by Jane Ashford
She thought she looked well in a dress of white sarsenet; her hair was newly cut and dressed in a cloud of curls called a Sappho by Lady Merryn’s hairdresser. A silver ribbon was threaded through it, and she wore a new silver filigree bracelet, a gift from the countess for her debut, on her wrist. But as Allison called out the first names, and an elegant couple strolled languidly toward them, she wondered what these world-weary Londoners were thinking about her and what she would find to say to them.
An hour later, she was just as uncertain. The countess had introduced her to what seemed scores of people, and she had said “how do you do,” and smiled a great many times. The guests and their names were jumbled together in her mind, and she knew she would never remember what to call anyone. She thought that they’d looked at her with sharp curiosity; indeed, sometimes she’d felt ready to sink under a particularly piercing glance. She longed to sit down for a moment away from the crowd and gather her thoughts.
“I think we can leave the door now, Gwendeline,” said Lady Merryn. “I can greet latecomers inside, and we must give you a chance to become better acquainted with our guests. Come along.” But as they were turning, the Earl of Merryn was announced, and they held back to greet him.
“Alex,” cried his mother. “I’d nearly given you up. You promised you’d come early tonight.”
The earl raised his eyebrows. “But, Mother, I am come early. I haven’t arrived at an evening party before ten in years. Your guests will consider it a great compliment.”
His tone annoyed Gwendeline. “Perhaps we should be grateful that you came at all.”
“Indeed you should, Gwendeline,” he replied. “I never attend come-outs. They are uniformly dead bores.” She stifled a tart rejoinder as he went on. “You’re looking delightful. You’ve done an excellent job of fitting her out, Mother.”
Lady Merryn smiled complacently. “She does look well, doesn’t she?”
“I chose my own clothes, sir,” Gwendeline snapped. “I’m not a child.” She faltered. “Of course, I’m very grateful for your help, Lady Merryn, I didn’t mean…”
“Shall we go in?” said the earl, smiling. He offered each lady an arm. His mother accepted, smiling. Gwendeline hesitated but could see no way of avoiding entering the party on his arm. As usual, she was forced to fall in with his plans.
They paused just inside the drawing room doorway. The large space seemed completely filled with people. Chattering groups were crowded together, and their animated banter, the expert flirting of fans and focusing of quizzing glasses, and the sparkle of candlelight on jewels and fobs was overpowering. Gwendeline’s anger faded to nervousness, and she suddenly felt glad to have the earl as an escort. Heads had turned to look at them, and she knew that the subject of many conversations must be herself, a daunting thought.
The countess stopped to speak to a friend, and Gwendeline continued into the room on Merryn’s arm. A couple left the sofa against the near wall as they advanced, and the earl guided her toward it. “Shall we sit for a moment?” he asked, handing her to a seat. She sank gratefully onto the cushions. He sat beside her and smiled. “You look a trifle uneasy,” he said. “You don’t find your first London evening party altogether pleasant?”
“To be honest, it’s more frightening than pleasant,” said Gwendeline. “Your mother has been so kind and gone to such trouble for me, but I have no idea what to say to any of these people, and the thought that they have all come to see what I’m like is terrifying.”
The earl laughed. “Many of them would be very pleased and flattered to hear you say so.”
“Are they such horrid people,” wondered Gwendeline, “that they enjoy frightening strangers?”
“They enjoy their power to do so, a great many of them.” He looked over the crowd with some contempt. “However, you needn’t fear the ton. It will find you charming.”
“Because you tell it to, my lord?” asked Gwendeline, remembering what his mother had told her.
“Yes,” replied the earl simply. “And there is no conceivable reason for you to look daggers at me because of it. I never asked anyone to care what I thought. Perhaps that’s why they do so.” He sat back and threw an arm along the sofa. “And now, tell me what you’ve been doing. You’ve clearly managed a great deal of shopping. Did you enjoy it?”
Swallowing her annoyance, Gwendeline nodded. “Oh yes. I have never had so many clothes. Or such beautiful ones. I used to think that Mrs. Creel, the seamstress in our neighborhood at Brooklands, was very skillful, but now I see that she was not at all up to snuff.”
The earl raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Up to snuff?” he echoed.
Gwendeline flushed a little. “Oh dear, Miss Brown used to scold me about slang. She despaired of me.”
“Miss Brown was your governess?”
“Yes. A very estimable lady.”
Merryn nodded. “But a bit overmatched perhaps?” he suggested.
Gwendeline giggled. “Oh no, how can you say so!”
“I hardly know. Something in your tone, I think it was, made me doubt that you were a submissive pupil.”
The girl smiled again. “Well, I was headstrong, I think, but she bore it well, and I have the greatest respect for her even now.”
The earl bowed his head. “I’m certain she deserves it.”
Gwendeline wrinkled her nose at him, but before she could reply he went on.
“So you have added to your wardrobe. Have you seen the park and the fashionable lounges?” And they proceeded to exchange a series of commonplace remarks about the sights of London. After nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, Lord Merryn rose. “We have now, I believe, suggested to the crowd that I find you captivating. Shall we go for some refreshment? You seem in need of a glass of lemonade.”
One of Lord Merryn’s most annoying traits, Gwendeline thought, as she rose to do his bidding, was that he was so often right. He escorted her into the back parlor, whose sliding doors had been opened to create more space, and procured lemonade for her and champagne for himself. They joined a group near the table—a young lady and several gentlemen, whose spirited conversation faltered at their approach.
“Good evening, Miss Everly,” said the earl. “You’re looking lovely, as ever.”
The tall, dark young woman smiled satirically. “Thank you, my lord Merryn, you are too kind.”
“Allow me to introduce my mother’s guest,” he replied. “Miss Gwendeline Gregory, Miss Lillian Everly, Lord Donwearing, Lord Wanley, uh, Mr. Horton, and Mr. Blane.” He appeared surprised to see the last gentleman. “I had no idea you would attend this affair, Blane.”
Mr. Blane bowed. “Indeed, I wouldn’t have missed it. The opportunity to meet such a charming young lady must always be foremost with me.” He smiled at Gwendeline, then frowned and looked at her more closely.
She smiled back at the group generally, looking at them with frank interest. Lillian Everly she thought quite the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. Her shining black ringlets and brilliant complexion were wonderfully set off by a gown of vivid yellow. The bones of her face were exquisitely molded, her nose aquiline, and her eyes full of intelligence and sharp humor. Mr. Blane, the oldest of the gentlemen, she thought, was also very dark, tall, and slender and rather handsome in a saturnine way. His appearance was hawklike, his high cheekbones, thin lips, and prominent nose emphasized by piercing green eyes. Gwendeline found his gaze disconcerting, at once impudently appraising and mocking.
The three younger men were very different types. Mr. Horton had nondescript brown hair and rather prominent eyes of the same color. His evening dress was not at all modish, and he looked out of place in this glittering crowd. Lord Wanley, large, blond, and blue-eyed, looked disheveled and upset. Instead of a neckcloth, he wore a spotted handkerchief negligently knotted at his collar. A sheaf of papers all written over and crossed protruded from the
front of his coat, and he kept opening and closing his mouth as if he wished desperately to speak. Lord Donwearing looked the gentleman and nothing more. All of the group returned Gwendeline’s gaze with interest.
“If you will excuse me,” said the earl after making the introductions, “I must pay my respects to some of my mother’s other guests. Will you stroll along with me, Blane?”
“Absolutely not. I shall stay to talk with Miss Gregory.”
The earl bowed and walked away. He appeared dissatisfied to Gwendeline, but she felt abandoned. How could he leave her in a group of strangers who looked at her so expectantly, she wondered. He might at least have begun some conversation.
“You are new to London, Miss Gregory?” said Lillian Everly.
Gwendeline nodded.
“And how do you find it thus far?” the other went on. “Are you pleased with town life?”
“Oh yes, the city is wonderful,” answered Gwendeline in a rush. “I’ve visited the Tower of London and the British Museum, and several other famous places, and Lady Merryn has taken me to Bond Street. She’s been most kind.” Gwendeline faltered. Mr. Blane and Lord Donwearing had begun to smile. “I like it very much,” she continued firmly, “although sometimes I find the bustle and hurry confusing. I grew up in the country, you see.”
Miss Everly looked at her more kindly. “So did I. And I can assure you that everything will become less confusing very soon. In a few weeks, London will bore you, and parties will become commonplace.” Her tone was both satirical and somehow self-deprecating.
“Do you think so?” answered Gwendeline, looking at her doubtfully. “I don’t see how they could be precisely commonplace. Do you find them so?”
“Oh yes, frightfully flat,” began Miss Everly languidly, then she paused. “Some of them at any rate,” she finished with an odd expression. She changed the subject. “Do you ride, Miss Gregory?”
“Yes indeed,” said Gwendeline. “Or, at least, I did at Brooklands. I haven’t since I came to London.”
“Splendid. We must ride together in the park very soon. It’s difficult to find ladies who love riding as I do. I can lend you a mount if you haven’t brought yours to town.”
Gwendeline was about to agree enthusiastically, when Mr. Blane interrupted. She’d been conscious of his steady regard for some time, but now his eyes narrowed. “Brooklands,” he said meditatively. “You are related to Roger Gregory then.” He continued to survey her features. “You’re the image of Annabella. It’s amazing.”
“I am their daughter, sir,” Gwendeline replied, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“Indeed. And where had they hidden you all these years?” he said, smiling rather insolently, Gwendeline thought. “I was fairly well acquainted with your father and must deplore his selfishness in never introducing you to his friends.”
“Unfortunately, I saw very little of my parents. And I never went into society with them,” answered Gwendeline shortly. She was not enjoying this conversation.
“Ah. And how the deuce did Merryn come across you, I wonder?” Mr. Blane seemed lost in speculation.
“I would not say that he ‘came across me’ at all, Mr. Blane. A group of my father’s friends very kindly aided me when my parents were killed.”
“Such an unfortunate accident,” put in Miss Everly. “I’m so sorry.” Gwendeline thanked her quietly, as the other three young men added their sympathy.
“Group?” Mr. Blane began. “Just who—”
But Miss Everly didn’t let him complete his question. “It’s settled then that we ride together soon? I’ll call on you.” Gwendeline thanked her once more. She was afraid Mr. Blane would speak to her again, but Lord Wanley forestalled him.
“I must speak to you alone,” he said to Lillian Everly. “I must.” He spoke with a hissing intensity that made Gwendeline want to giggle. Miss Everly looked both embarrassed and annoyed, and Lord Donwearing grinned.
“As you see, my lord,” Miss Everly replied, “I’m occupied at present. We’ll have to talk another time.”
“When?” he snapped back. “Only name the hour, the day.”
“I b-beg pardon, but I…” Miss Everly faltered.
“I should like some lemonade,” Gwendeline said in an effort to help the other girl as Miss Everly had aided her. “Shall we go and get some together?”
“Oh yes, I’m excessively thirsty,” Lillian answered, taking Gwendeline’s arm. And before Lord Wanley could do more than sputter, she’d led Gwendeline through the crowd and away. “Thank you,” she said. “I can never think what to answer when Lord Wanley begins to persecute me. He is impossible to silence.”
“Persecute you?” echoed Gwendeline.
“He thinks himself a poet, you see, and fancies he’s in love with me. He’s always requesting private interviews or trying to read aloud from Byron’s works or some improper thing. He makes my mother so very angry.”
“Do you like him?” asked Gwendeline.
“Not particularly. It’s flattering, I suppose, that he wishes to compose poems to my eyes and so on. But he behaves in such an embarrassing manner that I never know where to look when he speaks to me. Here we are. Let’s have some lemonade, and then I’ll introduce you to my mother.”
The rest of the evening was uneventful for Gwendeline. After talking awhile with Mrs. Everly, she was taken by Lady Merryn to meet a great many other people; faces and names blurred in her mind. Late in the evening, her hostess pulled her into a corner of the drawing room to be introduced to an odd-looking older gentleman. His hair was stiffly pomaded and stood almost straight up in a grizzled pompadour. His portliness was only accentuated by very tight yellow pantaloons and a bright blue coat, and when he bowed, there was an alarming creaking of corsets. Lady Merryn presented him in a hushed tone as “Mr. Woodley, the chairman of the literary society.” She hissed in Gwendeline’s ear, “He actually knew Walpole, my dear, and he is a dear friend of Scott. Visits him constantly.”
Gwendeline had never heard of the former gentleman and had only the vaguest notion that Scott was a writer, so she responded to this information by saying simply, “How do you do, Mr. Woodley,” and smiling sweetly.
Mr. Woodley beamed, possessing himself of one of her hands and pressing it to his florid waistcoat. “The young nymph!” he said dramatically, and rather too loudly for Gwendeline’s taste, “the unspoiled child of nature.” He transfixed Gwendeline with a gimlet eye, as the countess looked complacent.
Unable to think of a proper response, Gwendeline held her tongue and continued to smile. She tried unsuccessfully to disengage her hand.
“Lady Merryn tells me that you have been reading Rousseau,” continued Mr. Woodley. “I should very much like to hear your views.”
Gwendeline began to feel hunted. “Well, I didn’t actually…that is, I read only a small part of the book. It was quite, uh, quite interesting.”
“But tell me,” said Mr. Woodley, thrusting his florid face very near hers and speaking with an embarrassing intensity, “did you feel changed?”
“Ch-changed?” echoed Gwendeline, looking sideways at Lady Merryn, who merely nodded. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Changed, altered,” he said. “Did you feel your whole personality undergoing a revolution as you read, your world transformed?” The last word was accompanied by an extravagant gesture. Several of the people near them turned to see what was going on.
“I felt much the same,” answered Gwendeline. “I don’t think I changed at all, really. I am rather stupid about books, you see, and some of the ideas confused me a bit…”
“Aha!” cried Mr. Woodley, and several more guests turned to stare. “I told you how it would be,” he said to Lady Merryn. “The early orientation cannot be altered.” The countess nodded as if impressed. “She will always remain a creature of nature,” Mr. Woodley continued b
enignly. “Mere words could not quench the noble savage. I must tell Godwin of this tomorrow.”
“You have met him at last, then?” exclaimed Lady Merryn. “You must take me there.”
“I should be delighted, my dear lady,” replied Mr. Woodley, bowing creakingly. “But I must consult them, of course. A very exclusive circle.”
Gwendeline was bewildered. Mr. Woodley had seemed to say that she would never fit into London society, and their conversation certainly supported his view. She had no idea what he was talking about. Fortunately, before she was called upon to respond to his last remarks, some other guests came up to bid their hostess farewell. Soon, a great many people were leaving as the hour was by now very late.
By the time everyone had gone, Gwendeline was exhausted. She stood for a moment with Lady Merryn before they retired. The countess was pleased with the success of her party. “We’ve been promised vouchers for Almack’s, Gwendeline. And I’m sure we’ll receive all manner of invitations after tonight. And people will call.” She cocked her head. “Did you meet some nice young people?”
“A young lady, Miss Everly, asked me to ride in the park,” she answered. “I liked her very much.”
“Ah, Julia Everly’s daughter. That’s splendid. Lillian is one of the reigning toasts of the ton this season. Though I’m sure you’ll soon come up with her, my dear. What of the young men? Did you talk to some pleasant ones?”
Gwendeline sleepily tried to remember. “I can’t recall anyone in particular,” she said. “There was a Mr. Blane. I found him rather unpleasant, I must say.”
“Mortimer Blane,” said her ladyship slowly. “I’d forgotten he was to be here. He’s certainly not always pleasant, though often amusing.” She pondered. “You should avoid him, I think, Gwendeline.”
“I shall.” She remembered something else. “But he did say that he was a friend of my father’s. Was he one of my benefactors? I should thank him, if so, no matter how unpleasant he may be.”