Thomas listened for a time while the man discussed the opening of Parliament for the season. Thomas politely entered the conversation when he could.
“Mr. Devon, I understand your household has good reason to anticipate the coming season. I admit to being relieved I will not remove myself to London this year, but I can imagine how anxious you must be to have a daughter making her debut.” Thomas hoped this would not be too forward a comment.
Mr. Devon, holding a glass of brandy, raised his eyebrows at the change of topic. “You are a very young man still, Mr. Gilbert. Which explains why you would experience anxiety at such an event. I am not at all concerned. My daughter will do her duty by the family, I am certain, and all will be well.”
“Do her duty?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to one side. His sister’s words in the carriage echoing in his memory. “Ah, by finding her place in society?”
“By marrying her place in society,” Mr. Devon corrected. He traded his glass for the billiard stick, his expression cool. “A daughter is only as good as the son-in-law she brings to her father. I have made certain she understands what I expect of her eventual union.” He prepared his shot. “I will take every opportunity to make plain to her my desire in the meantime. She has been raised correctly. I do not think she will disappoint me.”
“You are blessed with an obedient child then?” Mr. Whitson, a man with four children of his own, asked with a chortle. “I confess, I try to know as little as possible of my daughters’ preparations to enter society. I do not envy you the task without a wife to oversee it.”
“My sister will sponsor her,” Devon said without a change in expression. “And she certainly knows what I expect.”
“Have you not an older daughter?” Thomas asked, feigning confusion. “I believe my sister said it is the middle one who is to have her season.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Devon’s eyes regarded Thomas coolly, chin tipped upward in a way which reminded him of Christine. But Devon’s eyes, though a similar shade of brown to his daughter’s, were cold. Calculating. Thomas had no doubt that glare could do a great deal to subdue a subordinate.
He raised his eyebrows and dared to ask the next question. “Did the elder daughter understand what was expected of her?”
Mr. Devon did not blink. “Not well enough. Her sister is an entirely different being. Much more eager to please. More obedient.”
Thomas nodded and offered what he hoped passed as an indifferent smile. “That is good for you, Mr. Devon. I wish you both well for the ordeal.” He turned to take part in another conversation, dropping the entire matter with Devon as though it held no real interest but that of idle chatter.
He could see why Miss Christine was desperate to understand social graces as he doubted many had been used by her father at home. He could also see why she would want to make her match quickly; to both get out from under her father’s influence and to ease whatever weight Mr. Devon’s expectations put upon her.
If her father would speak and behave so coldly in public about her future, what must he dare to say to his daughter in private? No one deserved such constant censure from a member of their own family. Christine struck him as intelligent and lovely. Why not sing her praises in public? Thomas rather thought he would like to, if it could be done without casting suspicion on them both, if only to combat the unpleasantness of Mr. Devon’s words.
∞∞∞
Although the evening started with most of the ladies and gentlemen divided, the younger gentlemen joined the ladies at tables of cards after a time. Christine suspected Lady Littleton issued a command when she saw how short of masculine company her daughters were.
Christine did her best to appease the men around her by smiling, complimenting their plays when it was deserved, and asking for their opinions as though she did not fully comprehend the rules of the chosen games. She made little headway as the conversation stayed entirely upon the cards.
After completing a particularly dull game with Hannah and the Whitson sons, she excused herself from a bridge table and went to find refreshment. Her eyes continuously sought out Thomas Gilbert, but he never looked in her direction. She could not tell what he thought of her evening. He stayed across the room from her, engaged with others and not venturing near the games being played.
While she certainly paid the appropriate sort of compliments and plied gentlemen into talking of what they wished, Christine soon found herself bored. If she was bored with the conversation, surely the gentlemen must be as well. An important element remained missing from the exchanges she made and she could not entirely understand what it was. Ought she to laugh more? Ask additional questions?
She drifted toward Julia again. Her sister, dressed more like a matron than a young woman on the marriage mart, stood conversing politely with Captain Markham, cousin to Hannah.
“How do you find your time passing with the Littletons, Captain?” Julia asked politely, no smile in evidence.
“I find it most relaxing to be in the country, away from the rigors of office work,” the handsome young man in uniform remarked. “I have always enjoyed my time here.”
“How fortunate,” Julia stated, again without any real inflection of tone. “I have heard some complain that our entertainments are lacking, but I have thought the quiet life suits a certain sort of person very well.”
Julia remained entirely polite, very formal, and not at all flirtatious. Nothing could be learned from her behavior.
At least Christine knew that a smile would be in order to keep a man’s attention.
“For myself, I see it more as a respite than a way of life,” Captain Markham responded with equal civility.
Julia nodded, raising her eyebrows. “A soldier’s life must be vastly more interesting than what we experience here. Especially if you work for the Home Office.”
Did Christine have to smile and nod at Julia’s conversation as well as the gentleman’s? She could not be sure. If this was Julia’s attempt at flirtation then at least Christine wasn’t the only one without an understanding of the art.
How she wished Thomas would join their little circle! He could at least indicate to her by smile or frown how she ought to proceed.
She broke into the exchange at last, attempting to change the subject, with a smile. “Tell me please, Captain. How do you find seeing your cousins so very grown up? Miss Hannah is one of our dear friends.”
The Captain turned his attention to her with an answering smile and a flicker of interest in his eye.
“It is very good to see her again. She is much younger than I, so when we used to come for visits we did not spend much time in my cousin’s company. Now that she has left the schoolroom, it is much different.”
“How is a young lady different after leaving the schoolroom?” Christine asked, attempting to keep an interested smile upon her face.
“Oh, well, you know. They become more interesting to talk to when they are not always thinking on their lessons.” He shrugged. “They are more confident in adult company as well. Less inclined to be shy, to stutter and blush, now that their lessons are through.”
“Yes,” Christine said, turning to share a look with her sister, amused despite herself. “You are saying there is more maturity.”
“Indeed. Precisely.” He smiled and looked between the two sisters. “You both must understand, as young ladies so long out of the schoolroom yourselves.”
How did one keep communication going after a particular topic reached a dead end? And was that statement some sort of slight on their ages?
Julia continued the conversation in her easy manner. “And what of your own schooling, Captain? Our younger brother is at Eton currently.”
It felt the very dullest sort of exchange. Christine knew not another word to say, though the young captain looked not the slightest bit put out as he described his years of study. The evening would be long if all the male guests had so little to share in order for her to agree with them.
She re
ally must learn how to liven things up. She would be certain to ask Thomas about it as soon as possible, though tonight he remained content to stay on the opposite end of the room, not even making eye contact with her.
Resigned to a long evening, Christine excused herself from that conversation and went in search of Rebecca. Perhaps her younger sister’s set would have more interesting things to say. They were far less confined by the dictates of society and proper conversation, in comparison to their elders.
Rebecca and her friends, Master Richard and Miss Lily Ames, sat at their own table and played at spillikins, giggling like schoolroom children half their ages. This was a far more interesting game than whist, and the company more cheerful than at other tables.
Christine moved to stand near their chairs and joined them by commenting in a teasing manner as they played. At least the schoolroom set appreciated her this evening.
She glanced up after a completed round and caught Thomas watching her from across the room. He regarded her with a look of puzzlement before turning back to his conversation with Lord Littleton.
Christine immediately felt out of place. Surely Thomas must think her so and likely felt disappointment that she would not practice, as he charged her to, his lesson on agreeing with every inane thing a man in the present company might say.
Rising from her seat at the spillikins table, Christine withdrew to a cabinet enclosed by glass at the corner of the room. Lord Littleton kept small curiosities, tokens from his travels, on the shelves within. Christine had been a guest often enough to know the story of nearly every item. Her favorite pieces were the most minute, such as a tiny elephant carved from ivory and painted with gold. She also loved the jade tiger, no larger than her thumb, but carved in such detail as to present tiny bared fangs.
She felt the approach of another person and interrupted her study to see Thomas at her side. She offered him a hesitant smile and raised one hand to tuck a curl back in place, uncertain as to whether or not they ought to converse in public. Speaking with a neighbor at a social function would not be out of the ordinary or seem strange to anyone present.
“Good evening, Miss Christine,” he said with a brief bow.
“Mr. Gilbert,” she greeted, returning his courtesy. “How lovely to see you. Are you enjoying the games?” At least she could speak to him intelligently.
“Very much. I find the company entertaining. How do you find the evening’s recreation?”
“Excessively diverting,” she lied with a small smile. “Though I am not very skilled at whist.”
He nodded and took on a serious expression. “I am abysmal at billiards. I enjoy a good game of loo.” He gestured to the cabinet, switching topics deftly. “I see Lord Littleton has added several pieces since I last visited. Which is your favorite? I am partial to the tiger.”
Christine relaxed and smiled. “He is my favorite, too. Though I admit a certain fondness toward the elephant.”
“Jungle creatures, both of them. Alas, it is likely as close as either of us will ever come to such amazing animals.” His words, softly spoken in a warm voice, had an immediate effect upon her. She felt comfortable for the first time that evening, knowing she could be herself at last.
“Are there not tigers at the Royal Menagerie?” Christine asked.
“The animals there change often,” Thomas told her. “They do have lions fairly regularly. And birds, the likes of which will astound you when you see them. I have been once. I did not enjoy it as much as some.”
Christine tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “How could you not? There are wonders there from all around the world!”
His look grew distant though his dark gray eyes remained trained on the little tiger behind the glass. “The animals are kept in very close confinement. I cannot imagine a tiger, made to roam miles and miles of jungle, could ever be content to live in a space wherein he can barely take a step. To be built with such power and grace by his Maker, only to be caged and fed on scraps and stray dogs, would be the very worst sort of life.”
Her heart felt pricked, listening to his solemn words, imagining the life of a powerful beast confined to a box.
“That would not be a fitting home for anyone,” she agreed softly.
He came out of his thoughts with a shake of his head and smiled at her. “Forgive me, I do not mean to dampen your excitement. You should certainly visit the royal animals so you can tell all your friends how bravely you faced the large cats. I understand some young ladies faint, but I cannot imagine you would do so.” The last statement nearly sounded a question, yet the slight twist to his lips made it seem more a challenge.
“Of course not,” she answered, narrowing her eyes at him. “I have never fainted.”
He chuckled. “If all young ladies had your constitution, we gentlemen would lose a wonderful opportunity to put ourselves forward as champions and saviors when you have a case of the vapors.” He nodded back to the case. “What make you of the oriental slippers?”
It took her a moment to respond, as the image of Thomas lifting her to a fainting couch assailed her in a most unwelcome manner. “The what? Slippers? Oh. They are far too tiny,” she answered with a shake of her head, hoping to clear the strange vision from her mind. “I doubt I could have worn them at the age of seven. Women of the Orient must have very dainty feet.”
“I hear they employ various means to accomplish such a size,” he answered. “Every culture, it seems, has certain expectations of their ladies.”
“In England,” she rejoined, unable to resist smiling, “we put them in long dresses and useless slippers, or gowns made of flimsy enough materials we catch cold every winter. The most sensible thing I own is my riding habit.”
Julia appeared at Christine’s side. “Fortunately for you, sister, that it is the thing you wear most often.” Her words, though said coolly, bore no malice. Indeed, Julia’s smile indicated she might approve the truthfulness of the statement. “I see the two most horse-mad people in the room have found each other. What are you discussing, besides clothing?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows at Christine and shared Julia’s smile. “Nothing of consequence. Tigers and London, the Orient and slippers.”
“Far more interesting conversation than memories of the schoolroom.” Julia looked at Christine with a peculiar expression, one Christine thought might be amusement. “Though I am surprised you are not comparing your stables and tack.”
“That hardly seems appropriate conversation for a social gathering,” Christine said softly, glancing at Thomas from the corner of her eye to see if he agreed.
“Nonsense,” Julia said quickly. “As long as both parties are engaged, lively conversation may take place on a variety of topics.” She waved a hand to indicate the rest of the room and the people in it. “It is unlikely anyone else would be interested in hearing about your fine stables. It is equally unlikely that you have much in common with the other gentlemen.”
“Many a gentleman owns a good horse,” Christine countered, her cheeks warming as Julia dismissed her ability to converse on any other topic.
Julia chuckled. “Not many would wish to engage in a conversation with a lady who knows more about the species than they do. Oh, do not take on so.” She reached out and laid her hand briefly on Christine’s arm. “I am trying to say that you have found an apt companion in Mr. Gilbert. You could both discuss your herds until the dawn and likely have more to say. Now, please excuse me. I wish to speak to Mrs. Brody.” She barely glanced at her sister as she took her leave of them, vanishing as quickly as she appeared.
Christine felt her blush hot upon her cheeks and turned away from the room, not meeting Thomas’s eyes. “I can speak with intelligence about more than horses.”
“I believe you,” he answered, a twinkle in his eyes. “I have heard evidence of it. You ought to show the others here this evening your capabilities in that regard.”
She sighed and looked askance at him.
Tilting her chin up, Christine nodded once before stepping back into the thick of it, making her way to an empty chair and another game of whist. Thomas was right. She needed all the practice she could get, especially if she must take part in such drawing-room conversations during her season. Though she had little hope of finding much of interest in her companions this evening—especially when Captain Markham discussed how regimentals fit differently from the common clothes of a gentleman.
She longed to be back at the curiosities cabinet with Thomas, talking of Indian tigers or African lions, or of their beautiful horses. Conversing with Thomas came easily; listening to English bores drone on about their vestments did not.
Chapter Nine
“I think I must be doing something wrong.” The first words out of Christine’s mouth after she dismounted gave Thomas some surprise.
“Why do you say that?”
“At the Littletons’ card party, I attempted conversation with all the unattached gentlemen. I did as you advised and I was frightfully bored all evening.” She frowned and paced closer to the brook. “I do not think any of them were entertained either. How does one practice one’s wit when trapped speaking only politely? And must I be agreeable to everything? And when I allow the gentleman to guide the conversation to such boring topics as the tailoring of his clothing?”
He considered her questions, trying not to smile. She spoke rapidly, chin at a stubborn angle. Christine would not give up, no matter how exasperated she became.
“There should still be room to make the occasional clever comment,” he told her. “And perhaps you should not have given up as you did, joining the schoolroom set a second time for their game. Spillikins, wasn’t it?”
“They were at least entertaining to speak to.” She waved that advice away quickly. “And the only other person I wished to speak to was you. That would hardly suit our purposes.”
The Social Tutor Page 7