Born To Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  “I came mostly because it occurred to me that you might not have vouchers for Almacks, Verity – you have not been seen in Town recently – and the club opens next Tuesday. I trust you will be there, my dear, with Miss Andrews and Mr Andrews. Will you join us, my lord?”

  “With the greatest of pleasure, Lady Jersey, though I have to say that my dancing tends more to be correct than elegant!”

  She smiled, large gentlemen tended to be less nimble on their toes, and he was by no means a small man.

  “Will your brother be of your party, Verity? I should send you another pair of vouchers, perhaps?”

  The Jerseys were very political, would be aware of government attitude to the Jewish bankers.

  “I would be very pleased if you would, ma’am. My father is no longer a young man and I have been telling my brother – nagging him one might say – that he should be taking his proper place in society. He is very busy, of course, but nonetheless, I think I can venture to say that he will be present!”

  Conversation broadened, the forthcoming marriage of the Princess, the Heiress of England, and the question of where she should be domiciled giving scope for much discussion. After twenty minutes Charlotte joined them, apologised for her absence, she had been taking the air in the Park with her brother who was now gone to Westminster to sit at Lord Rothwell’s feet.

  Lady Jersey noted, as intended, that Robert aimed to be active in public life. She very quickly weighed up his sister – ‘handsome enough, not a beauty, but more than passable, well-made, clever, and intelligent enough not to let it show too much. She will do’.

  Almack’s Club was commonly referred to as ‘the Marriage Mart’ – every young lady of birth and fortune was anxious to appear there. Every Mama schemed to obtain the nod from the patronesses, because to be there was to announce one’s eligibility as a wife for the blue-blooded. More importantly, not to be seen there stated that one was a hopeless outsider, and, in an aristocracy whose birth-rate was currently running at three female children to every one male, any young maiden needed all of the advantages she could get. Charlotte, her fortune impeccable, her birth somewhat less so, had not been certain that her mother’s influence would be sufficient to pass her through the well-guarded portals. She was delighted to receive the news that Lady Jersey had taken them up, was sufficiently well-trained to express her thanks quietly and decorously.

  “I believe Mr Roberts to be of about twenty years, Verity?”

  “He is, ma’am – will not, I expect, wish to marry for another two or three, at least, although the circumstance of his spending the last year in America has caused him to gain a degree of very desirable maturity. There is little of the schoolboy about him now, I believe, though that may well be a mother’s pride speaking, of course!”

  “So you will not be inspecting the latest offerings brought to our attention, Verity?”

  “In fact, Lady Jersey, I shall be, at second-hand, as it were. You have, I am sure, heard of Lord Star, the cotton magnate, probably Peel’s equivalent in fortune and breeding?”

  Lady Jersey had not – but could not admit to her ignorance, she knew everybody – and smiled uncertainly. “A new creation, I believe.”

  “Even newer than the Andrews, ma’am! A long associate of Lord Andrews, since boyhood, in fact. His wife is a Jackson of Huntingdon. His eldest son is seeking a bride…”

  “The title would certainly be attractive to, shall we say, one of the less fortunate young ladies?”

  “Highly, ma’am – and the Star’s seat on the flanks of the Pennines would not be unacceptable. It was the Plenderleiths’ before they fell upon hard times.”

  “I have never visited there, but I believe it to be a very pleasant but rather old-fashioned house?”

  “Now considerably more modern, ma’am, with a respectable park and some few acres besides.”

  They smiled in agreement – Lady Jersey would winnow through the ranks of her vast acquaintance, would come up with the names of several young ladies, not in their first, or even their second, Seasons, but their lack of attraction lying mostly in their poverty.

  “Highly successful, Thomas – we had to have Almacks. We now have to decide if we want the Prince Regent, or whether we prefer to stand back with those who are willing to express their distaste for his doings.”

  “The word from Clapperley is that we would be better advised to attend at Carlton House, to make our bows to the gentleman. The party, it would seem, intends to offer him every courtesy and deny him all power. We should cluster about his feet but offer him no role other than that of leader of society.”

  “So be it. I shall warn Charlotte to keep out of arm’s range and away from dark corners – there is no great need for him to show her any of his pieces of art!”

  Tom grimaced – he supposed that they did need a Royal Personage to lead the country, but he could not really muster any convincing set of arguments in favour of the Hanoverian line. Madness and poor breeding seemed to be their sole claims to distinction.

  They attended Almacks and Tom danced every set – no lady should have cause to complain that he was standing watching whilst she had no partner, he was no Byron or Brummel to make ill-mannered poses. He was aware that he was being watched, inspected, by eyes that were very ready to be censorious and he took pains to be the model of quiet courtesy, and, if he gravitated frequently to his wife’s side, well, that was quaint, perhaps, but by no means unattractive in a pair so long wed. The grande dames watched and nodded and commented quietly to each other. All four well-dressed by the best of tailors and couturiers, wearing the correct jewels for the occasion and their station, Miss Andrews particularly note-worthy for a single string of pearls of perfect quality but modest size – no vulgar ostentation there!

  General opinion was that they would do, Lady Verity had civilised her barbarian manufacturer, and had probably had to make very little effort, the man gave every appearance of being a natural gentleman although he made no claim to birth or family. Lady Jersey, highly intelligent but inclined to be fanciful, found the solution that very rapidly became popular knowledge.

  “’Andrews’, a Scottish name, is it not? A number of families had occasion to leave Scotland in the middle of the last century and, quite possibly, in strictest law should not have made a return. Was Mr Andrews’ father to have been dwelling in necessary obscurity then much might be explained.”

  The threat of rebellion long past, and Sir Walter Scott prominent amongst the respectable authors, Jacobites were becoming figures of romance, particularly amongst those who should have known better. It was a very satisfactory solution and the Andrews became wholly a part of the fashionable world.

  Charlotte thoroughly enjoyed the first month. Almacks twice weekly, balls and parties every night in between, airings in the Park at the fashionable hour, the company of the leaders of the land. Her own ball, graced by the presence of all of the leaders of fashion, young gentlemen, and some of the middle-aged, competing to dance with her and to lead her to supper – she had dreamt of no more. The fairy-tale began to pall, however, when it occurred to her that most of the people she met were, to be frank, boring – butterflies, very pretty, a pleasure to watch for a short while, but serving no obvious purpose in life; they knew nothing and cared less.

  “Is this the fashionable life, Mama? All of it?”

  “Brighton for the summer months; shooting and house-parties in autumn and perhaps at Christmas; hunting in winter. That is the social round, my love.”

  “A life of earnestly discussing the latest quirks of fashion, of hinting at scandal, and, not least, commenting very seriously on the weather, Mama!”

  “The weather is very important, my dear. Courtesy demands that conversation shall always be at a level to include all in it, and even the most moronic dame or squire can observe whether or not it is raining!”

  Charlotte laughed, but rather half-heartedly.

  “Wingham’s son seems very serious in his pursuit, m
y love?”

  “The fair-haired one? He does the most excellent farmyard imitations, it is quite his party-piece, Mama! He may have other talents, but I have yet to discover them. Mr Benton has a very fine profile – he shows it whenever we meet, waiting to catch me when I swoon. Lord Winnard owns many thousands of acres of Herefordshire and even more in the Highlands of Scotland – I know that for he never fails to remind me of them. Major Quinton is merely a second son, but he has every expectation of becoming a general, needs only another ‘good’ war in which to further display his talents, so he informs me – he has great experience of garrison duty in London but feels he really should go to battle at some stage.”

  “What of Dartrey, my love?”

  “A slightly older man, is he not, Mama? At least thirty. Is he one of my many suitors? I had not noticed, though I have seen him to be a friendly, well-mannered gentleman, one who dances well and shows me consideration.”

  “He is active in public life, which might recommend him to you. I believe he is seeking a place in the next Ministry, wishes eventually to have a say in Foreign Affairs. He would always be in the thick of things, as it were, his wife a political hostess of some importance.”

  Charlotte smiled thoughtfully – the choices available to her seemed to be limited. If she was to marry then she could be the partner of a gentleman of an agricultural turn of mind, active on his broad acres and amongst his people, much as her mother was. She could be wed into High Society, be a queen amongst the butterflies. She could join the Castlereaghs and Jerseys, mistress of a political salon, immersed in intrigue and manoeuvre, her finger on the pulse of the nation. Or she could take a lesser place, in the shadow of a would-be general or his like. This year, it was of less importance – next Season the matter would become more pressing.

  She could, of course, choose to remain single, and thus join the ranks of the ‘characters’ – young females who ranged in popular estimation from the loose to the lesbian, their actions in refusing marriage obviously perverse.

  The sole alternative was to immerse herself in good works, an eccentric but understandable form of withdrawal from the world of her birth. The creation of orphanages for young street children would be seen as suitable work for her, though she should not get involved with older boys and girls – only men rescued them from the streets, it would seem.

  A few days of consideration of the options confirmed in her the desire to marry, provided only that she could find a man she wanted. She drew up a list of the qualities she would seek.

  There was no great need for her husband to be handsome, indeed it might be as well if he were not, she had little use for a man whose primary concern would be to use her eyes as a looking-glass. He should be well-dressed, not dandyish but properly smart. He must be courteous, not merely polite. He ought to have proved himself, have risked his life and not in silly curricle-races or violent games, there had been wars enough to suit the purpose. He must be intelligent.

  Wealth was not important – useful but not essential.

  He must be able to laugh, at himself as much as at others – that came at the bottom of her list and was rapidly promoted close to the top.

  She took the results of her deep cogitation to her mother.

  “I agree – I found a husband who met all of these criteria. Do you really expect to find a second of his ilk?”

  Robert made his come-out in proper fashion, displaying the most obedient conformity to the demands of the fashionable world, joining the Club and remaining almost silent in the company of the Public Men there, introduced to them by Rothwell and demonstrating his intelligence by listening with a show of great respect to all that his elders had to say. He met Lord Sidmouth, Minister at the Home Office, and discussed the state of the country – insurrection in the industrial north, disorder in the agricultural counties, the world gone to the dogs and the lash, the sabre and the noose the only possible way to make a recovery. As for this nonsense of Reform – forget it!

  “Give them an inch and they’ll demand a yard, my boy! What we need is a poor harvest and a hard winter to force them into a proper obedience to their betters!”

  Robert murmured his agreement, listened as Rothwell outlined the proposals for the establishment of a squadron at Malta, with the necessary creation of a naval yard and garrison, and received a broad agreement that the measures should go before Cabinet and the Prime Minister with his support.

  “A ‘squadron’, sir? The dockyard you suggest will have the capacity to moor and work upon a score of line-of-battle ships!”

  “A Mediterranean Fleet will be seen as far too expensive, and probably unnecessary, Robert, whilst a mere ‘Squadron detached from Home Waters’, will be an economical use of our resources. Both would be made up of two First Rates and a dozen of Thirds with frigates, sloops and smaller vessels in whatever number could be found, commanded by a Vice-Admiral. Five years, and a deal of sensible activity, protecting British trade, putting down pirates, suppressing slavers, showing the flag, will demonstrate the necessity to station a fleet there. With the aid and support of the Emperor of Morocco we shall in process extirpate the Barbary pirates and bring peace to the North African coast.”

  Robert agreed again – the Navy had to be used rather than reduced to the very low numbers of the previous century. Defence of the country and its commerce demanded a large fleet in being, ships at sea, officers and men learning and practising their trade, and that meant they had to have something to do. Chasing pirates and slavers would keep the young men busy and was not in itself a bad thing, he supposed. Of course, there would have to be a degree of moderation, he thought – cotton demanded slavery, or so it seemed, and England depended on cotton more than on any other single product…

  “A similar peace at sea to that which the Home Secretary proposes to bring to the industrial areas, sir!”

  “I fear so – and can see no way of changing his mind or modifying his policies. He is of small intelligence, Robert, and is firmly convinced that he has a God-given right to slaughter those who disagree with him, particularly those of lesser status who wish to step out of their place in life. I rest my hopes on Lord Wellington – he has the authority to give advice that will be listened to – and, while he is a firm believer in good order, he is also a proponent of enlightened leadership. If he embraces a political career, and there is a great effort being made to persuade him that duty demands that he should, then he will be able to control the worst excesses of those who would create the conditions in which revolution might flourish.”

  “Oppression creates revolution, sir, is that the lesson of France?”

  “It is, Robert. Compromise will always produce a better result for both parties, particularly when accompanied by a substantial measure of bribery. The leaders, or potential firebrands, can always be made more rational by the judicious offer of money or honours, for them or for their children. A token to their followers, a promise of jam tomorrow together with a little of bread today, and the insurrection will peter out. The sabre today and the noose tomorrow will almost inevitably bring about the violence that you fear. The problem is that literacy is spreading, Robert, and people are becoming informed – the Mob knows that things can be different – they have heard of America, and believe what they have read – they know that freedom and prosperity are compatible, that democracy and anarchy are not one and the same thing. So, if we are to keep our wealth, we must give gold, not lead!”

  It occurred to Robert that Lady Rothwell was far better educated than most women, and her husband, having been a midshipman from the age of ten, was worse educated than most men. He had, perhaps, imbibed advanced, continental ideas from his lady, had been corrupted, as it were, out of the conventional English mould. A pity that he had not attended one of the schools – this habit of original thinking would have soon been beaten out of him and his life would have become much easier.

  “Do you expect to rise further in the government, my lord?”

  “
Good God, no, Robert! I shall retire from Public Life when I inherit my father’s honours and take his seat in the Lords. I would do better as a Radical Whig, I fear, and there are those in the party who are aware of the fact and will make quite certain that I am kept out of harm’s way. I am useful in my current role, but will never receive another, more senior position. If you had intended to make a career in government I would have kept you at arm’s length for your own protection!”

  Verity decided they could afford to give Brighton a miss this year – she had invited a number of significant families to join them in a house-party in September, had been very pleased to receive acceptances from all of her targeted guests. They would leave for the Midlands on the last Saturday in May, she had decided, there remaining only the business of Thomas Star to complete.

  The young gentleman, not quite so young, now she thought about it, he was very nearly thirty, had arrived as bidden towards the end of April and had been introduced to Society. He would be second baron, on his father’s demise, and as such was less to be seen as nouveau-riche, except by the highest of sticklers. That he would inherit not less than twenty thousand a year did not hurt when it became clear that he was in search of a wife. Lady Jersey had pulled three young ladies out of her hat, had presented them to Verity over the previous fortnight, introducing them in passing, as it were.

  Miss Jennifer Notley was the very pretty, very anxious to please, third daughter of an impoverished Norfolk baronet. She had a sporting brother who had cut a dash in Town for a while prior to fleeing the country before he was imprisoned for debt, and as a result had no portion at all. Neither of her sisters had caught a husband and she was enjoying a third Season only because of the generosity of her mother’s sister, who had wed a little more profitably than her elder sibling. She was a clever girl and had no illusions about her likely fate if she came home again single - rather than a life of bread-and-scrape as a spinster she would accept the hand of a local yeoman farmer, a middle-aged widower who owned his eight hundred acres and very obviously appreciated her looks and who would at least offer her comfort as a compensation for her terminal decline from the status of gentlewoman. She was very willing to encourage the pretensions of any nobleman, however newly created, and, besides, she found she quite liked Mr Star, he was very rich.