodding off, they agreed at Lady Berclair’s direction, to promenade down to the end of Oxford Street exploring the shop windows before calling for the carriage.
Josette thought for a moment the sun was playing with her mind but it was indeed the Mr. Millerd from Lady Berclair’s concert who came striding out of a book shop and cried out in happy surprise.
His face glowed with pleasure as he bowed repeatedly to the ladies and their chaperone. “I had not heard you were in town,” cried he. “And I just saw your lively cousin two nights ago at White’s.”
“Did you?” Amy cried.
“Indeed,” Millerd told her. “Town suits you, Miss Amy Price.”
Amy smiled. “I believe it is shopping that suits me, Mr. Millerd.”
“And dinners and balls,” Josette muttered.
“You will be both inundated with admirers,” Millerd declared.
<
br /> “Mr. Millerd,” asked Josette, “are you going to Grosvenor Square on Saturday?” Suddenly the thought of his familiar face cheered and lightened her duty.
“Yes, and that is why I saw your cousin. I delivered his invitation.”
“Edward has an invitation?”
“We intend to come together.”
“Lovely,” Amy cried. She took Millerd by the arm and practically shook him. “You are so fine a gentlemen, of course you would.”
“And you will come?” asked Millerd to Caroline.
She, who had been watching the trio’s discourse with the aloof air of her mother, had no opportunity to reply before Lady Berclair said loudly, “We were just calling for the carriage.”
“Allow me to help.”
“There’s no need for that,” Caroline answered.
Millerd's gaze wavered between her and her mother, then he graciously bowed. “Miss Price,” he said, meaning Amy, “You will save me a dance?”
Amy's face lit up but then she seemed to remember that her cousin would be accompanying Millerd. “Of course,” she said in a subdued whisper.
Josette hoped he only fancied her for modest, rather than disappointed.
“And you, Miss Price, the next?”
“For pity's sake,” Lady Berclair cried out, “Miss Josette is the elder, and this is not the place to make your declarations, Mr. Millerd!”
The boy in Millerd rose up in a ruddy blush. He apologized quickly, doffed his hat, and hurried away.
Josette watched him go and gave him a small wave when he looked back. The poor man. What was he about?
≈ ≈ ≈
“It is a shame,” said Amy from her self-examination in the long looking glass, “that Mr. Millerd did not ask Miss Berclair for a dance.”
“Yes,” murmured Josette who sat at her writing desk reading a letter from Mrs. Egglestone.
Amy turned slowly and studied herself from the rear view. “Should I have it taken up just a bit more?” She spun slowly.
Trying to hide her exasperation, Josette studied the petticoat trim peeking out from Amy's hem and told her no.
Josette Page 10