by Jane Ashford
“You’re much more amusing when you’re berating me, Gwendeline. Your eyes flash so brilliantly.”
“Oh,” said Gwendeline. “You’re insufferable, and I wish you would stop calling me Gwendeline. It is impossible to thank you. I—”
“Then cease trying. We were talking of your interests. Do you ride?” This question happily diverted them into an intense discussion of horses and hunting that lasted until the earl’s mother entered the room.
“We’ll have to see about getting you a mount,” said the earl as they turned to greet her. “You’ll want to ride in the park, I’m sure. Good evening, Mother, you’re looking particularly dashing tonight.”
Indeed, Lady Merryn’s appearance in evening dress seemed to confirm what her son had said about her place in society. Her amber silk gown was cut in the latest mode, and her gray hair was dressed à la Meduse. She wore a set of magnificent emeralds and a paisley silk shawl with long trailing fringes. Gwendeline felt pale and countrified beside her. “Let’s go directly down to dinner, shall we?” the older woman said. “We can make plans as we eat.” With this, she took the earl’s arm and led the way to the dining room.
The table was beautifully appointed, and the meal perfectly cooked and served, but Gwendeline later remembered little about the food. From the moment they sat down, her future was the topic, and she was seldom allowed to make any comment or offer any suggestion.
“Well,” Lady Merryn began efficiently. “Of course, you’ll want to get into society as soon as may be. Almack’s, perhaps a presentation at court later on. London will be very thin of company for a few weeks yet, but I daresay we could arrange a small private party to begin.”
“Gwendeline is in mourning, of course, Mother,” put in the earl.
“Oh lud,” said the countess. “How shatter-brained I am! You must think me a monster, child. I haven’t even mentioned your parents’ sad accident.”
“Not at all,” said Gwendeline. “I was never close to my parents. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Indeed,” replied her ladyship. She looked thoughtful. “Well, I hadn’t considered the question properly before, but I should think that’s all for the best.” She exchanged a significant look with her son, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
Gwendeline felt that she’d failed to catch some implication, but the countess quickly turned the talk back to her plans. “Do you consider that six months’ mourning would be right, Gwendeline? I don’t want you to feel pushed.”
“It’s difficult to feel grief for two people who merely brought me into the world, then ignored me,” said Gwendeline. “I’ll leave it to you to decide what is proper. I would be pleased to be done with all this black.” She looked down at her dress with distaste.
The countess’s eyes twinkled. “You are certainly honest, my dear. That is most refreshing. Well, then, I think that six months should be adequate. Do you agree, Alex?” The earl nodded. “And that will give you plenty of time to get settled,” his mother continued. “And to get some clothes. We can begin tomorrow.”
Gwendeline felt she must begin to assert herself before she was again swept up in someone else’s schemes. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I’d be grateful for your help in choosing a few things suitable for London. But I don’t wish to spend much money.” She glanced at the earl. “And I hope to get my own house in order very soon so that I need not trespass on your hospitality.” Lady Merryn seemed about to speak, but Gwendeline rushed on. “And I think one of my first duties should be to go and thank those people who have combined to help me.”
“C-combined?” echoed the countess, looking mystified.
“I’ve told Miss Gregory that several of her father’s friends gathered the means to aid her,” interrupted St. Audley smoothly.
“Her father’s friends?”
“Yes,” he answered firmly. He turned to Gwendeline. “Unfortunately, most are out of town right now, but you’ll no doubt have a chance to express your thanks later.”
“I… All right,” said Gwendeline. Lady Merryn’s expression was odd, and Gwendeline was beginning to resent feeling out of her depth. “I suppose I can spend the time tidying up my new house,” she said a bit defiantly. “May I go to see it tomorrow?”
“Certainly,” the earl replied. “But if you wish to live there immediately, we must make some arrangements for a companion. You can’t live in London alone.”
“But there are the servants. Reeves is completely trustworthy, I assure you. We managed quite well at Brooklands.”
“I’m sure you did. But even in the country, it was improper for a young lady to have no chaperone, and in the city it’s impossible.”
“But you are to stay with me,” Lady Merryn broke in plaintively. “I thought it was all settled. I was quite looking forward to a very long visit. You mustn’t leave immediately.”
“You are very kind, my lady, but…”
“I won’t hear of it,” the countess continued. “This is utter nonsense. Why should you go and live in Green Street, quite out of the world, when you’re perfectly comfortable here? Alex, I forbid it!”
“But you wouldn’t wish to keep Miss Gregory here against her will, Mother,” the earl replied. “Certainly if she wants to go to her own house, you will respect her wishes.” There was a peculiar intensity to his words.
The countess frowned at him, then her face fell. To Gwendeline’s horror, tears began to form in her hostess’s eyes. “You’re right, of course, Alex. It’s just that I so looked forward to having some company.” She turned to Gwendeline. “Since my husband died years ago, I have been rather lonely, you see, my dear. But I mustn’t be selfish. I’ve accused Alex of it, and you’ll begin to think he inherited the failing from me. Go to your house, of course, Gwendeline. I shall be quite all right.” She sniffed quietly.
“Oh, I never meant… Your generous hospitality… I’m so sorry.” Gwendeline was so intent on comforting Lady Merryn that she failed to see the gleam of malicious amusement in the earl’s eyes. “Of course I will stay if you truly wish it. I was only worried about being a burden to you.”
“No, no, Gwendeline,” said her ladyship sadly. She sat up straighter in her chair. “You must not give in to my selfish whims. You must do as you like.”
“But I want to stay,” said Gwendeline desperately, feeling as if she had betrayed some trust. “I truly do.”
“Well,” began Lady Merryn, “if you’re not just being kind.” She brightened.
“Oh no, I mean it.”
“Wonderful.” She beamed at the girl happily. “That’s settled. You’ll stay with me indefinitely. Your house will remain in readiness for the time you decide to move. And tomorrow, I shall take you to Bond Street, and we can begin our shopping.”
“All right,” answered Gwendeline weakly.
“But now, my dear, you’re looking completely fagged. Perhaps you’d prefer to go to bed early tonight, after your journey?”
Seizing this chance to escape, Gwendeline agreed. As she left the dining room, the earl directed a telling glance at his mother. She met it squarely. “Very neatly done,” he said after the door had closed.
“I thought so,” she replied complacently. “It was much like Melantha’s speech in Terror at Wellwyn Abbey, wasn’t it?”
“It was indeed, Mother, and I thank you. I had no idea how to persuade her, and I was afraid of setting her back up.”
The countess smiled. “Gentle persuasion isn’t one of your strong suits, Alex. You have a distressing tendency to command obedience. So like your father, and so very wrong in this case. I do wish you’d taken me to Devonshire with you.”
Her son returned her smile ruefully. “As do I, believe me. But it’s come out right in the end. She’s settled here. Once you’ve taken her about a bit and society is accustomed to her existence, perhaps she can live in Green S
treet.”
Lady Merryn looked doubtful. “A young girl all alone? No, utterly unsuitable. And such a sweet, innocent girl at that. I must keep her here. Particularly under the circumstances.”
The earl shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. But she is a taking little thing, isn’t she?”
“Extremely.”
“I think a respectable match is the thing, if you can contrive it.”
The countess considered. “Of course, that would be best. But with no fortune and the on dits still circulating about her parents, it will be a difficult thing to manage. It’s a pity she resembles Annabella so closely.”
“Her character seems quite unlike her mother’s,” offered Lord Merryn.
“So I hope, my dear, so I hope. One can never tell.” As her son made a protesting gesture, she added, “Oh, I’m sure you’re right, Alex. But a good match? I simply don’t know.”
“Well, you must do the best you can. It was only an idea.” He rose. “And now, I must go, Mother.”
The countess nodded vaguely, and he took his leave. Lady Merryn remained at the table for some minutes, a look of concentration sharpening her features. Finally, she too stood. “We shall see,” she murmured, and she went back to her study, frowning.
Four
In the following weeks, Gwendeline forgot the uncertainty and fears of her first night in London. Lady Merryn took her to a dizzying series of shops, including the establishment of a modish Frenchwoman in Bond Street. This lady, enthusiastic over Gwendeline’s blond good looks, sold them a gauzy ball gown which she insisted was “précisément the shade of mademoiselle’s ravissante blue-green eyes.” There was also a dress of sprigged muslin with puffed sleeves and ruffles at the hem, a fawn walking dress trimmed with dark green, and many others, as well as hats, gloves, slippers, and all of the other accessories necessary to a young lady about to make her bow in society. With irresistible zest, Lady Merryn threw herself into the task of equipping Gwendeline even to the extent of neglecting her novel. When Gwendeline worried over the expense, the countess waved her remarks aside with an airy, “Don’t be a goose, Gwendeline, you must have clothes.” And Gwendeline, breathless and dazzled, allowed herself to be persuaded.
But in the mornings, while Lady Merryn was still abed, Gwendeline spent some time putting her new dwelling to rights. The house was small, narrow, and high, but she found it charming. The furnishings left by the earl’s great-aunt were old, heavy pieces, and the curtains and carpets were somewhat worn, but they reminded her of Brooklands, which her parents had never bothered to furnish in a modern style, and she felt quite at home there.
She’d written to her old governess, Miss Brown, and asked if she could come to stay when she moved into the house. For some reason, Gwendeline kept Miss Brown’s affirmative answer a secret. She told herself that she didn’t wish to hurt Lady Merryn’s feelings, but in fact, she couldn’t banish the notion that more was going on than she understood, and she looked upon these private preparations as a defense against her ignorance and inexperience.
She met the new servants provided by the earl’s agent when she first visited the house. Yvette, the maid, was merely pert and pretty, but Alphonse, her new chef, promised to enliven her household considerably, she thought. A small, dark man with snapping black eyes, he appeared to have strong opinions on every subject. When Gwendeline went down to meet him and see the kitchens, he followed on her heels throughout the tour, commenting on the newfangled kitchen stove, the size of the pantries, the worthlessness of the cookboy and every other item at great length. His English was good, but highly accented, and Gwendeline had difficulty understanding him. She soon discovered that her French was no substitute, being rudimentary at best. However, when she sat down to a hurried tea in her drawing room, she discovered that Alphonse was a superb cook and should need little direction. His pastries were unparalleled in her experience. Indeed, she felt satisfied with all her staff, in spite of Reeves’s dire mutterings about “foreigners.”
On a sudden impulse, she invited Miss Brown to move in immediately, since she was eager to come. And this lady, who had been uncomfortably subsisting on the charity of her brother, arrived soon after. She was puzzled when Gwendeline asked her to manage the house for a while, until she could join her, but happy to oblige. Gwendeline was much comforted by the knowledge that Miss Brown, whose insistent common sense she’d often deplored in the past, was available to advise her.
The remaining months of her mourning passed quickly in all these activities. It seemed almost no time before Lady Merryn was planning the party she would give to introduce Gwendeline to society now that the season had begun. They were sitting in the breakfast room, lingering over their tea while the countess ticked off the names on her list. “I shall invite some of my literary friends, Gwendeline; I think you’ll find them interesting.” She’d given Gwendeline one of her novels and a volume of Rousseau to read, but Gwendeline hadn’t managed to finish either. She had a distressing tendency to fall asleep over Rousseau, and Lady Merryn’s novel made her restless and annoyed. The heroine persisted in screaming and fainting, alternately, until Gwendeline abandoned her in disgust. She’d pleaded stupidity and had mercifully been spared any further reading assignments, but she didn’t relish the idea of trying to talk to the countess’s “literary” friends at her first appearance in society. She could, however, see no way of avoiding it, and so she kept silent.
“But chiefly,” continued her ladyship, moving her pen down the list and frowning, “we must have people who will help you enter ton circles. I’ll get Sally Jersey to come; she’ll give you vouchers for Almack’s, I’m sure, and Lady Sefton as well, if she’s back in town. Otherwise, I’m asking mothers who are bringing their daughters out this season and will be giving parties of their own. And, of course, some eligible gentlemen.” She smiled at Gwendeline. “This list required a great deal of research, my dear. I’d grown out of touch with the younger generation. It was very like working on a new novel. In fact, I’m thinking of writing a contemporary story based on some of it.”
“I’m very grateful for all you’ve done, ma’am,” said Gwendeline. “I only hope I can justify your faith in my success.”
“Nonsense, Gwendeline, naturally you will do so. You mustn’t expect to take the ton by storm, of course, or become an accredited beauty all at once, but I have no fears for your success. When people have met you, there will be no more—” She stopped abruptly and turned back to her list, to Gwendeline’s annoyance. “I wonder if I should try to get Lord Morley? I’ll have to ask Alex to help me with some of his acquaintances.”
“Is…is Lord Merryn to come, then?” asked Gwendeline. She’d seen little of the earl since her arrival. He’d escorted her to her new home and handed over the keys, but during these busy days of preparation he’d come to dinner only once. Rather to her surprise, Gwendeline had more than once caught herself wondering where he might be and how he spent his days.
The countess looked surprised. “But of course Alex will come to my evening party. How could we launch you else?”
“I wasn’t sure that the earl would be, well, interested in such a gathering,” replied Gwendeline. “He seems so much occupied with his own affairs. So busy. He always excuses himself from having dinner with us by saying he’s engaged elsewhere.”
The countess laughed. “My dear Gwendeline, Alex is absolutely deluged with invitations now that the season has started. He’s quite the rage, you know. Indeed, he’s so sought after that gossips have begun to label him ‘The Unattainable.’ Very silly and vulgar, of course, but he’s such a good catch, you see, and he pays no attention to the scores of girls practically thrown at his head by ambitious mothers. Quite the wrong way to go about it, but how can they know that, poor things? In any case, he’s indisputably a leader of the ton, an arbiter of taste. Alex need only show that he finds you charming and you will be made, my dear. So he must come, you
see.”
This recital did nothing to raise Gwendeline’s opinion of the earl. No wonder he was arrogant, if this was the way he was treated. “Indeed?” she responded. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.” The countess looked startled at her tone, and she hurried on. “What am I to wear?” The question of the earl was lost in a heated discussion of Gwendeline’s new gowns and the variations of ensemble possible with each.
* * *
Alone in her bedchamber later in the day, Gwendeline thought over what the countess had told her. Why had such a sought-after gentleman, the type her father had called a real out-and-outer, taken an interest in her? Why had he been the one to come and fetch her, or the infant he said he’d expected? If he was a leader of the ton, and Gwendeline saw no reason to doubt his mother’s description of his position, what was his interest in her? Friendship with her parents seemed the only possible explanation, but he never spoke to her of them or appeared eager to answer when she tried to do so. Quite the opposite, in fact.
This thought reminded Gwendeline of a series of odd remarks she’d caught since coming to town. Both Lady Merryn and her son had made references she didn’t understand to her “situation.” Gwendeline hadn’t been aware that she possessed a situation in the sense that they used the word; seemingly, it was an awkward one. And she was becoming more and more interested in finding out exactly what it involved. She didn’t relish the thought that the people surrounding her knew more of her circumstances than she, especially since the knowledge must be widespread. Gwendeline’s chin came up. She was determined to find out the truth and not to flinch from it if it turned out to be unpleasant. Anything was better than this uncertainty.
But no opportunity presented itself in the following days, and thus, as Gwendeline stood beside Lady Merryn in the drawing room doorway three weeks later, ready to meet their guests, she felt rather nervous.