Lady John (12 page)

After supper the dancing recommenced, and Olivia was passed
from one partner to the next to the next. In a calm moment of intermission she
murmured to her mother and the Duchess, both of whom had been observing the
party with satisfaction from a point removed from the worst of the crush, that
it was a very great deal of work being a guest of honor.

“You had best get used to being a Belle, Livvy dear,” the
Duchess advised complacently. “Sally Jersey and Emily Cowper told me that they
expect you and Bette to be Gazetted Beauties of the Season—you not least
because you are a little older and can assume a pretty sort of dignity when you
choose, although I will grant that is not so often! Even Mrs. Drummond-Burrell—”

“I know, ma’am. Kit told me. But I begin to think there is a
difference in age between Bette and myself that is quite startling! She expects
to dance through to breakfast and relishes the thought. I am engaged to dance
till breakfast and I am beginning to long for an hour of solitude!”

“Child, I thought better of you. Now, have you found anyone
that you
like?”

Deliberately oblique, Olivia replied that she had met a
great many people whom she liked very well.

“Olivia Charlotte Maria Martingale,” Mrs. Martingale
scolded. “You know exactly what it is her Grace and I are asking. Don’t try to
fob us off with obfuscations and stories.”

“Mamma, would I—well, yes, I suppose I would. To be honest,
ma’am, I have met a great many people I
could
like
very well, but—” a thought occurred to her. “Mamma, how came Mr. Haikestill to
be here this evening?”

“O, dear.” Mrs. Martingale blushed and launched upon an
explanation of his call at Queen Anne’s Street the week before; her incoherent
story was made more so by the fact that Tylmath, earlier in the evening, had
plied her with several cups of champagne. The Duchess watched mother and
daughter with great interest, and when Mrs. Martingale was finished speaking,
announced that she wished to meet this Haikestill person.

“I assure you, ma’am, you may
have
him,” Olivia offered succinctly. The subject was, for the moment,
dropped.

By and by Tylmath came up to claim Mrs. Martingale for a
quadrille which she had foolishly promised him whilst under the influence of
his champagne.

“At this rate, ma’am, you may have two daughters-at-law who
are Martingales,” Olivia commented. The Duchess would only murmur that for dear
Mrs. Martingale’s sake she hoped nothing of the sort would happen.

“What we need,” she added, “is another female for Julian to
attach himself to. I wish I knew of one.”

“So does Mamma.” Olivia stifled a yawn. “Gracious, I hope we
have no engagements for tomorrow night, ma’am; I could sleep two days complete.”

“I don’t recall anything before Thursday; well, there is
Almacks on Wednesday night, but we needn’t go if you dislike it. Thursday
evening is Whelke’s card party, which we are all promised for, and—drat. Speak
of the Devil, there she is.”

Olivia raised her head to see a plump and hideously dressed
matron bearing smilingly down upon them.

“My dearest Judith,” she began. “I cannot say how much I
have enjoyed this party. Such a shame my dearest Jane could not be here, but
then, she wished to stay in this evening. Was somewhat indisposed. And I
confess it is most important that she be in
glowing
health on Thursday evening, for I hope to make an interesting
announcement at our party. You will be there, won’t you?” She peered down at
the Duchess and her companion, making her short neck treble itself
unattractively. The Duchess assured her that she and her party would attend.

“I
so
look forward to
seeing you. Dear Jane! So fortunate for her!” Smiling what she imagined to be a
maternal smile Lady Whelke went off in search of other assurances for her
party.

“Can it be that Claire Whelke has finally betrothed Jane to
someone?” the Duchess wondered aloud. “Well, we shall all be hanging in
suspense until Thursday, shan’t we?” she drawled.

Olivia, then claimed by a partner, was unable to comment,
and the Duchess was left alone to reflect on the success of her party and to
wonder who, of all the gentlemen attending, might wind up as husband to her
pretty daughter-at-law. It would have piqued her extremely to know that Olivia,
completely honest when she indicated that she had met none at the party whom
she would consider as a husband, returned to her mother’s house that morning
and went immediately to bed to dream of Menwin.

Lady Whelke’s card party proved to be rather a larger
affaire than Olivia had expected, and the Duchess was not able to attend it. At
the last moment she had been taken by one of her lungish complaints, a deep
growling cough which shook her prodigious body unpleasantly and gave her very
little rest; the doctor, when called, assured Lady Susannah and Lady John that
a few days rest and the medication he would leave would see the Duchess well
shortly. In the meantime all festivities were to be curtailed.

On hearing the news, Lady Bette proclaimed herself just as
happy to stay at home; she disliked Lady Whelke and wanted to spend an evening without
having to make conversation with idiot boys, she said. The Duchess, listening
to her child with maternal tolerance, said
that
was
all very well, but someone would have to attend the card party, as she had
given her word to go. In the end it was determined that Lady Susannah and
Olivia were perfectly well able to chaperone each other, and would go
themselves.

“What will you wear?” the
Duchess asked between coughs.

“Blue, Mamma, trimmed in blond. You know the gown I mean.
And will you please convince Livvy that she needn’t wear a
cap
to a card party? Not but what your caps are
very fetching, Sister, but no one will believe that you are an ancient.”

“Not an
ancient
, Sue,
but I’m not a blushing girl either. But if you think I needn’t wear a cap, I
shall not. I certainly don’t wish to appear peculiar.”

“On the theory that one must assume a virtue when one has it
not?” the Duchess wheezed.

“Ma’am?”

“My dear child, as you are continually thwarting my plans to
present you with a new husband, I can only presume that you are peculiar in the
extreme.” Her Grace folded her hands at her capacious breast and fixed her
daughter-at-law with a determined look. “Olivia, I was delighted when I met you
and welcomed you into this family, but I shall be equally delighted when I see
you mistress of your own establishment again.”

“But I am not certain I wish to marry again, ma’am.”

“Fiddle.” With a stroke of her hand the Duchess swept away
Olivia’s protest and knocked her daughter’s collar askew. “Beg your pardon,
Sue. No, Livvy, what would you do the rest of your life? I suspect John was not
the best of husbands—” she raised a hand, mindful of Susannah’s clothing, to
stem protests. “I know my own son. But there are other and better men, and
there is no better situation for a woman than marriage—not in England, at any
rate, and not in 1817.”

“But Mamma—”

“Child, we shall find you a man who will take your mother
with you, if you wish it. You might be surprised: I misdoubt that your mamma
would crumple without you there to guide her. In any case, you have not yet
told me: what will you wear?”

Olivia gave up the battle. “A new gown: fern-green muslin
with a Circassian bodice and black lace over all.”

“Handsome. Well, girls, since I cannot leave my bed I shall
rely upon you to pick up the choicest gossip for me. Find out what this important
announcement of Claire Whelke’s is. And think of me here, neglected and alone—”

“Think rather of her giving the servants the very Devil of a
time—don’t raise your shocked eyebrow at me, Mamma—and making poor Glessock run
up and down the back stairs at least six times for hot water and comfits, and
reading subscription library novels. And very probably eating chocolates, if
she can find them.” Lady Susannah eyed her mother satirically. “You cannot hope
to evoke pity in me, Mamma. I know you far too well.”

“The least you could do is keep quiet and let me work upon Livvy’s
sensibilities, you unnatural child.” The Duchess feigned a menacing grimace
which resolved itself into a paroxysm of coughing. “All right, fetch Glessock
to me and be gone, both of you. And come back with
stories
for me!” Still coughing, the Duchess
mimed a kiss at each woman, and they took their leave.

It was arranged that Lady Susannah would fetch Olivia from
Queen Anne’s Street and they would go from there to Whelke House in Hill
Street. Olivia was returned to her house in the Duchess’s landaulet and
immediately went up to spend the rest of the afternoon with her mother.
Puddlesey was informed that neither Mrs. Martingale nor her daughter were at
home to visitors, and Olivia had reason to thank herself for quick thinking
when, passing through the hallway on her way to dress for the evening, she was
presented with a number of visiting cards, including that of Quincy Haikestill.
He had called three times since the ball; the man, Olivia reflected grimly,
seemed impervious to hints or outright statements, and showed no sign of being
less infatuated with her now than he had been in Brussels.

“I take it you do not mean to have him, dearest?” Mrs.
Martingale asked as they sat to dinner.

“Have
him! Mamma, if you
could suggest some way I might be rid of his attentions I would be in your debt
forever.”

“My dear, it is not as though he is insulting you by his interest,”
Mrs. Martingale reminded serenely. “He is not the man I should wish for you,
but—”

“I cannot like him. I realize he means well, but he is a
prosy bore. Mamma, why is it that everyone is trying to marry me to someone or
another? Lady Sue and her mother don’t even seem to care who, so long as I am
set up in style with my own establishment. Am I such a burden to my friends? I’ve
had my own establishment, and I don’t need another at the cost of a marriage I
do not want.”

“Livvy, were you so unhappy with Poor John?” Mrs. Martingale
looked up from a plate of ratafia creams; her eyes were aswim with tears and
her pretty face was a mask of woe. “My dear, please don’t marry anyone you
cannot like.”

“I’ve no intention to do, Mamma. No, don’t look so, goose. I
was happy enough with John in my way. But if I marry again I should like it to
be for better reasons than my marriage with John.” She smiled firmly at her
mother. “It’s no tragedy if I don’t marry after my first Season, is it? We are
comfortable enough, and look at all the friends we have made since we’ve been
here! Our life is not bad at all.”

“O no, Livvy.” Mrs. Martingale sniffled.

“Well then, look, there is a cream you have overlooked
entirely.” Olivia passed the plate of sweets back to her mother and the
troublesome subjects of marriage and Quincy Haikestill were forgotten.

But, Olivia mused in the carriage to Whelke House as she sat
silent at Lady Susannah’s side, her future seemed to be of increasing
importance to a number of people. And the one person to whom she might once have
wished it to matter plainly disliked her. Of course, she disliked Matthew Polry
as much as he did her, she assured herself. Lord Menwin had become insupportably
condescending and unpleasant since he had acquired the title, and she was not
going to pander to his vanity. Setting a hand to a topaz butterfly which
nestled in her bright hair, Olivia assured herself that
If Only
was a useless thing to worry over. She
resolved to enjoy the card party and enjoy herself. If only Lady Susannah could
be persuaded to abstain from her matchmaking!

That proved easier to manage than Olivia expected. Lady
Whelke had gathered upward of a hundred people into the public rooms at Whelke
House; some in the library played at
vingt-et-un;
at
least a dozen tables were formed in the saloon for whist; and in the drawing
room people were playing at silver-loo for paper stakes. There were also small
withdrawing rooms, opening off the hall, wherein guests were talking, footmen
were serving refreshments, and now and then one could see a tête-a-tête
occurring between a lady and gentleman. Lady Susannah, with a murmur of
apology, immediately took herself off to the saloon, her eyes sparkling. “I did
not mention, did I love? Aside from curiosity, gambling is my worst vice. Poor
Reeve! I hope I do not break him tonight.”

Smiling after Susannah, Olivia realized that she was truly
on her own in the crowd. She wandered for a while watching the players,
listening to cries of “loo” and “trick.” She had not seen Lady Whelke’s
treble-chinned face, and there were few people she immediately recognized, but
she was comfortable watching her fellow creatures. By and by a young man
approached her and asked leave to find her a chair and procure a cup of orgeat.
He was so bumbling-earnest and transparent in his admiration of her beauty that
Olivia forgot any shyness, and sat talking with him easily for a time. The fact
that her swain was probably a good year or more older than she did not save
Olivia from feeling somewhat elderly and vastly experienced in his company.
When at last he was summoned by a small, delicate-looking woman with an
imperious eye whom Olivia suspected was his mother, she smiled, watched him go,
and forgot about him immediately. She sat contentedly with her empty cup in her
hand.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady John?”

The one voice in all of London which both delighted and
infuriated her broke into Olivia’s musings.

“Yes, thank you, my lord,” she replied evenly. “How do you
do?” And why are you speaking to me now? she wondered.

“Oh, well enough.” In fact, he looked excessively
uncomfortable. “I can see that your young admirer has abandoned you for his
mamma. May I refill your cup for you?”