by Regina Darcy
“Until my marriage, I knew no one,” the Duchess nodded. “My mother is an invalid and I spent my time at home. It was not until marrying the Duke that I became acquainted with his friends.”
They went into the drawing-room to await the announcement that supper would be served. Phoebe’s attention was immediately drawn to the piano in the corner of the room.
“Do you play?” Georgette asked.
“She plays beautifully,” Prudence replied, knowing that Phoebe did not believe her talents to be anything out of the ordinary.
“Will you play for us?” the Duchess asked. “I am a poor player and James is no better.”
“No one in the family has been able to play for generations,” the Duke told them, “but we continue to keep the thing tuned in the hopeful event that someone will play for us.”
“Oh, but I—”
“I shall turn the music-sheet for you,” Prudence said firmly, leading the way to the piano.
Christopher, steeling himself for the typical musical ordeal which ensued when an overfond relative insisted that a daughter or a sister play, was pleasantly surprised at the skilled touch of the keys that Phoebe exhibited as the delicate notes of Mozart entered their ears. Summersby, who had dismissed the servants and was pouring drinks himself, paused in the act to savour the tuneful feast. The Duchess clasped her hands together as she listened, rapt.
When the tune finished, Phoebe rose from the piano bench, but the Duchess cried out, “Oh, but you cannot stop now and leave us hungry for more.”
“You play very well,” Summersby said. “And I have heard very bad playing in my time, enough to know the difference.”
“She was the best student at the boarding-school,” Prudence boasted. “Even Madame admitted that she could not teach Phoebe any more.”
“More!” Christopher called out.
Phoebe blushed, but having found more music, she obligingly entered the lilting strains of a country air that had Christopher tapping his toes in time to the music.
By the time the butler came to announced that supper was served, the Summersbys, Connolly’s, and Christopher were all mellow with the pleasure of the impromptu concert. The Duke insisted on escorting the sisters into the room and Christopher did the honours for the Duchess.
Georgette had decided that it would be well for the sisters to become accustomed to the sort of menus and meal arrangements that they would encounter during the season. As the soup was served, she began the conversation with a discussion of the events of the season. Her comment reminded Christopher of Mrs Truman’s conversation regarding wardrobes.
Georgette said that she would be delighted to take the sisters shopping. “As I told you,” she said earnestly, “I entered London society quite a stranger, and so I have a very vivid memory of how different everything was from what I was used to. I hope that my memory of that introduction will be of use to you as we shop for your wardrobes.”
“I was unaware that Papa had left anything—”Prudence began, but was brought to silence by an ungentle pressure on her toe from the Earl.
“I apologise,” Christopher said handsomely, “for failing to inform the Misses Connolly first, but it slipped my mind. The Baron’s instructions to me were to see to it that his daughters were brought into society as befitted their station.”
Prudence looked at him with suspicion. “He might have left us word of his intentions,” she said.
“Alas,” Christopher said, “I am sure that he would have done so, had he known that his mortal days were winding down. But as he did not, I am bound to follow his instructions. Whenever the Duchess is ready for the excursion, my carriage is at your disposal.”
“And your wallet, I hope,” Prudence added bluntly, “for I doubt if Papa left so much as a farthing to dress us with.”
There was a moment of discomfort. The Earl glared at Prudence, who did not understand what she had said that had aroused consternation.
“I am sure,” the Duchess said kindly, “that the Earl, as your guardian, is fully cognisant of his duties in that role. We shall go to the shops at the end of the week,” she said. “And you must allow us to host a ball here at our estate, my lord,” she said to Christopher.
“Here? Oh, well, of course, if you would like,” Christopher said.
“I would very much like,” she answered. She had introduced the matter to her husband before the arrival of their guests and she hadn’t needed to provide much explanation for her motives. Summersby agreed that, given the Earl’s reputation and his notoriety as the host of parties which outraged convention, it was just as well if the ball did not take place at his residence. Even if the Earl’s reputation was not quite as scandal-ridden as it had been just two years ago, the remnants of that character remained vivid in the minds of Londoners.
“Then it’s settled,” Christopher said as the second course was brought in.
The girls, accustomed to the Spartan fare at the academy and the more casual menus served at the Earl’s table, were wide-eyed as course after course appeared before them. By the time they had sampled the fish, the fish, mutton, salad, custard, and cheese, they could only gaze at the dessert in a mixture of dismay and eagerness but declared that they could not possibly eat a bite more.
Georgette’s plan was a success; when the girls dined at one of the elegant tables of London hosting, they would know to only partake of a bite or two of each course, for there would be many more courses during an elegant assembly, so that they could enjoy the offerings and offer praise to the hostess for her table. There were many things that Georgette herself had learned after her marriage; James was no stickler for form but he had grown up with the habits of his class and was unaware of what his beloved wife had not known. His patience and a nature impervious to such niceties and the snide remarks of the ton made him the ideal tutor for Georgette as she had assumed the duties of a duchess. She would be able to mentor the sisters in turn so that they could present themselves to their best advantage.
It would be well, she had confided to James once they had bidden farewell to their guests after an enjoyable evening, if the girls were married soon. Henton’s reputation could linger over the girls’ prospects if they failed to win husbands before the season ended.
James yawned. “You’re dashed hard on Henton,” he said. “I don’t see why he doesn’t just marry one of them and then he’d only have the other to marry off. He’d halve the trouble of it all. He does need an heir after all.
It would be peculiar, though, would it not, having a wife who looked exactly like one’s sister-in-law? What if they were married and he had too much to drink one night and ended up in the wrong bedroom? I say, that could occasion quite a fuss.”
Georgette’s expression was disapproving.
“There are more differences between the sisters than you seem to realise, James. They are quite different.”
“Are they?” James rang for his valet. “Oh, I grant you, the one plays the piano and the other doesn’t, but I don’t see how that would make such a difference in marriage. Besides, the sister would just as likely live with them, it’s not as though she’d go out on her own, and therein lies the confusion.”
“James, dear,” his wife said, wrapping her arms around him lovingly. “You are a darling and I cherish every day that I wake up and find myself your wife, but you know next to nothing about marriage and women.”
“Oh?” James inquired, confused as to whether he ought to appreciate the compliment or be insulted by the slur.
“Yes, dear,” his wife said as her maid entered the room to ready her for bed. “And because of that, you are the perfect husband.”
SEVEN
The Duchess of Summersby was as good as her word and before a fortnight was over, the Connolly twins found their wardrobes overflowing with the fashionable apparel that an aristocratic young lady could expect to wear when she was of an age to attract a suitable husband. The Earl of Henton, not a stingy man, paid generously for the
purchases, preferring that the sisters be well-attired and a credit to his guardianship rather than diminished by dowdiness.
Georgette had found that the girls were inclined toward modesty and shied away from revealing an excess of bare flesh, even when the fashions of the garment required it. Such propriety was not to be scorned in the licentious society of the Prince Regent’s England, but she knew that if they were too modest, they would be mocked.
However, she respected the girls’ preferences and observation of mourning, and the final result of the tailoring produced a wardrobe that was fashionable and yet dignified, with frocks in colours that ranged from dove-grey to ivory to lavender, all shown to advantage against the twins’ vivid colouring.
“I feel quite the country mouse,” Phoebe confessed to her sister as they watched the maids putting away the hats and dresses, shoes, shawls, pelisses and gloves.
“We are country mice,” Prudence said. “These would not be suitable garments for the nunnery.”
“I am glad that we are not going to a convent after all,” Phoebe said. “It is not so unpleasant here.”
“Shall I bring up your tea, Miss? The Earl is out for the remainder of the day,” the chambermaid asked.
“Yes, please Mary,” Phoebe said quickly before her sister took the opportunity to speculate upon the reasons for the Earl’s departure.
After the servants had left and the two of them were sitting in the window seat in Prudence’s room, awaiting their tea, Phoebe said, “Do you find it so unpleasant here, Prue?”
“I do not approve of the Earl’s conduct,” Prudence said. “Did you not see that woman who came here just before we went out calling with the Duchess?”
Phoebe sighed. “Yes, I saw her. I also saw Benton escort her out.”
“Phoebe, she was drunk!”
“Yes, I am afraid she was.”
“What sort of gentleman associates with a woman of such character?”
“Men are drunk often enough; why should you be surprised that women do the same?”
Phoebe’s even-handed response brought her sister up short. “Why, because—because it is—Madame was always most deliberate on the matter of a woman’s imbibing. No more than a glass at mealtimes; you remember her saying it. She said that the female constitution is not suited for the same volume of drink as that of a man’s.”
“I remember. But it is not for us to decide. Benton took her to the door and had a carriage summoned to return her to her home.”
“Mrs Truman said that the woman is married!”
“You ought not to be tittle-tattling with Mrs Truman on these matters,” she retorted with a frown.
“How else will I know what sorts of vices are committed under the roof where we dwell?”
“If we marry this season, we shall not dwell here for very long, so it shall not matter”
“We cannot marry in haste, Phoebe. Marriage is not to be entered into lightly.”
The servant arrived with their tea, bringing a cessation to the conversation.
“I do enjoy living this way,” Phoebe admitted as she bit in a piece of seed cake. “It’s very comfortable. Warm water for the bath and an abundance of food at the table. And now we are to enter society.”
Prudence was still astounded that her shy and reserved sister was waiting with anticipation for the upcoming ball, which the Summersbys were hosting to introduce them into society. It was most puzzling.
“Are you so eager?” she asked.
“I would prefer to be part of the world rather than removed from it,” Phoebe said. “I have no wish to withdraw from society to become a nun.”
“But you were content at the school.”
“What choice did we have? Papa did not send for us and we have no other family. We had nowhere else to go, until now.”
“Now we must live with a libertine,” Prudence muttered. “Subject to his whims and prey to whatever gossip attaches itself to his name.”
“People have been very kind to us,” Phoebe disagreed.
“They dare say nothing in front of the Duchess, for she is well regarded and they do not wish to invite her disdain, although to be sure, I do not see Georgette as someone who would be disdainful. She is so very gracious and I think she is a real friend. We may have need of such,” Prudence said cryptically.
Despite the good fortune that seemed to have descended upon them, Prudence was not convinced that calamity could be far away. She distrusted the Earl, or perhaps, she knew, she distrusted her own involuntary response to his touch and his presence. It would be better to be locked away in a convent than to be at the mercy of such a man, one who could summon feelings better left unknown and conjure sensations which seemed to be improper for any Christian soul.
Prudence was quite sure that the serpent, when speaking to Eve in the Garden of Eden, had sounded very much like the Earl of Henton when he assured her that partaking of the apple would do her no harm but would enrich her wisdom.
Such was his talk of passion and repression and his assertion that denying the feelings of men and women was to deny one’s own true self. Was the new wardrobe, the splendid shoes and hats, so very different from what they had worn at the academy, part of the serpent’s lure? Wear this, and you shall be lovely and desirable and you shall attract a husband . . . it seemed so to her.
And yet, she could not deny, any more than Eve was able to resist the apple, the pleasure that she felt the night of the ball when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The carriage had taken them to the Summersby manor so that they could dress there, and the Duchess’ lady’s maid had styled their hair and helped them to dress.
“Very lovely, Miss,” the maid told her as she adjusted the ribbon at the bodice of the lavender gown with its overlay of white lawn. “You and your sister will be the prettiest young ladies at the ball.”
“Oh, I hardly think so,” Prudence disputed. “We are such bumpkins.”
The maid shifted the lavender band that encircled the chignon in which Prudence’s hair had been styled. The thick mane of dark hair was like a crown, giving her petite form a regal stature.
The two sisters, although identical twins, had agreed that they did not wish to dress alike tonight, a decision which had been subtly reinforced by the Duchess, who felt that the young women needed to make impressions as individuals.
Phoebe emerged from her bedroom and came to her sister’s room.
“Prudence!” she exclaimed. “You are ravishing.”
“Not as much as you,” Prudence retorted, admiring her sister’s appearance in a shade of grey moiré that moved like rippling silver as Phoebe walked to her side. Her dark hair, done in ringlets that framed her slim face, mirrored the pattern of the dress, giving the ensemble an animation that effaced Phoebe’s habitual reserve.
The lady’s maid was wise in her art.
“Will you stand together, in front of the mirror,” she suggested, “and tell me if you think anything more needs to be done?”
The two sisters stood there, each one struck with something approaching awe at their appearance, for never in their nineteen years had they ever been so accoutred.
Accustomed to looking so alike that no one could tell them apart, they were unique tonight, despite the imprint of the identical colouring, features, and forms. No one tonight would confuse one for the other and a gentleman who danced with one of the sisters would not, the following day, ponder which twin he had partnered.
“I hope that the Earl will regard his money as well spent,” Prudence commented.
Her words broke the enchanted spell that Phoebe had been enjoying as she looked at their reflections. “I am sure he must not mind, Prue,” she said. “He said that Papa—”
“Papa did not leave any money for us, and you know it. Remember how many letters passed from France to England from Madame to Papa reminding him that he was overdue with school fees.”
“Yes, but . . . ” Phoebe looked down at her fine dress, which until no
w had brought her a sense of pure delight. “If we are indebted for these dresses, it means that we must marry the first person who asks us. Else we shall continue to be a burden upon the Earl.”
Realising the effect of her words, Prudence was assailed with guilt.
“Oh, no Phoebe, I do not mean that at all. I am sure that the Earl was glad to spend as much as he could. He would not wish us to embarrass him, you know. He has too grand a reputation in London as a man of discerning tastes—we shall leave aside, for the moment, his questionable practices—and if we appeared as rustics, I am sure he would be displeased.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, indeed,” her sister affirmed stoutly. “Moreover, he would not wish us to marry in too much haste, lest we choose unwisely and inflict more shame upon him. No, we must do justice to this fine wardrobe and to his generosity as well as to the time that the Duchess has spent in guiding us. It is our fate.”
Phoebe’s lips curled up in a smile. “Prue,” she said in a low voice, “I think I may like that fate.”
Prudence was relieved to have eased her sister’s attack of conscience. But as they answered the knock on the door, Prudence could not help wondering again if they, like Eve, were sampling a repast which they ought to have shunned.
When they arrived downstairs to greet the guests, the Earl was waiting, dressed impeccably in buff-coloured trousers, a waistcoat of rich, dark bronze print silk, and a dark brown tailcoat with buttons that gleamed as if they had been polished with the same energy that had been devoted to his footwear.
His cravat was perfect. His hair was neat and simply coiffed, the thick blond locks marking him neither as a dandy or a fop, but as someone who embraced the sartorial admonitions of the Beau, who believed that a gentleman ought to be clean in his hygiene and distinguished in his attire.
When his eyes alighted upon his wards, the expression in them revealed to Prudence that he was indeed pleased with their appearance. But his eyes lingered upon her a tad bit too long and she wondered if perhaps she ought to have insisted that the seamstress make her neckline higher. But then she met his gaze, the expression on his face had her swallowing nervously. He inclined his head.