Second Season (4 page)

“I don’t! Why should I? I have my heir, I’ve reliable stewards with you to oversee them, and Uncle Biddulph to supervise my Funds. I don’t say I wouldn’t like to spend rather more time in England now. Between Boney and this new kick-up in America, travel grows hazardous. I’d as soon stay here until all’s settled. I had it in mind to remain a year, but not if I’m to be chivvied,” Julian said, restlessly, “and so I told my mother. I don’t know what bee she’s got that causes this sudden determination to see me leg-shackled again. She will have it that the care of my twins is too great for her advanced age, and she’s not long for this world Did you ever hear the like?”

Arthur suppressed a smile. “What did you say?”

“That Giles will go to Eton in winter term. Your mother has found a suitable governess for Lucinda. They’ll either stay at Calydon, or remove to Bascombe if mother wishes to occupy her own house in Bath.”

“And yourself?”

“Damned if I know,” Julian scowled. “I flung out of the place in a temper, meaning to take the first ship leaving to anywhere, but it won’t do. I came home to settle the children’s future. Since I’m here, I should make a tour. I’m promised to Beaufort for a week, I’ll go on to Melton, renew my acquaintance. After that it depends on the weather. If propitious, I’ll cross to Keighly, although Ireland depresses me. Otherwise, a week or two at Rickaby—the same at Bascombe, and as much of London as I’m allowed to enjoy. At least they don’t permit women in the clubs!” The duke tossed off his wine at a gulp. “Sorry, Arthur—I’m blue-devilled tonight. Yes, Robsey?” as the butler entered with a small salver.

“A note for your Grace.”

“Already?” Julian raised his eyebrows sarcastically, but smoothed when he’d read the sheet. “Do we know any Stanwoods?” he tossed it to his cousin.

“I think we do,” Arthur said cautiously. “More mother’s generation than ours, although I fancy there was a Miss Stanwood last year. What is this apology?”

“There is still a Miss Stanwood, with a devilish sharp tongue!” Julian remarked, refilling his wine glass. “Oh, I was in a temper ... letting the horses out, y’know. I came around a curve—there’s the mail coach coming at me and this hellish old traveling chariot blocking my road. I could have hauled in, I think but I chose to go past and grazed the chariot wheels. No harm done, just a bit of jolting, so I went on to draw up in Melsham ... and damned if two girls didn’t invade my parlor! I was in no mood for it, I can tell you.

“To say the truth,” Julian smiled the sudden impish grin that captivated his intimates, “I thought it was a put-on: two females who’d seen the carriage crest, y’know, and were casting themselves innocently in my way. You’ve no idea what they’ll do to catch my eye! Anyway, I ordered them out, and one of ’em gave me a roundabout—called me a whipster who’d upset her sister, and by God, it was true—not that I knew it then, but when she moved aside and the other one rose, she was a sick little schoolgirl. I felt cheap as a clipped farthing.

“And to make all worse, Stepan gives me the stable gossip. It’s a Lady Eleanor Stanwood and her daughters. The coach was slowed because the young’un felt queasy. She cast up her accounts at the wheel graze, and to round it off, they’re bound for Park Street. Damned if I ever heard their name, but Park Street—you know they’re part of the
ton.
So I wrote a civil apology for the inconvenience, and here is a civil acknowledgement. That’s all.”

“What a dull little story,” Lord Arthur remarked, getting to his feet. “I’m for White’s and a few hands of piquet. Come with me, Julian, and chase the blue-devils?”

“You chase ’em better than piquet,” the duke rose with a smile, “but I’ll go along to see who’s in town...”

His Grace remained a week in Grosvenor Square, by which time he had received twenty-seven carefully-casual invitations from such company as was to be found in the unfashionable months, bidding him to “a small informal evening,” or a “few friends for dinner.” Among them all one name was missing: Lady Stanwood. Julian was obscurely pleased by this. He might have been even more pleased had he known that the Stanwood ladies had dismissed him from their minds.

They were, in fact, completely concentrated on clothes. Daily the coach took them to Bond Street where they pored over the latest fashion plates and fabrics at Madame Elvire’s ... or ordered slippers from Dashwood, purchased gloves, embroidered silk stockings, knots of ribbon or feathers for the hair, gauze scarves and reticules, and bonnets from Fanchette. It all took an immense deal of time, and Lady Stanwood thanked heaven she had arrived early enough to be certain all would be completed in time. In the few hours left of each day, Emily was informally introduced to tea parties and instructed in the finer points of social behavior—not that it was necessary.

Emily took to London like a flea to a dog’s back, although Lady Stanwood reproved Sharlie for the simile. “I wish you would come out of the stables!” But Charlotte was irrepressible, and her mother saw—with astonishment—that Lord Stanwood had been right: with Emily beside her, Charlotte was her normal amusing self, unafraid to join a conversation or offer a quick comment. If it passed over the heads of the party, Emily’s appreciative laughter advised them that Charlotte had been
comic,
and caused a ripple of titters. They made, in fact, an excellent team, and as the weeks passed, Lady Stanwood felt more and more confident of success for both her daughters when at last the Season could fairly be said to have begun.

There were few beaux in town. The
haut ton
was chasing foxes and hinds in Leicestershire; the middle
ton
was occupied in similar sports in lesser counties, and a handful of all-sorts was on repairing leases awaiting next quarter’s allowance. The non-sportsmen mincing along St. James Street from club to club were all that London had to offer, but it was not long before they had seen Emily at this or that “informal evening.” Long before the Corinthians, the Tulips, the Pinks of the
Ton
and Tops of the Trees were-trickling back to town, Emily Stanwood was hailed as The Incomparable of Incomparables.
With her appearance at Lady Sefton’s ball, Emily was established. Clad with the utmost simplicity in pure white satin with an overdress of palest pink gauze fastened with pearl clasps and a single strand of pearls about her lovely throat ... with her thick gold curls dressed into a style invented for the occasion by an enraptured hairdresser whose English deserted him from emotion at such luxuriance to play with ... a beaded reticule and lace fan dangling from her wrist, and carrying a tiny nosegay of sweetheart roses, Miss Emily Stanwood’s blue eyes glowed, her pink lips gently parted in excitement, she looked upon the world with delight as she curtseyed gracefully to her hostess.

“Lud, Nelly, where got you this one?” Maria Sefton demanded robustly. “Your hair was never so gold, Robert’s eyes were never so blue. Well, I can see at a glance that this Season may hold a bit of excitement!”

Shepherding her daughters into the ballroom, Lady Stanwood was fully confirmed in her lord’s opinion. Gentlemen from every part of the room unobtrusively hastened forward for presentation—but those who could not get a dance with Emily, turned politely to Charlotte. Emily was subtly assisting: Charlotte must be in her set for a gavotte, Charlotte must be at her table for supper, Charlotte must be included in any engagement to drive or stroll in the park, but by evening’s end, Lady Stanwood observed signs of quickening interest for the older daughter alone.

Within twenty-four hours, Lady Stanwood found herself in the enjoyable position of being bitterly envied by at least ten other mothers. Several
wondered
(very delicately) that she would present two daughters in one Season. Several more were
amazed
at how Charlotte “has come on! Dear Lady Stanwood, when one thinks of last year—so shy, poor child, with never a word to say for herself.”

“She was sickening for the mumps,” Lady Stanwood riposted suavely. “
Now
you are seeing Charlotte for the first time, and as for presenting two at once, there is sometimes strength in numbers, is there not?” But she would have been less than human not to savor a Triumph, and even more than Sharlie, she was anticipating the opening of Almack’s. In a burst of generosity, she wrote a long description of success to Lord Stanwood, ascribing all to
his
wisdom in bidding her take Emily to reinforce Charlotte, “for all goes on as you thought, my love! I could wish you might be with us for the first Assembly, to observe for yourself. Pray send me word if we may expect you.”

“Damne, if I won’t!” said his lordship, much touched by his wife’s praise and quite ready to believe all was entirely his idea.

Accordingly, when the hunt party dispersed from Blandford Park, Lord Stanwood stopped at the Hall long enough to supervise the return of his hunters, confer with his bailiff, and dispatch riding horses to London before poling up his curricle. If the truth be known, just as Lady Stanwood secretly preferred Charlotte, her husband’s partiality was Emily: she hadn’t any more brains than he. Lord Stanwood was a fond father; he was proud and satisfied with his heir, he appreciated Sharlie and depended upon her for help with the estate, but Emily of the golden curls and blue eyes was his favorite. It occurred to him as enjoyable to go early to London in order to witness her capture of Society, and be on hand for the numerous offers he was sure to receive.

Meanwhile, Charlotte had her own ideas. These were based on the information Lady Stanwood gained from Flora, Lady Inverclyde. “Imbrie?” said that lady, raising her eyebrows. “Lord, is he in England? Oh, quite unexceptionable, Nelly—and I wish I may live to see
the woman who’ll catch him in parson’s mouse-trap! No, no, ’twas Fanscot was sold up. Tolliver killed his man and fled the country. Marley married one of the Bettison girls and retired into Norfolk. Imbrie’s
entirely
different.”

Eyes downcast, Charlotte listened carefully to the old lady’s pungent sketch. “Rich as Croesus, but not one of your rackety gamesters—always ready to go, but keeps himself in hand. He married Isabella Darlington, she died in childbirth—none of the Darlingtons ever had any stamina,” Lady Inverclyde sniffed contemptuously. “It must be ten or twelve years past. He’s been traveling the world ever since ... comes home occasionally, appears at a few Assemblies and balls, and off he goes again. The
on dit
is that his heart’s buried with Isabella, but I don’t credit it. In
my
opinion she cured him of marriage: one of your wispy die-away misses with a simper. Julian’s an engaging scamp who can charm a bird from the tree if he wants, but he needs a woman of wit and brains. Well, well, so he’s back? I must ask him to dinner, he’ll come to me,” Lady Inverclyde chuckled maliciously. “
I
don’t have any marriageable daughters!”

In succeeding weeks, Sharlie forgot the duke in the press of engagements, the excitement of Emily’s success. There was papa to anticipate, the boxes arriving daily from the modistes, the fun of receiving a few bouquets for herself (even if only sent by beaux anxious to please Emily), the silly girl-gossip over breakfast trays. It was all delightful. Park Street hummed with harmony, from Lady Stanwood holding her head high for her charming daughters, down to the staff who were quite aware that
their
young ladies were taking the town by storm.

It was Sharlie who insisted on a daily walk. “The
time must be found for a half hour in the park,” she decreed. “Emily and I are accustomed to outdoor exercise at Stanwood. I am sure it will not be good for our health if it is omitted. When—if—papa sends our horses, we may make arrangements to ride, but for the present we should take a walk, or Emily may grow city-pale. She must be in looks for the Assembly!”

“You speak as though I were a horse being brought to block,” Emily protested.

“No, no, my love,” Lady Stanwood interposed swiftly, “but this will be your
official
presentation to Society. Naturally, you must look your best, and Sharlie as well. By all means, a daily walk.”

Thus, each afternoon the sisters donned walking boots and heavy coats, proceeded up to Brook Street, across Park Lane to the park and thence down to Hyde Park Corner, where they turned and came home. Three days before the Assembly, they were approaching the turn when a man strode toward them from Knightsbridge. Charlotte’s country-keen eyes recognized him in no more than a few paces: the Duke of Imbrie. A few paces more, and as he faced the girls, his expression grew uncertain. He made a half-gesture to remove his hat, and checked. “I beg your pardon—I thought that I knew you...”

“No, your Grace,” Charlotte said regretfully. “Mama says that a near accident on the turnpike does
not
constitute an introduction.”

The duke recoiled slightly, narrowing his eyes to study the pair, and suddenly the charming smile spread over his face. “Miss Stanwood, is it not? But I have lately been hunting with your father—I’m Imbrie, you know—and I feel sure he will not object to my escorting you wherever you and your little sister are bound.”

“We are merely going home. Emily and I take a walk every day.”

“Half an hour,” Emily confided softly. “Sharlie thinks we should exercise, and it is exactly fifteen minutes from here to Park Street, so that once down and back is thirty minutes, which is half an hour, is it not?”