by Joan Smith
Miranda was relieved to be seated a little apart from Mr. Hume. For her, the real night’s entertainment took place not on the stage, but in the audience. The comedy was an inferior one she had seen before, but she enjoyed watching the fashionable throng, observing how the ladies were doing their hair this season, and what they were wearing. Tier upon tier of boxes encircled the auditorium. Jewels flickered and glimmered like fireflies in the darkness, white shoulders stood out against the gentlemen’s dark jackets. The graceful movement of fans and gesturing hands reminded her of butterflies in her garden at home.
She had missed the glamour of the balls and theater when she left London. With the passing of time, it had all begun to seem like a dream. She never thought she would be back, but here she was, going to parties with grander lords than she had the first time.
As she looked around at the other boxes, she noticed a lady had trained a pair of opera glasses on her box. A few casual glances during the first act showed her the lady was examining her box again — or still.
Later, she raised her own glasses to see who was studying the box so closely. It was Helen. Was it Mr. Hume she was watching? He seemed the likeliest target of her interest. She could see Bolton any time. She would not watch three ladies with such keen concentration. As to Lord Peter — Helen could have no conceivable interest in a dumpy, impoverished younger son. What Miranda could not understand was why Mr. Hume did not return the interest. Helen was beautiful, she was an aristocrat, and she was obviously available.
At the first intermission, many of the box holders went out to stretch their legs and enjoy a glass of wine. The elegant foyer formed a gallery sixty feet long, ornamented with columns, statues and plush sofas. Mr. Hume took Miranda by the elbow and rushed her along to introduce her to some of his friends, elderly folks, like himself. Lord Peter and Mrs. Hazard accompanied them. They were soon ensconced on a pair of the plush sofas, talking of politics and investments. Mrs. Hazard appeared to enjoy the latter.
Miranda wished she could be strolling down the gallery as the other people her age were doing — greeting each other, stopping for a chat. She noticed several gentlemen ogling her, and wondered if their interest was due to her association with the Hazards.
Further along the foyer she saw Bolton and Dotty talking and laughing with a younger crowd. The gentlemen were making a fuss over Dotty, and the ladies were flirting their heads off with Bolton. She was not sorry to return to their box when the bell sounded.
At the next intermission, Helen came to their box just as they were rising to go out. She looked lovely in a gown of her favorite color, ice blue, spangled with sequins that shimmered like diamonds under the light.
“Oh Alfred! You are here with the Hazards,” she exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise.” Miranda mentally complimented her on a performance that rivaled the one on the stage. Surprise indeed, when she had spent half the first act observing him! “Adelaide wants to know if you will all ,join us after the play for supper at the Clarendon.”
“That is very kind of her, Helen, but we have made reservations at the Grillon,” Hume replied.
“Oh, but you always go to the Clarendon,” Helen said. “It is the only place one can get a real French dinner. Jacquiers is such a treasure.”
“I’m sorry, Helen, our arrangements are made. Another time.”
Her eyes glittered angrily, but when she spoke, she used a wheedling tone. “Then perhaps you could spare me a moment now. There is something I particularly wanted to ask you. You don’t mind, Lady Wetherby?” Even as she spoke she slid her arm beneath his and turned him away from Miranda.
Miranda was positively relieved. Bolton invited her to join Dotty and him for a walk. They were no sooner out of their box than the elder Lady Bolton came rushing up to join them. She took hold of Dotty’s arm to lead her off to meet Lady Jersey, who was eager for her acquaintance.
“She is one of the patronesses of Almack’s,” she explained to Dotty. “It is vital to know her if you hope to establish yourself in London.
Lord Bolton took Miranda’s hand and placed it on his arm, drew a sigh of relief and said, “Alone, at last.”
She damped down the rush of pleasure that bubbled up in her and said blandly, “Shall we join Mrs. Hazard and Lord Peter? You must tell me all about him.”
“He’s too old and too poor for you. You would do much better to stay with me.”
“I can see he is old, and the youngest of six sons is seldom wealthy. My interest in him is whether he is suitable for Mrs. Hazard. As to character, I mean.”
“Meaning is he after her blunt,” he translated. “One assumes he would have no objection to sharing it. On the other hand, he is related or connected to all the right people. He has a pleasant personality and no criminal record. If Mrs. Hazard wants a rich beau — and folks do say that money usually marries money -- she should steal Hume from Helen.”
“I wish you would be serious.”
“I am. I have told you all I know of Lord Peter. Now I am warning you that Helen has Hume in her eye. Remarkable the way she stormed in under your very nose and carried him off without a shot being fired by you in his defense. When she’s interested in a gent, she is not so backward as some young ladies, who shall be nameless.” He directed a long look at Miranda to make sure she understood him.
“As there is no young lady present, I must assume you are referring to someone I don’t know. I am generally considered to be an ‘older lady.'“
“I see that jibe hit home!”
“Yes, the truth hurts, does it not?”
He tilted his head and studied her a moment, as if hearing this cliché for the first time and considering its merits. “That depends on the nature of the truth. Does it hurt you to hear you are the most adorable woman I have ever met? That I have spent the evening admiring the back of your ears and your insouciant shoulders? That I mean to have Canova hew a copy of your upper torso out of marble and place it on a pedestal in the long gallery at South Winds? That I shan’t stop hounding you until you are mine?”
She smiled demurely. “It does not hurt in the least to hear you confirm that you are a raving lunatic, milord, for I already had a strong inkling of it. But we were speaking of Hume and Helen. The reason she came to our box is that she wants Hume’s opinion on something. Her investments, likely.” Bolton gave a snort of derision, which Miranda ignored. “He seems very knowledgeable in that respect.”
“Yes, he is intimately acquainted with pounds and pence, and francs and sous and rubles and all the other foreign currencies. Quite the financial linguist. One does not usually discuss financial matters at a play, however, and I can hardly believe Helen was so interested in Murphy’s comedy that she could not wait until tomorrow to discuss it.”
“Well, perhaps she was in urgent need of some financial advice.”
“Is that the sort of sweet nothings he was whispering in your pearly ear during the last intermission? ‘Don’t waste your blunt by placing it in Consols at five percent, m’dear. I can put you on to a stock that will give you a better yield.’ I was worried for no reason.”
She smiled reluctantly, for he had quoted a speech of Hume’s nearly verbatim. “You need not worry about me, milord. I can look after myself. Your job is to keep the rakes and rattles away from Miss Hazard.”
“I didn’t volunteer for the assignment! I only allowed myself to be drafted as it guaranteed me access to you. But no harm will come to her tonight. She is in Lady Bolton’s extremely capable hands. Not even Cleary — not even the Dragoons would dare to accost such a formidable chaperon. For once, I am in charity with Adelaide.”
“Why don’t you like her?” Miranda asked.
“It is hard to like strangers who billet themselves on you uninvited, taking possession of your house, trying to arrange it—and you — to suit their convenience.”
“Strangers? But she is your stepmama!”
“I was away at university when she married my father. Then in Spain.
She was virtually a stranger to me when I returned. I should like to keep it that way. I prefer to choose my own friends.”
She stopped walking and gave him a grave look. “She was your father’s wife, milord. One assumes he cared for her. Surely it is a son’s duty to look after his father’s dependents when he is no longer here to do it himself.”
“Spoken like a good little dean’s daughter,” he said, and patted her hand. “My father took care of all that while he was still alive, however. Adelaide receives a large income from the estate and the use of a very fine Dower House, which she has thus far not deigned to enter. Helen is also well looked after financially, though not so lavishly as she would be if she could nab Hume. Better her than you. She would know how to handle him. I don’t mean to stick my oar in where it is not wanted, but Hume is — er, a bit of a high flyer for a provincial miss.”
“You forget I am a provincial Mrs. I’m not a green girl; I’m a widow, as you are well aware, I think,” she said with a cool stare. “That does not make me a loose woman, however. I know a little something of Mr. Hume’s reputation. He is just a friend. He is amusing, handsome, rich. Even if his intentions were serious --”
“If by serious you mean honorable, I can only say I take leave to doubt it, ma’am,” he said with a cynical laugh.
“You might be right, but I am not concerned. I can handle Hume.”
“Good. But enough character blackening for one evening. Not a word shall I utter regarding Emily Cowper and Lord Palmerston, or Lord Byron and the rest of the female population. Would you care to drive out with me tomorrow, preferably without Miss Hazard, if we can think of some other diversion for her?”
“Oh no, milord. I must look to my reputation.”
“Surely you don’t think being seen in my company would damage it?”
“You are a bit too dashing for a provincial widow, I fear. Like Mr. Hume, your reputation precedes you, sir.”
He gave her a long, kindling look, then asked with studied obtuseness, “Is that my reputation in the Peninsula you are referring to?”
“Why no, milord. I don’t believe word of your dallying there has reached London — yet.”
“I wasn’t dallying!”
“I used the wrong word. You don’t dally, you charge ahead at top speed.”
“I wasn’t chasing women in Spain. I was fighting. I was shot! Right here on the left arm.” He began to pull up his sleeve.
“By an irate husband?” she asked, looking around the foyer to show her disinterest.
He scowled. “No, by an irate French soldier who wanted the same hillock that I wanted.”
“It seems a great to do over a hillock, but there is no accounting for taste.”
“This is a fine way to treat a veteran, wounded in the defense of king and country. “ He peered down at her for signs of softening. “No kind word for my heroism? The wound still hurts when the wind is chilly.”
“I recommend Lyle’s Tonic for the Ton — a sovereign remedy for all ills. That’s the green one.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I prefer my liquor like my women — straight, strong, not too sweet. But I don’t mind if they’re a little green,” he added with a teasing smile, just as Mr. Hume overtook them. Helen was with him, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“Thank you for looking after Lady Wetherby for me, Max,” Hume said. “What, you didn’t get her a glass of wine?”
“We indulged in sparkling conversation instead, Hume.”
“Dear me. Have we time for a glass now? Perhaps you would be kind enough to see Helen to her box. The bell will be sounding any moment now.”
Lord Bolton displayed not a jot of the annoyance he was feeling as he offered Helen his arm.
Hume turned to Miranda. “Sorry, my dear, but Helen wanted a word with me. She treats me quite like a Dutch uncle. To tell the truth, the lady is becoming a bit of a pest. I was a sort of cicisbeo to her when she lost her husband, and she has come to rely on me. Oh dash it, there is the bell already, and I didn’t have a moment to talk with you. But we will have a good chat later, at supper.”
He escorted her back to their box, where she was relieved to take her seat between Dorothy and Mrs. Hazard for the final act of the play.
Supper afterwards at Grillon’s was a rich meal which no one except Mrs. Hazard and Lord Peter seemed to enjoy much. Hume was too busy pointing all the other patrons out to Miranda, and telling her scandalous stories about them in such an amusing manner that she laughed despite her upbringing, which did not prevent her from reading him a lecture. He smiled fondly, and called her a scold.
Hume knew everyone. A dozen people stopped at their table to be introduced to the Hazards and Miranda.
Between his gossip and all the interruptions and taking note that Lord Peter was making a play for Mrs. Hazard, she hardly had a moment to notice Lord Bolton, but when she could spare him a glance, he looked bored to flinders with Dorothy, though trying hard not to show it. That would be his good breeding. John had been the same, but she recognized the glazed eye and strained smile of utter ennui.
It had become a ritual for the ladies to have a cup of cocoa in the saloon before retiring, to discuss their evening. Mrs. Hazard also had one of Lyle’s paregoric drafts that evening, for she found the Grillon’s seafood did not agree with her.
But despite her upset stomach, she was chirping merry. She had made a conquest in Lord Peter, and while she would no more marry him than she would wash her own dishes, it pleased her to have won the heart of a duke’s brother.
“We know enough people now that we can have our own little party without blushing for the small turnout,” she said, pushing one slipper off with the toe of the other and wiggling her toes to restore circulation. “We shall begin making our preparations tomorrow. Lord Peter hinted that his brother, the duke, would not say no to an invite.
“Think of that, ladies! A duke in my saloon. How Lyle would have loved it. He always had a hankering after titles. Title or no, I haven’t met a man yet who is worth Lyle’s little finger. He scratched his way to the top by his own hard work and cunning. He wasn’t born with a silver-plated spoon in his mouth like the dukes and princes.”
She drained her cup and set it on the table with a clatter. “It was a dandy play and a lovely evening, but I am for the feather tick.”
Miranda, yawning behind her fingers, was happy to hear it. But she wished Mrs. Hazard had asked Dotty if Lord Bolton was calling tomorrow. Hume had asked her to drive out. She told him she was busy, without giving an excuse. He had not taken offense, worse luck, but said he would no doubt see her the next evening at some do or other. They had received half a dozen invitations.
Chapter Ten
At ten o’clock the next morning, the ladies were sitting in Lord Croft’s oak-lined study making up a list of people to be invited to their party when Samson tapped at the door and handed Mrs. Hazard a note written on rich, crested paper.
“Now who can this be from? Lord Peter, I wager,” Mrs. Hazard said, scanning the page. “No, it is from Lady Bolton. The older one. She wants to call on us this afternoon. She asked me to take tea with her today and I told her very firmly that I had a full load on my plate.”
“Her footman is awaiting a reply, madam,” Samson said.
“Tell him we are too busy. I’ve had enough of her undiluted company, and I haven’t invited anyone else. It would just be her and us.”
“You had best write a note and send your regrets, “ Miranda suggested.
Mrs. Hazard looked at the ladylike script on the sheet before her and felt a qualm. She could read and write as well as anyone and cipher better than a mathematician, but her penmanship had the awkward look of a homemade gown. It did not flow, it staggered.
“You write it for me, Miranda, and I’ll sign it,” she said, handing Miranda the note.
Miranda cast an eye over the page. “You might want to reconsider, Mrs. Hazard,” she said. “She mentions bringing someone sh
e particularly wants you to meet.”
“Who could it be?” Mrs. Hazard asked. She took the note back and read it again. “I wonder if it would be Lord Peter’s brother, the duke. I wouldn’t mind getting a look at him before inviting him to our party. If he’s one of those nose-in-the-air fellows who thinks he’s doing you a favor to drink your wine and eat your mutton, he may go to the devil.”
After a frowning pause, Miranda said, “As Lady Bolton has offered to present Dotty, it might be someone important. One of the patronesses from Almack’s, perhaps. It would be a great coup to be invited to join Almack’s.” This triumph had been denied Miranda when she made her debut, and as a goal she had failed to achieve, it loomed large in her mind.
“I met one of them last night,” Dotty said. “Lady Guernsey.”
“Lady Jersey,” Miranda corrected. Such a gaffe as that could ruin her chances of ever entering Almack’s.
‘Very likely Lady Jersey recommended you, and some of the others want a look at you,” Mrs. Hazard said. “Very well, then, we had best let her come.”
Miranda wrote the note, Mrs. Hazard signed it, and Samson returned it to Lady Bolton’s footman, who returned it to Hanover Square, where it was read with glee.
Immediately after lunch, Dotty was put into Rosie’s hands to have her toilette arranged to impress the important caller.
“Dotty’s thin, lank hair is so hard to arrange, and almost impossible to keep in place,” Mrs. Hazard complained, with a jealous eye at Miranda’s glossy tresses. “The pins fall out of it with the least movement, like nuts out of the trees in an autumn gale. Good gracious, what next?” she exclaimed, as Samson appeared at the saloon doorway.
It was the modiste, come to have Mrs. Hazard try on a gown that had been hastily basted together the night before.