A Useful Woman (33 page)

An Expectation of Return

Ladies Voucher

ALMACK'S

Deliver to _________________________,

___ Tickets for the Balls

on the Wednesdays of April, 1817

Society Notes

by A. E. Littlefield

We know that readers of the
Chronicle
, along with the whole of fashionable society, have been waiting with bated breath for the answer to one question—after all the drama and the danger of the little season, how was the opening assembly at the beating heart of fashionable life, Almack's Assembly Rooms?

There is but one word. Dazzling.

Never before has London, and therefore the world, witnessed such a collection of magnificence. Society seemed determined to show itself at its finest and its most glittering, wiping away all trace of tears from the beloved ballroom and banishing forever the darkness
that so recently threatened to blot out the shining star of the fashionable . . .

Rosalind sipped her tea and listened to Alice read off confident descriptions of dresses and impending matches, of Lady Jersey and her poise, of Countess Lieven and her grace, not to mention Mrs. Drummond-Burrell and her vivacity. The fire crackled in the grate of her narrow parlor and Rosalind and Alice both sat with their feet resting on the fender. On the table between them lay the remains of their late breakfast, complete with muffins and a second pot of tea.

“Well?” Alice lowered the paper. “What do you think?”

“I think it's a scintillating description of the glittering opening of the Almack's season,” Rosalind answered. “Especially considering that you weren't there.”

“Neither were you, which is surprising. All the little birds say that you were granted a voucher, for services rendered.”

“Little birds or Littlefields?” smiled Rosalind.

“There's not much difference in the end, is there?” Alice said. “But I'm being serious, Rosalind. If you have the voucher, why didn't you go?”

“I'm saving my tickets,” she answered. “For later, when they might be useful.”

“And I am still not forgiving you for not inviting me to the Nottinghams'.” Alice picked up a remaining bit of muffin and popped it in her mouth. “How could you be so careless?”

“I had rather a lot on my mind,” murmured Rosalind. “I promise it will not happen again.”

“See that it doesn't,” replied Alice grandly. Then, more softly and more seriously, she asked, “How is Lady Blanchard?”

“The doctors are quite hopeful,” Rosalind said, glad that she could tell the truth about that. “As soon as she's strong enough, she'll go to her sister in Derbyshire.”

“Permanently, I expect?”

Rosalind nodded in agreement.

“I'm sorry.”

“That's what she said,” Rosalind murmured. She did not want to remember how pale and weak her godmother had been when she did. She did not want to remember the way she even lacked the strength to take Rosalind's hand.

She was certain one day they would find their way back to some kind of understanding, and perhaps even forgiveness, but that day was a long way off yet. Lady Blanchard had meant to use her, to play upon her loyalty and her indebtedness to keep scandal away from her door, even after she'd realized her husband had murdered her lover. It was a great deal to have to forgive.

“And what of Lord Blanchard?” asked Alice quietly.

“He has succumbed to fever,” said Rosalind. Her voice trembled shamefully. “They suspect blood poisoning from his wound. The doctors are doing what they can, but he is not expected to recover.”

Alice took her hand and they sat like that for a long time.

The jangle of the doorbell cut the silence. Rosalind's head lifted.

“Visitors already? It's barely half past.” Alice turned in her seat so she could see the door open. Mrs. Kendricks came in, ready to make her announcement, but there was no need. Honoria Aimesworth had decided not to wait.

“I thought you might be at home. You always did keep odd hours.” Honoria dropped onto Rosalind's sofa and looked about the little room with undisguised interest. “So, this is your house?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kendricks,” said Rosalind to her housekeeper. “And yes, it is.”

“Hello, Honoria,” said Alice.

Honoria looked her up and down, especially noting how her feet still rested on the fireplace fender. “Hello, Alice. I'd wondered whatever happened to you.”

“No more than's happened to you, from what I hear. What are you doing out this early?”

Honoria shrugged. “I felt like it, and I wanted to give Rosalind the news.”

Rosalind arched her brows and waited.

“Mother's had enough,” announced Honoria. “It seems Lady Jersey and the rest of them were utterly unmoved by her plea that she was trying to save them from Lord and Lady Blanchard by getting into their good graces and exposing the ticket scheme. She's giving up on society and going back to the Continent. Perhaps for good.”

Rosalind could picture Lady Edmund sitting in her newly decorated parlor, delivering this news over cups of tea, perfectly calm, perfectly poised, and holding herself beyond possibility of questions, or arguments.

“Will you go with her?” she asked.

Honoria picked up the last whole muffin and broke it in two. “She's told me to.” She spread strawberry jam across the muffin and popped it in her mouth. “But I think I'm going to stay and brazen it out this time.”

“It's what you should have done that first time.”

“Yes,” she said around another bite of muffin. “I said as much then, as you'll recall.”

“I do,” admitted Rosalind with a sideways glance at Alice. “And I'm sorry. I should have listened.”

Honoria shrugged and wiped her fingers on the nearest napkin. “Well, you will know better next time.”

Silence fell between them, and Rosalind wondered how it could possibly be filled. She had been so very wrong about so
many things, including this girl helping herself to muffins without being asked. It felt like much more than an apology was due her.

It was Alice, ever the newswoman, who found the right question. Or at least the most interesting one.

“What exactly was it your mother thought she was doing?”

Honoria tossed her head. “Oh. She found out that Jasper was having an affair with Lady Blanchard. Sentimental idiot that he was.” Her chin trembled. “And she thought she could use that to blackmail herself into the patroness's position.”

“I was Lady Edmund's blind,” said Rosalind. “It was so well known in society how I manage things, that no one would ask how she got the post if it looked like I was on hand to arrange it.”

“And Lady Blanchard was willing to go along with it, because it would serve Mother right when the ticket-forging scheme was discovered, and Almack's collapsed. After she and Jasper were safely away, of course,” added Honoria. “And if you put that in your column, I'll deny all of it.”

Now it was Alice's turn to shrug. “It's not the sort of thing that will interest the readers. They want Almack's to remain Almack's.”

Which was probably nothing less than the truth, mused Rosalind. “If you're not fleeing to the Continent, Honoria, what will you do?”

“I don't know yet. I need some time to think. What about you, Rosalind?” At this, Rosalind and Alice both were treated to the most unusual sight of Honoria Aimesworth hesitating. “You could come stay at Tamwell House, if you like. I've money enough for two and I owe you rather a lot for what you did.”

“It was not so much.”

Honoria snorted. “It was a great deal more than that false modesty allows.”

“It usually is,” put in Alice.

Honoria rolled her eyes. She also got to her feet. “Well. I have let you see I am unchanged by sorrow and so on. I'm going now. Write and let me know if you want to come to me. I expect I'll be at home rather a lot for the rest of the season.”

Rosalind thanked her and rang for Mrs. Kendricks to come with Honoria's things and help her on with her coat. As she buttoned her gloves, Honoria paused. She glanced at Alice, and then she shrugged.

“You can have him by the way.”

“I'm sorry?” Rosalind frowned.

“Lord Casselmain. With Mother going and Father . . . disinterested, I find I'm in rather less of a rush to marry than previously. I've released him from his promise.” She lifted her head and met Rosalind's gaze quite easily. “You should know that he did offer to see the thing through. He would have married me if I had still wanted it.”

“Yes, I believe that he would.” Rosalind remembered Devon's sad and serious voice. She remembered his hands holding hers, and his arms around her, catching her up, keeping her safe.

He had written her since she came back to Little Russell Street. Twice. She hadn't answered. Yet.

“Good-bye then.” Honoria sounded a little disappointed. Rosalind met her gaze.

“Good-bye. And Honoria?” Honoria paused, her expression tired and impatient. “I think you're wrong,”

Honoria snorted. “About what?”

“About whether or not we could ever be friends.”

Honoria did not answer. Even Alice held her peace. At last,
Honoria gave one small nod. Then she turned, and walked out the door.

Rosalind sighed and sat back down. She picked up the half of a muffin Honoria had left, and stared at it.

“If you're not going to go stay with Honoria, what are you going to do, Rose?” asked Alice. “After all this, society is going to be less than sure about you, Almack's voucher or no. How will you get on?”

“I'll find a way,” said Rosalind, more to the broken muffin than to Alice. “I always do.”

“Well, remember what I said about turning to writing.” Alice got to her feet and came over to embrace her friend. “After what you've been through, you've material enough for ten novels!”

They laughed at this, but not too much, because there was such sadness behind it. And then Alice had to leave, because she had to meet with George and the major and lay out the next series of “Society Notes” now that there was no more murder and forgery to splash across the columns. Rosalind stood at the window and watched her leave. Then, she turned to her writing desk.

So much had happened, and so much waited for her. There was Devon, and there was Mr. Harkness. There was society and all its toils and there was still the need to make her way.

And there was this letter she had received yesterday afternoon. She lifted it up and read it again.

Dear Miss Thorne:

I hope you will forgive me, a woman to whom you've no connection at all, writing you in this fashion, but I have heard of you from the Countess Lieven. Her Grace spoke in such glowing terms of your courage and your cleverness in helping
uncover the terrible forgery scheme for the lady patronesses of Almack's.

I feel therefore I may lay before you my own troubles. I am in receipt of a series of letters of the most shocking nature, and no one can trace the blackguard responsible. I beg you to hear me and to advise me. Will you allow me to call? There will be no question of expense in this matter, if only you will help me . . .

And perhaps I can
, thought Rosalind.
Perhaps I
can.

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