Birds of a Feather (6 page)

“Lady Daphne is an outrageous flirt,” declared a stout matron, setting her turban’s feathers aflutter as she shook her head.

“Only with Henley.” Lord Sedgewick sighed affectedly. “Young love. They were quite pink-cheeked after a turn in the garden just now.”

Joanna glanced at the couple in question. Though not partnering each other, they had contrived to be in the same set. Their scorching glances heated the ballroom and recalled the feel of Lord Sedgewick’s body pressed firmly against her own.

“You must agree that Lutterworth’s pique was warranted.” Lord Sedgewick’s voice again cut through the music – or did everyone pause when he opened his mouth, creating a pocket of silence?

When music again drowned out his voice, Lady Debenham picked up the thread.

“Once he accepted Brumford, Lutterworth should never have brought his daughter to town. No girl in her right mind would prefer so dour a man to a fashionable dandy. Now he’s had to forbid Lastmark’s calls and castigate him for his public attentions.”

Joanna ignored her. The tale had been on every tongue since she’d arrived in London. Lord Sedgewick’s repetition confirmed that he was merely another shallow Society creature. How could he tolerate discussing the same things month after month, for years on end? Had he no substance at all? London gossip already bored her to tears, for conversation at the vicarage had always been lively.

Yet she should not be surprised. Society itself was shallow, so it would naturally elevate a shallow men to its apex. And her personal preferences didn’t count, for she would never belong here. Harriet’s ignorance fit this world better than her own education.

She tried to turn her thoughts to duty, but her eyes continued to stray toward Lord Sedgewick. His quizzing glass remained in constant use, punctuating his words, magnifying any disapproval, judging each person who joined the crowd around him. He seemed so aware of everyone in the ballroom that she was amazed he had not yet pounced on her to demand that she leave. The fact that she remained invisible to him proved she was beyond even the fringes of Society.

Harriet’s return interrupted her reflections. “This is the best ball yet!” she exclaimed the moment Almont moved on.

“Control yourself,” Joanna reminded her. “Displaying emotion is uncouth.”

“I know, but I cannot help it. Lord Almont paid me the most delicious compliments. My hair is spun from pure gold. My eyes rival the crown jewels’ largest sapphires. I have the grace of a swan and the voice of an angel.”

“I suspect he flatters all the ladies.”

“You mean he lied?” Her face twisted into a pout.

“No. You are very pretty, as you well know. And your voice is pure and sweet. But his mention of it means nothing. He heaped great praise on Miss Washburn’s watercolors at last night’s rout and complimented Lady Edith’s horsemanship the day before.” In recalling those incidents, her hope that he might offer for Harriet faded. The man was an incorrigible flirt. Only now did she realize that these memories must have underlain her impression of insincerity, vindicating her intuition.

“So I should enjoy his attentions but not take him seriously?”

Joanna nodded.

“What fun! I wonder if Lord Kensington will be as nice. Or Mr. Craven. He was quite sweet when we arrived. As was Mr. Singleton, though his story about his cousin’s dog was too, too funny. He made me laugh out loud, and after you warned me not to. But he treats me like a diamond. Do you suppose all the gentlemen will do so?”

“I’m sure they will.”

Lady Wicksfield joined them, introducing the Marchioness of Glendale and her son Reginald, Lord Ellisham. Ellisham seemed ready to bolt. Harriet would receive no compliments from this one, serious or otherwise. He had cringed upon hearing her giddy chatter as they approached. Yet his mother’s eyes had actually warmed at Harriet’s incautious words.

“Such a lovely, unspoiled child,” said Lady Glendale to Lady Wicksfield.

“Yet versed in all the graces. You should hear her sing – angelic, the gentlemen always say. She brought tears to Almont’s eyes only yesterday.”

“Like my cousin, Julia, don’t you think, Reginald?”

“Perhaps.” Ellisham’s wooden voice stripped all gaiety from the conversation, but Joanna could not repine. Lady Wicksfield’s lie had her gritting her teeth. No one in London had heard Harriet sing.

Ellisham stepped away.

“Reginald!” hissed Lady Glendale under her breath.

He halted. “Have you a set free, Lady Harriet?” he asked stiffly, barely suppressing his irritation.

“Alas, her card is full,” Joanna replied before Lady Wicksfield could commit the solecism of giving him a set already promised to another. He must be wealthy as well as heir to a marquessate. Lady Wicksfield glared even as relief flashed in Ellisham’s eyes.

“Perhaps another time,” he said.

Lady Glendale and Lady Wicksfield exchanged glances, then backed off to talk privately.

“That would be lovely.” Harriet flashed a brilliant smile.

“Until then.”

“Which will be when pigs take to the skies and hell has frozen over,” Joanna murmured as Harriet turned to greet Lord Hartford.

Ellisham’s eyes flew to Joanna’s face, halting his escape. She reddened. A freak pause as everyone inhaled at once had allowed her words to carry.

“How prescient.” His face broke into a grin. Within moments they were both laughing.

“Forgive me,” she begged once she caught her breath. “That was intolerably rude.”

“But true. How did you know?”

“Your eyes tell me that you faced a choice between escorting your mother to this ball and being drawn and quartered. I expect the decision proved difficult.”

“That sums it up quite nicely. I have little use for this sort of thing.” He raised his brows. “I fear I did not catch your name.”

“Not surprising, since no one gave it. Miss Joanna Patterson, companion and chaperon to Lady Harriet – which makes my lapse of manners even worse, for one of my duties is to correct her behavior.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not really, but she is very young – barely seventeen – so she does not always think before speaking.”

“And is somewhat hen-witted, I expect. Don’t lie,” he added over her protest. “Mother would not have introduced her otherwise.”

Which explained her reaction to Harriet’s prattle. Joanna nodded. “But she is very sweet, and quite sensible about the things she knows. So far she is unfamiliar with London.”

“Then why bring her out so young?”

“I did not question Lord Wicksfield when he hired me,” she said primly.

“Of course. Mother cannot have thought I might be interested in so young a chit. I am twice her age.” He sighed.

“Perhaps she introduced you at the request of Lady Wicksfield.”

“No. It was the other way round. Girls are not the only ones afflicted with matchmaking mothers. She has been pressing me for years. Every Season is worse than the last.”

“Which explains why you would rather not have come this evening.”

“Exactly. I hate being paraded about like a prime stallion.”

“Why? It is little different than what girls face. Most are offered up as comely brood-mares. Perhaps we should hold the Season in Tattersall’s auction ring and be done with it.”

“I do believe I am shocked!” Yet his eyes twinkled with merriment. “But also intrigued. You are a most original lady.”

“Hardly. I have merely misplaced the curb that should be controlling my tongue. If I wish to retain my position, I had best recover it quickly.”

Mr. Singleton escorted Harriet out for a quadrille. Hartford left, taking the three young men he had introduced with him. Joanna swallowed a surge of guilt. She would have to quiz him about his latest protégés.

“Do you enjoy life as a companion?” asked Lord Ellisham, relaxing into a more natural stance.

“Very much, though I doubt most positions would prove this congenial. Since I must accompany Harriet, I get to attend all manner of entertainments, and have even received permission to enter the sacred halls of Almack’s tomorrow. The experience will stand me in good stead in the future.”

“And why is that?”

“Once Harriet has no further need of me, I will take up a post as governess to Sir Brandon Paxton’s daughters – Lord Wicksfield convinced him to hold it for me. Preparing girls for a Season will be easier now that I have experienced one for myself.”

“Is that truly the life you want?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Teaching young ladies is an interesting challenge that will put my education to good use,” she said, skirting the question. “But tell me something of yourself, my lord. Why is your mother pressing so hard?”

“I would think that was obvious. I am heir to the marquessate. She started parading chits before me ten years ago.”

“Are you the stubborn sort who opposes all coercion?”

“Not really, though her pressure is annoying enough to make anyone balk. But she refuses to accept that some men are not meant for marriage. I should make an abominable husband, so why should I inflict myself on some poor, unwitting girl? My brother will see after the succession, so she has no need for hysteria.”

“I see. You are certainly old enough to know your own mind and heart. My condolences on having to fend off her schemes. Have you considered leaving town during the Season?”

He laughed. “Yes. I’ve also considered making a Grand Tour now that the Continent is finally at peace. I’ve always wanted to visit Paris and Italy.”

They fell into a discussion of Italian art and architecture, then drifted into talk of more esoteric places. Not until the music stopped did Joanna realize how long they had spoken.

“You had best move on,” she said, sighing now that the interlude was over. “You don’t want to appear enamored of a mere companion.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if it were true. This has been a most enjoyable conversation. And if I stay another minute, I can speak with Lady Harriet, thus leaving the impression that I have awaited her. It can only help her reputation.”

“Are you sure you wish to risk your own?”

But Harriet was already greeting him. He paid her a light compliment, bent briefly over her hand, then was gone.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Lord Sedgewick had left while she talked with Ellisham. Harriet’s giddy excitement increased until Joanna had to remove her from the ballroom.

“Control yourself,” she snapped when they had reached the relative safety of an empty antechamber. “Do you wish to give people a disgust of you? How could you embrace a gentleman in the middle of the ballroom?”

“B-but I was laughing so hard I could hardly stand. Should I have collapsed to the floor?”

“Of course not, Harriet.” She paused to soften her tone. “You must master your emotions. Falling into uncontrolled mirth can destroy you. Yes, Mr. Craven can be exceedingly droll. But Society reveres elegance and sangfroid. Anything approaching hysteria is gauche and low-class. You must cultivate moderation.”

“I cannot even laugh?”

“Moderation, Harriet. A smile. A polite titter. These are acceptable. Mr. Craven knows that. It was naughty of him to goad you so far, but you have to accept responsibility for yourself. Excess sensibility will do you no good at all. You know what is at stake this Season. Look closely at the other girls. They do not exhibit vulgar emotions no matter what happens.” Harriet was white-faced, her distress over the set-down raising a memory of the Silvertons. Joanna stifled a surge of guilt. At least no one else would witness this scold, and the reminder was necessary.

“Forgive me, Joanna,” begged Harriet, sniffing. “But why must I hide so natural an activity as laughing?”

“Because Society expects it. I do not make the rules. I merely teach them. If you wish to find a husband, then you must mind your manners.” Poor Harriet. She had very little time to attach anyone, let alone the high-placed lord her father expected. “There is nothing wrong with laughter in private. Or tears. Or even anger. But you cannot afford to display such emotions in public.”

“I will try harder.”

And she had. The rest of the evening had passed in reasonable comfort. Lady Wicksfield was ecstatic when they returned home.

“You have done well,” she said, following Harriet into the girl’s bedchamber. “Lord Almont is increasingly attentive. But Ellisham is an even bigger catch. If only you had danced with him.”

Joanna stared Harriet into silence before facing Lady Wicksfield. “It would have damaged her reputation beyond repair if she had given him a set promised to another – no matter how insignificant the original gentleman is.”

“Yes, well…” She huffed for a moment, then set her irritation aside. “We will hold a set for him at Almack’s tomorrow. A waltz would be perfect. No one will expect you to fill those slots, but Ellisham’s credit is high enough that the patronesses will certainly present him as a suitable partner.”

“You forget Harriet’s age, my lady. The patronesses will never grant her permission on her first visit. Nor is Ellisham likely to choose a waltz as his first set with anyone. It would raise speculation he would not approve.”

“Then we will save him a quadrille,” said Lady Wicksfield firmly. “You will see to it, Miss Patterson.”

Joanna sighed, but she had to warn them to look elsewhere. “Do not expect too much from this contact. I spoke with Lord Ellisham while Harriet was dancing, and I doubt he is interested in marriage.”

“No gentleman ever is.” Lady Wicksfield glared. “But he has no choice. He has a duty to secure the succession. His mother will see that he performs it. We must make sure that he chooses Harriet.”

Harriet frowned. “But—”

“Go to sleep, dear,” Lady Wicksfield interrupted her. “It is early days yet.”

Joanna was willing to drop the subject. Ellisham was capable of handling his own affairs. And since she doubted that he would dance attendance on Harriet, she had nothing to worry about.

But Lady Wicksfield waved Joanna into her sitting room, determined to make her point. “You will see that Harriet attaches Ellisham,” she ordered. “His title and wealth will save us from ruin.”

“We have a better chance of attaching Almont,” she countered stonily. “He is actively seeking a wife and shows an increasing partiality for Harriet. Whatever Lady Glendale’s vows, Ellisham is opposed to marriage. Nor would he suit Harriet, being too old and too impatient to deal with her megrims.”