Althea (18 page)

Althea flushed, but said lightly, “I had no idea that a
woman’s were required to be, sir.” She felt a flash of resentment: when he had
first appeared, she had wanted to hit him, and now, against her judgment, she
was being charmed from her sullens. It was hard to stay resentful, though, for
the only time she found herself unplagued by doubts and indecision was when she
was in his company.

“I imagine you are right,” he was saying. “I think it rather
unfair, though. Do you enjoy this crush tonight?

“What a terrible trickery question! If I say yes, then I
admit to having the sort of dreadful, plebian taste that delights in assembly,
when I know it is far more fashionable to abhor but endure it. And if I say no,
then I am shockingly uncivil, and you may report me to your Lady Caro.”

“Not, I beg you,
my
Lady Caro,” Tracy said in accents
of pain.

“Well, certainly not much William Lamb’s! But here I, too,
am gossiping, which is the thing that men affect to hate above all else in a
woman.”

“Only affect?” The cynical eyebrow jumped up wryly under a
shock of red hair that had slipped from its careful combing.

“Nonsense, Sir Tracy.”

“Tracy. I thought we had settled that matter.”

Althea ignored that. “Men are the worst gossips alive, and
the more so for being so sanctimonious about their virtue. Oh dear….” Althea
turned a little white and her words trailed off indistinguishably. Calendar
turned and saw Edward Pendarly bearing down upon them determinedly. Without a
pause and without a ruffle Calendar asked Althea to dance. As he led her to the
floor Althea cast him a look of intense gratitude that he affected not to
notice. Edward Pendarly, behind them, cast a speaking glance at Calendar’s
retreating back and returned to the side of his fiancée and her mother.

“Mr. Pendarly,” began Mrs. Laverham in a voice that oozed
portent, “who is that amusing looking creature dancing with Tildy Fforyding’s
nevvy?” She snorted briefly. “Maypole-looking thing, ain’t she, Georgie?”
Georgiana, at her mother’s side, knew exactly who the lady was, and colored
with embarrassment at her mother’s manner. Pendarly looked extremely
uncomfortable, but admitted that it was Miss Ervine, sister to Lady Bevan. This
speech did not please Georgiana, but her mother was well pleased by it, smiling
broadly until her chins stretched almost to meet her ears. Pendarly swallowed
three times and asked his betrothed to dance. A little distance between himself
and Mrs. Laverham was the only solution he could arrive at for immediate relief
to his discomfort.

Georgiana, aware though she was of his unhappiness, could
not conceal the fact that she enjoyed his company. The motion of the dance
precluded any close conversation, which in the run of things suited them both
equally well. With all his other problems, Pendarly was finding that while he
had once been able to talk to Georgiana on a variety of insipid topics, now
even the merest vestiges of conversation deserted him. He could not tell if
this was a product of his feeling for Althea Ervine, his guilt over his
treatment of Georgiana, or his increasing feeling of impending doom in Mrs.
Laverham’s company.

Georgiana, only recently released from the sickroom, had
looked avidly in the past few days for Lady Bevan’s sister, Miss Ervine. When
she had at last attained a glimpse of that lady, her spirits had dropped
sharply. Miss Ervine was all that she was not, and apparently all that Edward
Pendarly found most admirable. Being slight, shy, and unassuming enough to be
blind to her own prettiness, Georgiana found it altogether reasonable that
Edward would prefer the striking, charming, sought-after Miss Ervine to a
little mouse like herself. She was not stupid, nor was she blind. She knew of
her mother’s machinations to ensure Edward’s continued attendance upon her, and
while the results were highly gratifying, she had to admit that the methods
were deplorable.

Lady Sefton remarked from across the hall that little
Georgie Laverham was in looks tonight, and seemed quite recovered from her
illness. In a gown of pink gauze trimmed in blond, she was pretty enough even
for Pendarly to realize it. He also realized that a small stir of admiring
comment was being made about his partner, and that lifted his spirits so much
that he forgot to watch Althea from across the room as she whirled in Lord
Hartington’s arms, and to curse his relatives for putting him in a position
where he could not approach her.

Sir Tracy, having relinquished Althea to Hartington, leaned
against the wall and scanned the crowd lightly, noting who was there and
speculating upon those darlings of Society who were not in evidence. He was
aware of his aunt’s entrance immediately and made his way through the crowd to
join her.

He made her a courtly bow and she wagged her fan at him
delightedly.

“Excellent! I have not seen so stylish a curtsey outside of
Drury Lane, dear boy. You may fetch me some iced cup.”

“You would not send me through that crowd again, would you,
dearest of aunts?” He smiled. “Send another.”

“Shocking crush, ain’t it, Tracy? But your disrespect is
equally shocking. Who shall I send to fetch me some refreshment before I die of
thirst? Oh, see, here is just the man.” She smiled agreeably at a fat corseted
gentleman who approached. With a few words, the amiable Mr. Courtney had been
sent upon Lady Boskingram’s errand, leaving her once more with her nephew.

“Well,” she said briskly. “Where’s my little friend Althea?”
She chuckled. “Yes, dear, I know she’d make two of me, but I still claim the
right of my age and call her my dear
little
friend.”

“I find you in depressingly high spirits tonight, Aunt,”
Tracy said dryly. “As for Ally, she is dancing at present with Hartington, over
there.” He gestured.

Lady Boskingram totally ignored his indication and continued
to scan the crowd. With an air of elegant distraction she began to quiz Tracy
on passing couples.

“Who’s the gal with your Aunt Fforyding’s boy/”

“Miss Westleid, Aunt.”

“And that one over there, isn’t that Ponsonby’s boy and his
fiancée?”

“And well you know it, Aunt,” Tracy said, wondering what his
aunt was driving at.

“And the little one there in the pink is Laverham’s
daughter, ain’t she? Who does she dance with?”

“Unworthy, Aunt Peg.” Tracy snorted. “You might have asked
straight out if Pendarly was here tonight. That is the villain, and an evil
sort he looks, doesn’t he?” Calendar sneered. “He seems to be pretty happy with
his
own
fiancée tonight.”

“I cannot understand a lively girl like Althea finding
anything to admire in a pretty, parsonical fellow like that, Tracy.”

“I think it may have been the attraction of being admired so
excessively, Aunt, coupled with the fact that the man is rather handsome. I
have nothing against him but that he made Althea very miserable for a while.
But you are not to stir up any trouble. I see the dance is ending, and I intend
to rescue my fiancée from any of Hartington’s gallantry, and, unless I mistake
my man, here is Courtney, and you are to be entertained by another of his
interminable stories about last year’s hunting.” He nodded to the advancing
gentleman, who had somehow contrived to get through the press with two full
glasses of punch. “One last thing, I beg you. Until I give you leave, don’t
disclose my engagement to anyone — Ally requested we keep it close for a time.
And especially,” he whispered wickedly, “don’t tell this loudmouthed
bag-pudding!” He turned and greeted Mr. Courtney cordially, leaving his aunt to
regain her countenance alone.

True enough, Mr. Courtney led Lady Boskingram to a chair,
found another for himself, and proceeded to regale her with a very long winded
tale of a hunting box, a left-handed gamekeeper, and his right-handed wife.
Lady Boskingram soon lost the trail of this confused narrative and amused
herself by watching her nephew and Althea from her vantage point. They were
engaged for the waltz, skimming through the crowd skillfully. A very handsome
couple, she decided with satisfaction: Althea in primrose muslin and champagne
lace, Tracy severe and elegant in a blue Bath coat and the required knee
breeches.

Georgiana Laverham and her partner swung past Lady
Boskingram and her swain, and the dowager turned a quick eye in that direction.
She looked with displeasure at Pendarly; handsome he certainly was, and with
some imagination the Countess could conceive of him carrying on a worshipful
enough adoration to sweep even a girl of sense such as Althea off her feet. As
for the rest, she pronounced him a fine, prim sort of fellow, and probably a
dead bore. In the long run Althea would have found out that they would never
suit, and Lady Boskingram was pleased to believe that Althea was genuinely
disaffected. As for the girl, she was presentable enough, if rather shy. That
was allowable in a girl just out, but this was Miss Laverham’s second Season,
and she should have outgrown it by now. Lady Boskingram discovered in herself a
lively desire to meet Miss Laverham. When the Princess Lieven drifted past in a
cloud of patchouli and a rustle of silk, the Dowager Countess reached out an imperious
hand to stop her. The Princess was not noted for her affability, but agreed
readily enough to send one of her court to seek out Miss Laverham and present
her to Lady Boskingram. When Miss Laverham appeared in the tow of a young man
in wasp-waisted coat and paralyzingly high collar points, Lady Boskingram
dismissed him and her own Mr. Courtney, who rose from his seat to do her
bidding with creaky good will.

The dowager patted the vacated chair beside her with a
smile, speaking kindly to the girl. “You must not look as if I shall eat you.
It is true that I am a dragon, and have a pint of the Princess’s blood to drink
at my breakfast every morning, but I do not harm little slips of things such as
you after dinner. And in front of this crowd, too. Think what a taking that
would make.”

Georgiana smiled a smile with much nervousness, much
shyness, and a spark of quick, intelligent amusement. Lady Boskingram rapidly
changed her notion of the girl.

“You are wondering, and rightly, why an old woman has called
you away from your dancing, when I should be at my gossiping and my cards. Do
not bother to deny it. I excuse myself by admitting flatly that I am the worst
busybody in all London, my dear, and sooner or later you would have met up with
me, so thank your lucky stars that you are about to have the interview over and
done. When I saw you dance, I knew at once that you must be related to Jessy
Spote; that’s Lady Jessamyn Spote to you, I suppose. She’d have been your
father’s second cousin.”

Georgiana was half at ease by the end of this curious
speech, and was able to answer composedly, “Yes, ma’am, I think I am connected
with Lady Spote. At least Mama has always spoken so.” It was just like that
Fulvia Laverham to drop the name of her husband’s connections to her own
advantage, Lady Boskingram thought wryly.

She continued to quiz Georgiana for ten minutes or so, until
Tracy appeared, his hands full of punch glasses. He bid Miss Laverham a polite
good evening and offered her some punch. She thanked him a little tremulously
and accepted the glass. She was not much interested in Lady Boskingram’s
prattle of old families, but liked the old woman herself.

“Miss Ervine has asked if I could permit her to pay you her
respects, ma’am,” Tracy said casually, trying assiduously not to observe Miss
Laverham’s reaction. “I told her she was foolish to stand upon ceremony with my
rapscallion aunt, and she was absolutely violent in your defense.”

Georgiana stirred uneasily and found her cold hand taken in
Lady Boskingram’s papery, strong one.

“Bring her straight away. I have never heard such fustian in
all my life.” The dowager clucked. “Hurry now. I can see Hartington is trying
to fix his interest.”

“No, Aunt, I should think that to be the least of her
trials.” Tracy smiled thoughtfully. He turned on his heel and faded into the
crowd again. Georgiana began to collect her wits, framing in her mind some
polite excuse to return to her mother. The hand on hers tightened.

“Don’t think it, my dear. Your Mama has no need of you.
Unless I miss my guess, she is happily engaged in losing her shift at silver
loo. You must meet Althea Ervine sometime if you are to go about in town, and
it might as well be under my wing. I think you might even like her, although
perhaps she is just a trifle madcap for your disposition. A heroine, in fact. I
see they come now. Quick, smile and look as though you enjoyed this — don’t be
so chicken-hearted. She don’t want your parson anyway.”

Georgiana was confounded by this rapid, whispered speech:
was it possible that Althea had not, as her mother had intimated, shamelessly
enticed Edward from her? There were Althea and Sir Tracy before them: Tracy
rather bemused at the situation, Althea flushed and merry from heat and
dancing. The look of unholy appreciation in Lady Boskingram’s eyes was, to
Georgiana’s unpracticed sensibility, altogether indescribable.

“Good evening, child,” the dowager purred, offering her
cheek for Althea’s salute. “I see you enjoy yourself as much as one can in this
cesspool of virtue that Almack’s is become — well, at least to appearances. One
can hardly keep from being bored to tears. It is different, of course, when one
is your age and has the world at her feet.”

Althea cast a mischievous glance at her feet and assumed the
demure mien of a governess as she assured the dowager that she saw no
unfortunate males languishing there. “And you have the unkindness to accuse
this lady and myself of being so shabby genteel as to enjoy ourselves, ma’am.”
Her look invited Georgiana to take up the teasing. Georgiana stirred fretfully
in her chair, unused to this sort of jocularity before her elders.