by Dorothy Mack
CHAPTER FOUR
On learning that Robin was acquainted with his prospective bride, Nicholas had requested that his brother present him to Miss Harmon informally. The thought of being introduced to the girl one moment, and making her an offer in the next breath, made his head reel. Apart from the general awkwardness of such a situation, it was not particularly complimentary to Miss Harmon either.
Accordingly, on Wednesday evening he found himself entering the sacred portals of Almack’s Assembly Rooms on King Street for the first time in at least three seasons. Year after year, the newly launched buds of society made their debuts here and the matchmaking began. To be refused a voucher for Almack’s meant social ostracism. The code of behaviour was strict, and its enforcement was assured by the six hostesses whose approval was essential if an aspirant was to obtain admission.
Glancing around for Robin on his entrance, Nicholas was immediately pinpointed by two of these social arbiters. He greeted Maria Sefton warmly, exchanged some rapid fire repartee with Lady Jersey, and successfully evaded Mrs. Drummond Burrell, who thoroughly disapproved of him. He noted with chagrin that the young ladies seemed suddenly much younger and their escorts more callow, and for the first time felt the icy breath of approaching old age. Fortunately, some old friends absorbed him into a laughing group before he had become too conspicuous, because Robin was nowhere in sight at present. Obviously he would be obliged to dance sooner or later, lest his presence become a subject for speculation. He was aware that Sally Jersey had him in her sights already, and that busy brain of hers never rested. Glancing around quickly, he spied one of his former flirts, now a dashing young matron, and answered the invitation in her smiling eyes.
While pleasantly engaged in conversation, his assessing look dwelt briefly on one or another of the dancers whirling by. There were one or two accredited Beauties and a number of quite attractive girls, but for once he was more intent on trying to discover a quiet, mouse-coloured girl of average size, eye colour uncertain, but with a good figure, he amended, trying to form a picture from Robin’s disjointed description. There was a very drab little figure sitting over there amongst the dowagers, and a sense of fatality warned him that she was the one until he noted with relief that she was wearing spectacles. Robin would not have forgotten that detail.
The dance ended, and he excused himself from his conversation to resume his search for his brother. He thought he spotted him on the other side of the large square room and slowly headed in that direction, stopping often to exchange greetings with friends, and on one occasion to be presented to one of the Beauties he had previously noted. Ordinarily, he would have solicited her hand for the very next dance, but tonight he was too intent on his mission to do more than smile warmly and make his excuses as soon as civility allowed.
A shifting around in a group to his left suddenly revealed a charming profile that captured his attention. The light from a chandelier was bringing out red and gold lights in hair the colour of a highly polished acorn. She turned her head slightly to attend to the man on her left, and the viscount had a too brief three-quarter view of the roguish smile that illuminated her quiet face before the profile was once more presented to him. The connoisseur in Nicholas desired to remain where he might eventually discover whether the full view was as enchanting as the profile, but regretfully he moved on toward the spot where he had espied Robin. True, the girl had brown hair, but “mousy” was the last appellation that could be applied to anyone with that smile.
Before reaching Robin, who was holding court in an alcove, he passed two girls who might possibly have fitted Robin’s description, both decidedly plain and quiet looking, but he rather doubted that either had a figure which would excite favourable comment from his brother. He was growing bored with his guessing game by the time he came up to Robin in the midst of a chattering, laughing crowd. There was no time for any private conversation because the musicians were striking up for the next dance.
“Sorry, Nick, I am engaged for this set,” said Robin in an undertone. “I’ll present you to the girl immediately afterward.” He started to lead a pretty blonde onto the floor when his brother stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Can you point her out to me?” he whispered.
Robin hastily scanned the room, then nodded in the direction of a set forming for the dance. “The girl in the coffee-coloured gown,” he tossed over his shoulder as he proceeded to join another set at a distance from the musicians.
More nervous than he would have believed possible, if his rapid pulse was any indication, Nicholas allowed his glance to be directed toward the spot Robin had indicated. For an instant, his breathing stopped as his startled eyes fell on a coffee-coloured, lace-trimmed creation and climbed almost reluctantly to dwell with gratified surprise on the girl with the profile. A tiny, pleased smile flitted across his lips. For the first time since his father had issued his ultimatum, life seemed to hold some promise for the future. The girl was lovely! He almost laughed aloud as he recalled his brother’s indifferent description. Trust Robin to call a girl plain unless she was so obviously flashy that she was a born honey pot.
Yet he could see what Robin had meant. One’s glance might pass over the quiet-faced, brown-haired girl initially, but a second glance was sure to linger, especially if she were smiling as she was now at her partner. From this distance the colour of her eyes remained uncertain, but he could definitely corroborate his brother’s judgment as to the excellence of her figure in the demure, but highly becoming gown. He had ample opportunity during the lengthy number to applaud mentally her graceful performance on the floor and also her modest behaviour. Her entire attention was fixed politely on her partner, though the disparity in the couple’s standard of performance was enough to excuse some pettishness on the part of a highly accomplished dancer constrained to go through the paces with one who might with justification be termed a clumsy oaf. No one could have guessed from Miss Harmon’s demeanour that she was less than perfectly contented with her partner. Nicholas thought her a true thoroughbred and looked forward to his introduction to his future bride.
With the unexpected force of an earthquake, he was rocked by a question that had not once occurred to him since his first conversation with his father. Was Miss Harmon aware of the fate that was in store for her, and if so, had she acquiesced readily or was she being coerced? He wondered if he would be able to tell from her reaction to the introduction whether or not she was aware of his identity. He had no doubts at all that the earl would have dangled a princely settlement in front of Lady Langston or her son had he been dead set on Miss Harmon, but was this indeed the case? If the Harmon family were old acquaintances of the Dunstons, it was not a relationship he had ever been aware of. Perhaps the marriage idea had originated with the girl’s relatives and not with his father after all.
There was no time to ruminate on these new possibilities, however, for the dance was winding down. He saw Robin looking around for him and signalled that he was following. There were still several people between the brothers, however, as Robin approached Miss Harmon. She looked up at his greeting, and Nicholas stopped dead on observing the glow that irradiated her face and the tell-tale flush that sprang to her cheeks.
“Sits the wind in that quarter, then?” Abruptly he turned on his heel.
The impatient rapping at the door to the lodgings on Saint James’s Street caused Perkins to glance in surprise at the clock, but one look at his master assured him that the call at this extraordinary hour was not unexpected. He had barely opened the door wide enough to admit a wraith when the Honourable Robin Dunston burst in and demanded, “What the devil were you playing at tonight, Torvil, leaving me standing there looking like a fine fool in front of the girl? There I was preparing her to meet my brother and I turned around, and no brother!”
“Have a glass of brandy, Robin, and contain yourself for the moment. That will be all, Perkins. I shan’t need you anymore tonight. Go to bed.” He waited until the val
et had handed Mister Dunston a glass and silently left the room before turning his attention from the liquid he was slowly swirling in his glass to his still fuming brother, pacing the room agitatedly.
“Well?” insisted Robin. “Why did you tell me you wanted to meet the girl if you did not want to meet her?”
“Why did you not tell me you had an interest there yourself?” retorted his brother. “And I’d prefer you not to walk a hole in my very expensive carpet. Sit down.”
“What d’you mean, an interest?” Robin stopped pacing and stared at his brother, stupefied. Then, enlightened, he dropped heavily onto the chair indicated. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Nick? I told you the girl wasn’t my type — not that she’s not a perfectly amiable girl, as I also told you.”
“Answer me truthfully, Robin,” said the viscount quietly, his eyes intent on his brother’s face. “Are you quite sure you do not wish to marry Miss Harmon yourself?”
“Good lord!” exclaimed Robin, aghast. “Why would I want to do a fool thing like get married? Do you feel quite the thing tonight, Nick?”
For a moment longer, his brother continued to drive the point of his dagger stare into him, then he relaxed, but there was a slightly perplexed air about him.
“I saw the way Miss Harmon coloured up when you spoke to her. The girl obviously has a tendre for you. Naturally, I would not dream of offering for her if you returned her affection, no matter what Father threatened.”
“Eh, you say the girl rather fancies me?” Robin looked startled, but more gratified than disturbed at this interpretation.
His brother snorted. “I must confess it gives me a poor idea of her intelligence.”
Robin grinned but did not rise to the bait, and the subject was allowed to drop for the remainder of his brief visit. Not until he was about to take his leave did he remind his brother that he had still not actually met his intended bride. His offer to perform the introduction at the earliest moment convenient to both was declined with civil thanks by the viscount, who declared that he had decided to write to Lady Langston to request that she arrange a time for him to call upon Miss Harmon. His earlier objections to making the girl an offer at their initial meeting no longer seemed particularly relevant.
The morning after the ball at Almack’s, Kate approached her mother’s boudoir in answer to a summons conveyed to her by Lady Langston’s maid. She was a trifle surprised at this departure from habit. The uncertain state of Lady Langston’s health precluded any rigorous morning activities, especially following a late evening. She rarely appeared in the breakfast room anyway, preferring to consume her meagre morning repast of thinly sliced bread and butter in her bed before undergoing the rigours of a toilette that was never completed in less than two hours. Before tapping on the door, Kate gave her curls a hurried pat and re-pinned the lace of her gown at the throat. Her mother always presented an exquisitely turned out appearance and deplored a tendency in her daughter to dress by guess and by golly when pressed for time.
Morrell, Lady Langston’s long-time dresser, opened the door and indicated that Kate was to proceed into the bedchamber before she exited from the suite. Kate noted with some surprise that Lady Langston was already exquisitely coiffed, though she was still wearing a dressing gown of some drifting grey material that emphasized her extreme slenderness. Despite her ill health, there was not a single grey hair amongst the shining black tresses that represented her most lasting claim to beauty. The lovely dark eyes, so like Deborah’s, seemed huge in a face that had grown thin and sharp these last few years. The remnants of great beauty were certainly present, however, and on the rare occasions when she was moved to display some animation, youth returned to her face and one would find it difficult to credit her with three grown children. At Kate’s approach, she turned from contemplating her image in the mirror.
“You wished to speak to me, Mama?”
“Yes, my dear.” The faint smile on Lady Langston’s lips disappeared as she surveyed her daughter’s appearance. She sighed. “Kate, that dress does not become you at all. Pale blue is too insipid for your colouring.”
“Yes, Mama, I know. It was a mistake to buy this fabric only because it was such a bargain, but I must get some wear out of it or it would indeed be a sad waste of money.”
“I suppose so. How tiresome it is always to be forced to make hateful economies.” Lady Langston had sounded a trifle fretful, but now she smiled at her daughter. “Our fortunes are going to take a turn for the better, however, if you will be the sensible girl I know you are. I have some marvellous news for you, my dearest child.”
“What do you mean, Mama? What news?”
“I have received a most flattering offer for your hand. I made sure you would be delighted.”
“Not if it is from Sir Geoffrey Morecambe, I shan’t.” Kate spoke quite firmly. “He is old enough to be my father and a widower into the bargain. He simply wants a wife to manage that odious daughter of his and chaperone her to all the ton parties. I have been doing everything within the bounds of civility to convince him that I do not appreciate the attentions he has been showering on me this past month.”
“Well, you must have succeeded,” said Lady Langston dryly, “because the offer is not from Sir Geoffrey.”
“Oh,” said Kate faintly, the wind taken out of her sails. Her forehead creased in puzzlement. “Then who?”
“The Viscount Torvil.” Lady Langston’s triumphant air changed to mild annoyance at Kate’s bewildered expression.
“But, Mama, I am not even acquainted with Lord Torvil — in fact, I do not know who he may be. Why should someone who doesn’t know me wish to marry me?”
Her mother seemed to hesitate briefly, then she gave a little laugh that rang falsely to the girl whose senses were instantly alerted. “Well, as to that, my dear child, it is not necessary to have met you to know that you have all the qualities necessary to make a good wife for a man in Lord Torvil’s position. You have the breeding and upbringing essential to someone of his rank, and you —”
“Rubbish!” stated Kate roundly, abandoning completely the dutiful manner she strove for in dealings with her mother. “Why, I might be dull witted or wildly extravagant, or a veritable shrew for all Lord Torvil knows of me personally! Why can’t he court a bride in the usual manner? What’s wrong with him, and who is he anyway?”
“Katherine! I must insist that you moderate your language. It is most unbecoming in a delicately nurtured female,” Lady Langston protested, groping for her vinaigrette. Her voice became plaintive. “I knew it was a mistake allowing your grandfather to keep an impressionable young girl chained to his side. I said at the time that no good could come from such a course. His rough ways might do well enough for a boy, but they have almost ruined my daughter.”
Kate refrained from pointing out that her recollections of the events leading up to her prolonged sojourn with her grandfather differed in all essentials from her mother’s. From long experience, all of Lady Langston’s children recognized that the introduction of her vinaigrette into a discussion boded ill for its calm continuance. She hastened to apologize for her unseemly language and brought the conversation back to its essentials.
“Mama, who is the Viscount Torvil?”
“He is Sedgeley’s heir. I believe you are slightly acquainted with the younger son, Mister Robin Dunston.”
Kate gasped in shock. “So, that is why Mister Dunston wished to present his brother to me last night at Almack’s!” She fell silent, gnawing fiercely at her bottom lip as she digested this startling development.
“Then you have met Lord Torvil, Kate?”
“No, no! Mister Dunston was on the point of making the introduction when his brother disappeared.” She straightened her shoulders and sought her mother’s eye. “He cannot have been too eager to meet me. In fact, the whole thing sounds like a hum to me.” She ignored her mother’s remonstrative “Kate!” and continued relentlessly, “Did Lord Torvil wait upon you, Mama?�
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Again that slight hesitation. “No, my dear. Only conceive of the honour! The earl himself paid me a visit to request that I use my influence as a parent to persuade you of the desirability of the match. And you may take that look off your face, Miss. It is in all respects a more advantageous match than I dared to dream of for you. For it cannot be denied that you have not enjoyed the signal success of your sister.” Perhaps it was the hurt look that Kate could not quite conceal before her thick lashes veiled her eyes, but Lady Langston relented and added hastily, “Although you have taken well enough, I grant you, and I have had several compliments from my friends on your modest demeanour.”
“I’m sure it is an honour indeed to be singled out by the Earl of Sedgeley, only you must excuse me when I say I could wish it were his son who had done me this honour. Obviously the father seeks to arrange a marriage for his son.” She swallowed with difficulty and faced her parent squarely. “Do you expect me to agree to an arranged marriage, Mama?”
Lady Langston lowered her eyes and fiddled with the ties of her grey dressing gown for a moment before answering this appeal. Then, for the first time in their discussion, she met her daughter’s serious gaze honestly and proceeded to enlighten her about the family’s financial situation. Long before she had come to an end, Kate had grown pale and had gripped her hands tightly together in her lap. She had already sunk down upon her mother’s bed on learning the identity of her suitor.
Now she bowed her head in submission and tonelessly said, “Very well, Mama. If I see nothing in the viscount to disgust me, I shall accept his offer. But only,” she interrupted Lady Langston’s fervent expression of gratitude, “on the condition that you allow Deb to marry where her affections lead her. The Earl of Sedgeley’s generosity is such that there is no need for both of us to be sacrificed to repair the family fortunes.”