by Joan Smith
“But I must look well to make my curtsy to the queen.”
“Certainly you want to make a good impression. I think a good impression might have been made in a gown that cost less than three hundred and fifty pounds, however. I seem to recall Marion’s cost a third of that when she was presented.”
“I shall bear it in mind, Eduardo,” she said. But her mischievous smile hardly denoted obedience to his hint. “We shall see whether it was worth it when the time comes.”
“Meaning what?”
“Why, which of us makes the better match. You have not forgotten Papa expects me to make a great match?”
“Then you will not be choosing your husband from the crew who litter the saloon every afternoon.” Rutledge, though interested in sherry, had proved elusive.
“Oh, no, they are only for practice.” She smiled. “And you need not disparage them, for they were not invited by me. They are your friends from the House,”
Left with no rebuttal, he scoffed, “Tories, half of them.”
“As the Tories are in power and have been for years, the great men of England must be Tories,” she pointed out.
“You will find few great men on the right side of the House.”
“How could they be on the wrong side?” she asked, perplexed, and received a lecture on the seating that prevailed in Parliament.
Severn enjoyed these tête-à-têtes, during which he could instruct Helena in those areas where his own expertise, such as it was, was at least greater than hers. He enjoyed her company and could indulge himself without verging into the dangerous territory of romance. She always listened closely and displayed more interest than she did, in fact, feel. She knew this master-pupil arrangement pleased a gentleman.
After one of his lessons, Severn was always willing to do as she wished. That particular lesson induced him to purchase a tilbury for her. When she mentioned that Mr. Wetherby, one of her drawing-room conquests, had offered to teach her to drive, it also induced him to give her driving lessons himself.
“Let that cow-handed fellow teach you to drive? He has no more notion of driving than a dog has of flying.”
“Sutherland, I believe, is a noted fiddler,” she suggested. “He also mentioned he would be willing—”
“Willing to drive you to Gretna Green and marry your fortune. There is nothing else for it; I must teach you myself.”
Helena was indifferent as to who taught her, so long as she learned to drive. “You are too kind, Eduardo,” she said.
For a week they had a lesson each day, beginning on the sparsely traveled roads of the countryside and eventually venturing into town when she had achieved some competence. And for the whole week, they enjoyed each other’s company with a very minimum of bickering.
Helena admired Severn’s skillful handling of the ribbons. He never led her into dangerous situations, but, on the other hand, he did not hold her back by undue caution either. Severn was also impressed with her courage and judgment.
“Do you feel up to passing that rig ahead of us?” he asked. “It cannot be going more than five miles an hour. Such a sluggardly pace takes the pleasure out of driving.”
“The road is not very wide,” she said, gauging her space.
“Lead your team as far as possible to the side. He’ll move over when he hears you behind him. This is a good, straight stretch of road to try it. No one is coming. Ready?”
Her pulse raced with the thrill of giving the team their head. The other carriage moved over, just as he had said, and she squeaked past. “Well done!” Severn congratulated.
At the end of the week, she had mastered city traffic and felt capable of dispensing with Severn’s assistance.
She couched her dismissal slyly. “I feel very bad, keeping you from the important business of the House, Eduardo,” she said as they had a glass of wine after their drive. “It was kind of you to give me so much of your time, but I must not be selfish. Now I know how to drive, and you need not waste your valuable time driving out with me.”
Severn felt a strange reluctance to see the drives stop. “It will not be proper for you to drive about town alone.”
“Madrina says that as long as I have a groom with me, there will be no impropriety.”
“A groom is all well and good, but it would be best if you had a proper escort.”
“That is no problem. Wetherby would like to be taken aboard, and Lord John Simcoe has also offered—”
“Those rackety fellows! They are worse than no one. Wetherby’s idea of driving is hunting the squirrel. He ran Lord Mansbridge off the highway only last week.”
“And yet I cannot prevail further on your kindness. I am sure Brougham must need you at the House.”
Brougham was indeed questioning his frequent absences, but that was not what impelled Severn to drop in so often. He found, almost to his dismay, that he enjoyed the work and was good at it. His sharp eye was quick to pick out discrepancies in the figures issued by the government. He had gotten Vansittart on the hot seat the day before and given him a good roasting. Papa would be proud of him.
“Perhaps you are right. I have been shirking my parliamentary duties. A groom will do well enough as your escort, but not Misener, mind! He is too lackadaisical. Use Foster.”
“Whatever you think best, Eduardo,” she agreed. Foster would be easily managed. The older men were often more biddable than the younger.
Severn left, having acquiesced to her plan and feeling he was becoming quite a dab at handling his cousin.
The next day before the Comstocks arrived, Helena set out for Bond Street. Moira, Mrs. Petrel-Jones, greatly enjoyed shopping. Lady Helena thought Bond Street the likeliest place to find her. As driving was still new to her, it took most of her attention. She did not see Mrs. Petrel-Jones, but Marion Comstock and her mama saw Helena and were in the saloon at Belgrave Square early the next day. Marion was properly bonneted for driving in the open carriage.
“We felt sorry for you yesterday, having to drive all alone, Cousin,” Marion said. “It looked so very odd, you must know. Mama has told me I must accompany you from thenceforth.”
“How kind,” Lady Helena said in a dying voice.
She knew she must advance her drives to the morning, but for that afternoon she was burdened with Cousin Marion. Before long, the Argus-eyed Marion noticed that Helena was paying more attention to the pedestrians than to her driving. Odder still, it seemed to be the ladies she was ogling, despite her vulgar interest in gentlemen at all other times.
“Are you looking for someone, Cousin?” she asked.
“No!” Helena said. For some unaccountable reason, her eyes flew to her reticule, resting on the seat between them.
It was hanging open—such carelessness was typical of Helena. She took no heed of her belongings. She had complained of losing a glove and a silk scarf during previous shopping expeditions. As Helena was fully occupied with her driving, Marion took a peek into the reticule. A letter was wedged in between her money purse and a hairbrush. A billet-doux?
When Helena drew to a halt a little later to exchange greetings with Mr. Wetherby, Marion slid the letter out. It was not addressed to Helena, yet its well-worn appearance suggested it had been in her possession for some time. The name on the envelope was Moira, with no last name, which looked like a letter to be delivered by hand.
The opening had come loose. Marion unfolded the corner and took a peek. It was all in Spanish. How very odd! Helena had not mentioned having a Spanish friend in town. Why did she make a secret of it? There was bound to be something underhanded in it. Perhaps Severn would know. She quickly slid the letter back into the reticule and jiggled Helena’s arm. “You are holding up traffic, Cousin.”
Helena looked behind her and saw a rig approaching a block away. No one was waiting to proceed.
“May I call this evening?” Mr. Wetherby asked.
“Certainly not!” Helena replied flirtatiously. “We are being presented tomorrow and attending
our first ball in the evening. Such grand ventures require hours of beatifying. But I shall save you a dance at Lady Perth’s ball tomorrow night.”
“The first one?”
“Best make it the second. Sorry, but I really should give Severn the first, I expect.”
“The second, then. À demain.”
Wetherby lifted his hat and continued on his way.
Miss Comstock’s nose was put out of joint by Helena’s casual mention of having the first dance with Severn. She had been planning to give him that honor herself. Yet she was not entirely disconsolate. Clearly Severn had not asked her. “I really should give Severn the first” was what she had said. They would see about that.
Meanwhile, her mind continued to play with the name Moira. It was not a common name, like Elizabeth or Jane. She knew only one Moira. There was a Miss Moira FitzGerald making her curtsy that spring. By a circuitous route, she led the conversation to their debut, mentioning various ladies. “And of course Moira FitzGerald,” she said. “Do you know her, Cousin?”
“No, I don’t know any of the girls. How should I? Is she a particular friend of yours?”
“Not particularly. Let us get off busy Bond Street, Cousin. The park would be less strenuous driving for you.”
It was nearly four, the hour at which the fashionable set met at the barrier at Hyde Park. Helena drove there. She met several friends but caught not a glimpse of Mrs. Petrel-Jones.
From Hyde Park they drove directly to Belgrave Square, where Mrs. Comstock was awaiting Marion’s return. Severn had come back early from the House. He had left as soon as he noticed that Wetherby was not in his usual seat.
“You have been gone for hours,” Mrs. Comstock exclaimed. “I feared Cousin Helena had dumped you in the ditch.”
“Why, ma’am,” Helena said, “you hurt my feelings to say so. I am becoming a notable whip, am I not, Marion?”
“Cousin Helena managed to keep out of the ditches,” Marion allowed. “We talked to Mr. Wetherby, then drove to the park.”
“Wetherby ought to have been in the House,” Severn said severely. “We were discussing measures to pay for the war.”
Mrs. Comstock said, “Have your tea, Marion, then we must be going.”
Helena poured herself a glass of wine and joined the older ladies. Marion took her teacup and sat beside Severn. “I fear you are in Wetherby’s bad books, Severn,” she said.
“He is in mine, missing an important meeting. He is supposed to be Lord Ward’s secretary. Why do you say—”
“Lady Helena wanted to have the first dance with him at Lady Perth’s ball tomorrow. She was very sorry that she feels obliged to stand up first with you.”
“I have not asked her for the first dance,” he said at once. “Though as her host, I daresay it is to be expected.” It rankled, though, that she did it reluctantly.
“As she and Wetherby are such particular friends, perhaps you should give him precedence.”
“What do you mean? His constant harassment of Helena hardly qualifies him for special treatment. Demmed jackanapes.”
“It was just an idea,” she said. “Lady Helena dislikes being bound by the proprieties. That unfortunate tendency to loose behavior is due entirely to her upbringing, for I feel she is basically a good-natured creature. She moved her carriage along as soon as I pointed out that she and Wetherby were holding up traffic in the middle of Bond Street.”
“It is well you were there. I feared some such disaster if she were out alone.”
“Perhaps I am making too much of it. It was all Wetherby’s fault. He rattles on so.” She noticed that the name of Wetherby incited Severn to a fit of jealousy and was clever enough to realize that another suitor only enhanced Helena in his eyes.
“I cannot think her affections are seriously engaged, for she refused to let him call this evening. Being warned off from him will only make him appear more attractive. It would be best to let them have their opening dance together.”
“No one is stopping her, if that is what she wishes.”
“There is her sense of duty to you, Severn. If you just mention that your first dance is taken—”
“But she is my cousin, staying here with Mama.”
“I am also your cousin. I’ll give you the first dance. Would that serve the purpose?” She sat, awaiting his decision.
Caught in the middle of irritation with Helena— that “sense of duty” smote his ear harshly—and Wetherby and himself, and gratitude to Marion for her word of warning, he said, “Very kind of you, Marion. Will you do me the honor of giving me the opening minuet?”
“With pleasure,” she said, and set down her cup. “I should be leaving. Oh, by the way, Severn, did you ever hear Helena mention someone called Moira?”
“I cannot recall. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. The name came up in conversation, but I didn’t think to follow it up. She was driving so recklessly! I rather think this Moira was someone she met in Spain. No matter. I wish you will not say I mentioned it, for I had an idea she did not wish to discuss it.” She rose and went to her mother, and soon they left.
“I thought they would never leave,” Lady Hadley said. “It is time to dress for dinner. Your gown for Lady Perth’s ball arrived, Cousina. It is in your room.”
When Lady Hadley went upstairs, Severn remained behind. “I hear you met Wetherby during your drive,” he said to Helena.
“We had a few words on Bond Street.”
“I daresay he was pestering you for the first dance?”
“He was, but I put him off. I saved the first dance for you, Eduardo, in repayment for all your kindness.”
“That was not necessary, I assure you,” he said, disliking that touch of condescension.
“Oh, but I wanted to!”
He felt a surge of frustration. “Actually, I have engaged to stand up with Marion for the first set,” he said stiffly.
Helena’s full lips drew into a moue without her even realizing it. “I see.” She was considerably surprised to discover that she was angry. She had thought she had Severn firmly enamored of her and thus ready to do her bidding. A Severn led by Marion was another thing entirely.
Severn observed her pique and was heartened. Marion was right, by God! “Shall we say the second dance?” he asked.
She flounced her shoulders. “Perhaps. We shall see. And now I must change for dinner.”
Chapter Seven
The presentation to the queen was a grand affair, with all the young ladies on their best behavior. Lady Helena observed that England was burdened with an even uglier queen than Spain was, and one not nearly so finely rigged out. The presentation was mere pomp and ritual. The real opening of the Season occurred that evening at a much livelier do, Lady Perth’s ball.
“I look fea!” Lady Helena exclaimed, studying herself in the mirror before going belowstairs. “It is this cursed white gown, of all colors the most bland.”
“You look lovely, milady,” Sally assured her. “Which of your corsages will you wear? Four sets of flowers, and you’ve never shown your face at a real ball yet. Lord John’s pink roses would give you a touch of color.”
“I shall wear Lord Severn’s orchid,” she said, and pinned it into place. It still rankled that he had refused the first dance with her. Was it possible that he and Marion were in love? She saw none of the usual symptoms, yet he had asked Marion to be his first partner, when his papa had ordered him to offer for herself. Perhaps he was merely flexing his independence....
She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to a rosy hue before descending the staircase. She fully expected Severn would be awaiting her at the foot of the stairs, as he often was. He was not there, and her ire rose a notch. But when she entered the saloon and he came to meet her, she was put back in humor by the admiration gleaming in his eyes.
“You look—bella, Cousin,” he said. His dark eyes flickered to the orchid, and a smile of satisfaction grew.
She performed
an exquisite curtsy, bowing low, as she had done that afternoon to the queen.
“Do get up, Cousina. It hurts my legs to see you all crouched over,” Lady Hadley said. “You do us proud. Very bella. When did you learn a word of Spanish, Edward?”
Lady Hadley was accompanying them on this first do of the Season and was rigged out for the occasion in a violet gown, with a clutch of feathers in her coiffure.
“That word, I believe, is international,” Severn replied.
“It applies equally to you, Madrina,” Helena said. “Very elegant! You will take the shine out of all the matrons.”
“I am long past trying for anything of the sort,” Lady Hadley lied, and patted her curls complacently.
Helena said, “It remains only to assure Eduardo that he, too, looks muy bello, and we are ready to leave.”
“Oh, ho!” Lady Severn exclaimed. “You see what Cousina thinks of your toilette, Edward. She is calling you one of those moochachies.”
“Indeed, no! Milord looks very mature and sober in his black jacket.”
Severn assumed this was meant as a compliment, but he found little pleasure in looking mature and sober when he was accustomed to being called dashing and handsome.
“The carriage is waiting. Shall we go?” he said.
The ladies got their cloaks and they were off, lumbering through streets busy with traffic now that the Season had officially begun. Smaller routs were in progress at some of the houses, with carriages lined up and members of the ton, all decked out in their finery, alighting. The greatest congestion was at Lady Perth’s mansion on Grosvenor Square, where the carriages were lined up for a block. The impatient young folks in some of the carriages alighted and walked to the door.
Helena knew just how they felt. She, too, wanted to alight and dash to the doorway. She was eager to pitch herself into this new life. Perhaps this was the evening she would meet her husband-to-be. She envisaged a gallant in the Spanish style, with dangerously flashing eyes and a reckless smile. He would be wearing a jacket of bordeaux, with a fall of white lace at the throat and sleeves. Before the night was over, he would proclaim his love for her.