by Mary Nichols
‘I am sorry if I have upset you with my questions,’ he said, beginning to understand some of what drove her to help poor children and why she became so heated over the question of foster mothers. ‘I did not mean to make you sad.’
‘You have not made me sad. It was eighteen years ago and I have learned to accept it was God’s will. We cannot know what He has in store for us and perhaps good will come of it.’
‘Let us hope so.’ They turned into Holles Street. ‘Here we are,’ he said, drawing up outside her door. ‘Are you coming to the Hartingdon again tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I will fetch you.’ He laughed when he saw her mouth open to protest. ‘And do not argue, it will not make me change my mind.’
She thanked him and he jumped down to hand her down, then drove back to his rooms, musing on the events of the last few days. The arrival of Mrs Meredith was having a strange effect on his state of mind. It was very disturbing, but in a most pleasurable way. He had been so busy with his work for the charity he had had no time for a social life, except when forced upon him by his aunt or the need to raise funds. Mrs Meredith made him want to change all that. He was beginning to look forward to Lady Eleanor’s ball.
It was some time since Kate had been to a society ball; according to Lady Morland, none of her gowns was at all suitable and she must have a new one made and so they had taken a cab to Madame Lorette’s in Bond Street.
The woman called herself Madame Lorette and affected a French accent, but Kate suspected she was as English as she was. On being told Kate’s requirements, she fetched out bolt after bolt of silks, satins, nets, lace and velvet in a myriad of colours. Soon every available surface was covered with material and patterns. It made it harder, not easier, to choose. If Kate liked a particular material, Lady Morland did not; if Lady Morland found a pattern that she considered just the thing, Kate dismissed it as too fussy.
‘But you cannot wear something plain to go to Hartingdon House,’ the old lady said. ‘It will undoubtedly be a very select affair considering the price of the tickets. Fifty guineas is a scandalous amount.’
‘It is in aid of the charity.’
‘Yes, and Eleanor has made sure it will be a very select gathering and there will be no one present who is not of the ton. It will be reported in the newspapers and journals, who was there and what they wore, so you must be suitably attired.’
Kate was unconcerned about what the newspapers might report, but she was looking forward to the ball and perhaps standing up with Dr Redfern. He worked so hard, he deserved a little relief and she hoped he would relax enough to ask her to dance.
‘Well, which is it to be?’ Lady Morland became impatient with her apparent indecision. ‘If you do not choose the material today, there won’t be time to have it made up before the ball.’
‘The aquamarine, I think,’ Kate said, running her hand down the delicate silk. ‘And this pattern.’ She picked up a drawing of a simple round gown with tiny puffed sleeves and a scooped neckline edged with pearls. The high gathered waist was outlined with a ribbon studded with more pearls.
‘Madame will require accessories?’ the modiste enquired, having agreed to deliver the gown three days hence, the morning of the ball, and do any necessary alterations on the spot.
‘Of course,’ her ladyship put in quickly before Kate could say that she would make do with whatever she had in her clothes press at home. ‘Green shoes and cream gloves and that.’ She pointed to a sumptuous silk shawl draped over the back of a stuffed chair. ‘And you may send the account to me.’
‘Grandmother!’ Kate protested; the shawl alone looked very expensive. ‘There is no necessity for you to do that. I can afford to buy my own clothes.’
‘I know you can, but it pleases me to treat you. Considering your father has given me a home, I have little to spend my money on. Now let us go to Gunter’s and have a cup of tea and a slice of cake. I am famished.’
It was only a short step from Bond Street to Berkeley Square and they were soon sitting at a table in the confectioner’s, enjoying the refreshments. ‘I think the green will make up very well,’ the old lady said. ‘It is a pity his lordship will not be back to escort you.’
‘His lordship?’ Kate repeated vaguely.
‘Yes, Cranford. Has he written when he will be home?’
So much had happened in the last week, Kate had almost forgotten about the man she had agreed to marry. Being with the children and Dr Redfern, too, had occupied her mind to the exclusion of all else. ‘No, only that he hoped it would be this summer. He is at the beck and call of the Foreign Office and if they want him in Paris, then he must stay there.’
‘Perhaps you should consider going out to join him.’
‘Marry him in Paris, you mean? Oh, no, I could not do that. I want to be married here, with all my family and friends round me. Besides, if he wanted me to do that, he would have suggested it himself.’
‘Are you not impatient to see him again?’
Kate had to think about that. Was she? Did she have doubts? Had anything changed? The only thing that had altered was that she had had some firsthand experience of looking after children and that made her longing for one of her own greater than ever. ‘Of course I am, but I must be patient. We must both of us be patient.’
The old lady looked closely at her, but decided not to comment. She beckoned to the waiter to pay for the refreshment and asked him to send out for a cab to take them home.
Hartingdon House was in Hanover Square and was a substantial mansion with a wide frontage. On the night of the ball every window was lit and lanterns were strung across the railings. The long line of carriages waiting to go up to the front door contained the cream of London society and people in the street stopped to stare and comment on the guests as they arrived and were admitted.
Kate, with her father and grandmother, took over an hour to travel the short distance from Holles Street. They could have walked it in a quarter of the time, but that would not have been considered the thing and so they sat in their coach and waited, moving up a few yards at a time as each carriage disgorged its load, rattled away and the next one moved up. But at last they were making their way up the steps to the front door. The Reverend’s hat was taken from him and they moved towards the ground-floor ballroom, where they were announced by a liveried footman.
The room was brilliantly lit and rather hot and airless. Kate stood and marvelled at the fine decorations, the gilding of the plasterwork, the painted ceiling, the swathes of greenery round every pillar, the huge bowls of flowers on stands in every niche, and the polished floor, already crowded with people dancing to the music of an orchestra sitting on a dais at the far end.
‘Come, let us find chairs,’ Lady Morland said, as the Reverend disappeared in the direction of the library where he planned to take advantage of the Earl’s large collection of books.
They moved into the room just as Lady Eleanor spotted them and came forward to greet them. She was magnificently dressed in amber crepe with a head-dress of curling green feathers, which bobbed as she walked. Kate, whose own hair had been arranged à la grecque by Corinne, her grandmother’s maid, and threaded with ribbon, was fascinated by them and wondered if they would last the evening without drooping.
‘What a squeeze!’ Lady Morland said. ‘Eleanor, I fear you have overdone the invitations.’
Lady Eleanor laughed. ‘But every one of them has paid fifty guineas for the privilege. If it becomes too crowded, we can open up the windows on to the terrace. I believe Dr Redfern has saved seats for you near one of the windows. I hope it will not be too draughty.’ She waved a hand in his direction.
He had seen them and was coming towards them. He looked nothing like the man Kate had been working alongside all week. Gone was the brown-and-beige clothes, the untidy hair, the look of harassment, the worried frown. Here was a pink of the ton in a blue brocade coat, white pantaloon trousers, dark-blue satin waistcoat, frille
d shirt whose cuffs fell over the backs of his hands, and a starched muslin neckcloth that was an art form in itself. He stopped and bowed. ‘Ladies, your obedient.’
Kate bobbed a curtsy, almost open-mouthed in admiration, but managed to say, ‘Good evening, Doctor.’
‘May I escort you to seats? I am afraid it is a dreadful crush. We did not expect so many.’
‘But that is good thing, don’t you think?’ Kate said, putting her hand on the arm he offered, while her grandmother took the other. ‘All the more for the Society’s coffers. You will be able to do so much more for the children.’
‘We certainly hope so. Our aim is to buy land and build a new home designed for its purpose, but we are a long way short of our target.’
‘Then I wish you well of it.’
They reached their seats. Lady Morland sat down immediately and began using her fan vigorously. Simon turned to Kate. ‘May I have the honour of a dance?’
Kate handed over her empty card. ‘Have as many as you wish. I am not likely to be in demand.’
‘There I must disagree,’ he said. ‘You will have the young men buzzing about you like bees, so I must stake my claim at once.’ She was looking exceptionally beautiful and had taken his breath away when he first beheld her. The pale green dress flowed about her slim figure and the silk shawl with its swirls of different shades of blue, green and pink set off her shoulders and creamy neck, about which was fastened a single rope of pearls. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy; it was good to see such evident enjoyment and he felt his own spirits lifting.
He wrote his name against two dances, which was all he dare do, given the conventions. Although she was a widow, she was single and presumably available, and it would cause comment if he danced with her more than twice, but he meant to make the most of those. One was a country dance, which was then beginning, and the other a waltz, immediately before supper; he intended to escort her to that if she would allow it. He felt safe with her, safe from predators who had heard about his change in circumstances. They seemed to have forgotten the scandal of a broken engagement in their anxiety to be considered the next Lady Redfern.
‘Thank you,’ he said, returning the card and offering her his hand. She slipped her shawl from her shoulders and draped it over the back of her chair before taking his hand to be led on to the floor.
‘It is a very sumptuous affair,’ Kate said as they stepped out together between the ranks of dancers. ‘It must surely swell the Society’s coffers by a prodigious amount.’
‘Yes, and as Lady Eleanor and her friends have paid all the expenses, it is all profit.’
‘It is very generous of her. I wonder why she never married. I cannot believe she had no offers.’
‘Perhaps her requirements were too exacting.’
‘Requirements! How cold and calculating that sounds. I do not think marriage should be like that.’
‘But it often is,’ he said. ‘Especially if great estates are involved. The estate must be protected at all costs, even to sacrificing the happiness of the people involved.’
The tone of his voice, sounding both hurt and bitter, made her look at him sharply. He was looking directly ahead, his expression grim, and she decided it would be unwise to ask him what he meant. As they neared the end of the line they ducked their heads to pass under the clasped hands of the last couple, then separated to walk up the outside to the head of the line before joining hands again. By that time he was smiling again and she supposed she must have imagined that look.
The dance came to an end, the couples bowed, curtsied and dispersed and Simon offered his arm to escort Kate back to her grandmother. The conversation had not gone at all as he had planned it. In his mind they had engaged in light and flirtatious banter, nothing too serious; instead, they had talked about Lady Eleanor and the way great estates were held together, which had momentarily disconcerted him. He wondered if she had noticed. He had never envied his cousin his inheritance except that he could take the woman he loved from him. If he had married Isobel, he would not have gone soldiering or taken up the challenge of helping poor children. Perhaps that was his destiny, to look after society’s children and have none of his own.
He shook his thoughts from him as they reached Lady Morland. Kate took her hand from his sleeve and he bowed. ‘Please excuse me. I am expected to go round and make sure everyone is enjoying themselves. I will be back.’
‘He certainly presents well,’ Lady Morland said as she watched him walk away. ‘I do not remember his father, but his uncle was a handsome man in his youth.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Yes, I knew him. Everybody did. A noted horseman, as I recall. Married a Symonds-Taylor. Pretty little woman inclined to tubbiness. He had several mistresses. I heard his son was a chip off the old block.’
‘Dr Redfern’s cousin?’
‘Yes—Charles, his name was.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Ah, that was it, that was the scandal. Now I remember.’
Kate did not think they should be discussing it, but she had to admit she was intrigued. ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’
‘Yes, give me time. As I recall, Charles married the young lady the doctor had been courting. Now what was her name? Annabel? Isobel? Yes, Isobel, daughter of the Earl of Kendal. By all accounts, Lord Redfern was heard to say he was glad of it, she was much too good a catch for his good-for-nothing nephew…’
‘You mean Simon?’ Kate put in.
The old lady looked sharply at her and she blushed furiously, realising she had used the doctor’s given name. ‘Yes, Dr Redfern, as he is now.’
‘But why did he call him good-for-nothing? That is surely unfair.’
‘I have no idea. Though I did hear tell it was his fault, that he was the one to break off the engagement.’
‘I wonder why?’
‘Cold feet, perhaps. But it was a scandalous thing to do. A betrothal is almost as binding as a marriage and breaking one off is simply not done. Not unless you want to cut yourself off from society.’
Kate found it difficult to equate that story with the Dr Redfern she had come to know. He was a gentleman in every sense and, though he was soft-hearted, was certainly not weak or cruel. She had seen him at work, seen the determination and strength of mind he put into the work he did, the way he argued on behalf of the children. It was as if he were driven. She began to wonder exactly what it was that drove him. Surely not guilt?
‘There must be more to it than that. Perhaps the lady was not the right wife for him. It would have taken courage to admit that and do something about it, especially if there was gossip. Gossip can kill a man’s reputation stone dead. No wonder he has not married, which is a great pity—he would make a wonderful husband and father…’ She stopped in confusion. Whatever had made her say that?
Again the old lady looked at her granddaughter in surprise. ‘As Charles has died and the lady is a widow, I wonder if he will renew his suit?’
‘I think he would be foolish if he did. Is she here tonight, do you think?’
‘No, she must still be in mourning.’
They stopped speaking as a young man Kate had known for years came to ask for a dance. He was followed by several more, bearing out what the doctor had said about her being in demand. She enjoyed dancing with them, but they did not turn her head or make her heart beat any faster. The room was becoming even hotter and she was glad when several liveried footmen came and opened all the long windows on to the terrace and a cooling breeze began to lift the curtains.
Kate had declined the previous dance and was sitting beside her grandmother fanning herself, when the doctor came to claim his waltz.
‘My dance, I think,’ he said, bowing and holding out his hand. She took it and stepped on to the floor with him.
It was not as crowded as it had been; there were still some people who found the German dance shocking and would not let their daughters stand up for it. In Kate’s opinion, it was a great pity because the music and
the timing of the waltz lent themselves to dancing. And Simon executed it very well, transporting Kate to another world. She forgot who he was, who she was. She forgot about Robert and her grandmother’s gossip in the enjoyment of it.
‘Is there no end to your accomplishments?’ he queried, with a smile.
‘What do you mean?’ His hand holding hers, his other hand on her back, disturbed her more than a little, though why it should she was at a loss to know.
‘Nursemaid, teacher, singer and now excellent dancer.’
‘None of which is exceptional,’ she said.
‘I disagree. To do all those things, to be practical and intuitive when dealing with children and to remain young at heart, is rare indeed.’
‘Flummery!’
‘No, honesty. I am so glad we found you, Mrs Meredith.’
‘We? Is that a royal we?’
He laughed. ‘No, I would not be so presumptuous, I meant to include the children.’
‘Ah, the children. They are your first concern.’
‘Yours, too, I suspect.’
She smiled. ‘Touché. But that cannot be all your life, can it? You must think about marriage and having children of your own? A man like you cannot remain single all your life.’
‘What do you mean, a man like me?’
‘You are so good with children and obviously find no difficulty establishing a rapport with them.’
‘But children are not all there is to a marriage, Mrs Meredith, one also needs a wife—’ He stopped suddenly, realising the conversation was becoming a little too personal for his comfort.
‘I am sorry, I should not be quizzing you,’ she said, remembering what her grandmother had told her. Was he bitter about that? ‘Please forgive me.’
‘Nothing to forgive. I, too, have been guilty of asking too many personal questions.’
‘How else does one come to know another person, except by talking about who they are and what has formed their characters? You, in particular, must know all about the people you employ, particularly the foster mothers. You would be failing in your duty if you did not.’