Sorcery & Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (2 page)

Do you think a wizard’s installation would be a ladylike thing to attend? We passed the Royal College on the way to the Museum and I’m sure I could find my way.

Do tell me all about the dance and mention Oliver a little so Georgina doesn’t sigh herself away entirely.

Love,

Kate

14 April 1817

Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

Your letter arrived this morning, and I refuse to believe it. London cannot possibly be as dreary as you make it seem! I am quite persuaded that you are roasting me, in order to make me feel better about being left behind. Pray do not; I am most eager to learn what I may look forward to next year.

Yes, Kate, it seems I am to have my Season after all! This afternoon Aunt Elizabeth took me to call on Lady Tarleton, to make the acquaintance of the niece, Miss Dorothea Griscomb. I was determined to dislike her, for I had seen her driving through the village the day before, and she is nearly as lovely as Georgina! Her hair is paler than Georgy’s, and I am sure that without crimping it would be quite straight, but Dorothea’s eyes are a deeper blue and her figure is already elegant and graceful. I was sure she would be odious, for you must admit that females as pretty as Georgy are, in general, quite spoiled. I was, therefore, expecting the worst.

When we arrived, Lady Tarleton and Dorothea were already ensconced in the drawing room with Mrs. Everslee and Patience. Mrs. Everslee was looking quite put out; I believe she was hoping that with Georgy in London, Patience would come into her own. Dorothea was sitting in a corner, staring down at her teacup with a miserably uncomfortable expression, Lady Tarleton was looking stiff, and Patience was casting about desperately for a way to persuade her mother that it was time to go. I conclude from this that Mrs. Everslee had been saying something cutting.

Our appearance provided the opportunity Patience had been seeking, and Aunt Elizabeth and I soon found ourselves the only callers. I felt rather sorry for Dorothea. So I sat down beside her and tried to engage her in conversation.

I was not, at first, successful. Dorothea turned out to be quite shy, and I was reduced to insipid commonplaces about the weather and how good the cream pastries were. I was about to abandon the attempt in despair, when by the luckiest chance she said something about India.

“India!” I said. “You mean you have lived in India? Oh, do tell me all about it!”

My excessive enthusiasm was as much the result of relief at having finally found a subject of conversation as it was due to any desire to hear about foreign climes. However, Dorothea opened up wonderfully to such encouragement, which gave me the opportunity of replenishing my supply of tea, ginger biscuits, and cream pastries. Dorothea was, apparently, born in India, and did not even see England until she was eight years old. Her Papa, of whom she seems touchingly fond, made a great fortune there, and she showed me a carved ivory bracelet she had brought back with her. By the time she finished telling me about her childhood, we were fast friends, and she brought herself to ask me very softly about the people she would see at Lady Tarleton’s party.

I did the best I could to explain who she was likely to see, as well as who would not be present. “My cousins, Kate and Georgina Talgarth, have already gone to London for the Season,” I said (with considerable regret). “And Sir Hilary Bedrick is away as well; he is to be invested as a member of the Royal College of Wizards this very week!” I glanced at Aunt Elizabeth and lowered my voice. “It is a great pity that the Mysterious Marquis is not in residence, for I am sure your aunt must have sent him an invitation card. But then, he never
is
in residence.”

“The Mysterious Marquis?” Dorothea said warily. “Who is that?”

“The Marquis of Schofield,” I said. “He owns an estate about ten miles from Bedrick Hall, but he never visits it. I suppose Waycross is too small a property for him to bother with, compared to Schofield Castle.”

“Oh, that’s not it at all,” Dorothea said, then looked very frightened. It took me several minutes and two ginger biscuits to persuade her to tell me what she meant by such a comment. Apparently her Mama has some acquaintance with the Mysterious Marquis, and Dorothea overheard her say that the Marquis and Sir Hilary had some sort of falling-out long ago. The reason the Marquis never visits Waycross is that it is too near Bedrick Hall. I was disappointed to discover that Dorothea knew no more than that, but I did not like to press her. Her Mama must be a veritable dragon, for Dorothea was quite terrified of telling me even as much as she did.

Aunt Elizabeth overheard us and said quite sharply that the Marquis of Schofield’s affairs were not a proper topic for young ladies, so I think it very probable that the Marquis is a great rake. I find this somewhat comforting, for I was quite cast down to discover that his reasons for avoiding Essex are so ordinary. Anyone who is known as the Mysterious Marquis ought to have far more interesting reasons for his behavior than a stupid dispute with Sir Hilary.

Lady Tarleton seemed quite pleased that Dorothea and I got on so well. She went so far as to inquire from Aunt Elizabeth whether I was to make my curtsey to Society next year, saying that it would be pleasant for Dorothea to have some acquaintances in Town when she makes her come-out. Well, what could Aunt Elizabeth do but agree? I made sure to bring it up to Papa as soon as we got home, and I shall keep talking about it until everyone takes it for granted that I am to be presented next year. I only wish that it could have happened sooner, so that you and I could have gone together. What fun we must have had!

Thank you a million times for the gloves; they match my dress perfectly. I shall cut quite a dash at Lady Tarleton’s dance tomorrow! I wish I had your eye for color, but try as I may, I
cannot
manage to match anything except muddy browns. Which is exceedingly odd, as even Aunt Elizabeth admits that I have an instinct for which colors look best on people. Speaking of which, I do hope you have not allowed Aunt Charlotte to have all your new dresses made up in insipid blues. She thinks that because something looks well on Georgina it must be becoming to everyone. Last year she tried to persuade me to let her buy me a lilac pelisse just because it was stunning on Georgy, and you know I look awful in lilac.

The house in Berkeley Square sounds perfectly
sumptuous
; I do wish I could see it. Have you been receiving many callers? Reverend Fitzwilliam says (with evident disapproval) that all people do in London is shop and receive callers and go to teas and parties. And does your bed truly have lion’s paws, or are you bamming me?

I thought the Elgin Marbles sounded very interesting, but Oliver says it is a great deal of fuss to be made over a lot of broken statues. He is still wandering gloomily about the house like a bad imitation of Lord Byron. (And I do not understand why someone as proper as Oliver wishes to copy such a rackety character.) He plans to leave for London the day after tomorrow, as he is promised to be at Lady Tarleton’s. I shall save this letter to finish after the dance, so that I can tell you all about it.

I’m sure it would be entirely proper for you to attend Sir Hilary’s installation; after all, we have known him forever. Honesty compels me to add that Aunt Elizabeth would certainly disagree with me, but that is only because she disapproves of magic and magicians. Patience Everslee thinks it is because she suffered a Grave Disappointment in her Youth, but I simply cannot picture Aunt Elizabeth in such a situation.

16 April

Lady Tarleton’s dance was last night, and, oh, Kate, what a lot I have to tell you!

We left Rushton Manor at about eight. I wore my pomona green crape and your gloves, and the little gold locket that Mama left me. Papa looked very well, though a little rumpled as always. Oliver was surly but elegant in silk breeches, a dark green dress coat, and an enormous cravat, which he proudly informed me was knotted in a style called the Mathematical. And you would not have recognized Aunt Elizabeth! She wore a stunning gown in gold silk and a necklace of amber beads, and looked most elegant.

We are not, of course, such great friends of the Tarletons as to have been invited to the dinner beforehand. When we arrived at Tarleton Hall, the dinner things had already been cleared. Lady Tarleton and Dorothea were greeting their guests, and Tarleton Hall was already beginning to fill up. Simply everyone was there; quite a number of persons appear to have left off going to London until later, so as to attend the party.

The dining room at Tarleton Hall is enormous; it’s easily four times the size of the sitting room at home. The ceiling is painted with wreaths and medallions, and there must have been a hundred candles in tall, four-armed stands all around the room! I know that by now you must have seen far grander things in London, but it was quite the loveliest sight I have ever beheld.

And Patience was right—there was waltzing! At first Aunt Elizabeth would only allow me to dance the country dances, but then Lady Tarleton came to my rescue. She persuaded Aunt Elizabeth that it would be unexceptionable for me to waltz at a private party, and even got her son James to stand up with me. He is as dark-haired as I am and quite good-looking, and he dresses with great elegance. (Just before we left, I heard Oliver ask him about his style of tying his cravat, which is apparently something quite out of the common way. Mr. Tarleton gave him a set-down, of course, and I must say I think Oliver deserved it.)

I minded my steps most carefully, and only trod on Mr. Tarleton’s toes once, which was
not
my fault. For when I asked whether he would be returning to London for the rest of the Season (just making conversation, which I have always been told is
essential
when one is dancing with a gentleman), he looked so very black that I could not help stumbling a little. He apologized very nicely and said that he would be staying at Tarleton Hall and not going back to London. On thinking it over later, I find it very strange, for you remember that Robert Penwood told us that since his return from the army, Mr. Tarleton considers the country entirely flat, which is why he has seldom visited Tarleton Hall in the past. Though now that I think of it, I do not know how Robert could be sure of such a thing.

Mr. Tarleton is an excellent dancer, much better than Robert or Jack, and I was disappointed when the music ended and he escorted me back to Aunt Elizabeth and Papa. To my surprise, he stayed to speak with Papa—some question of a difficult line in a Greek manuscript he was translating, on which Mr. Tarleton wanted an opinion. Naturally, Papa was perfectly willing to go off with him then and there. Aunt Elizabeth was very nearly as miffed as I, for she had told Papa most particularly before we ever left Rushton Manor that he was not to vanish into Lord Tarleton’s library. I must add, however, that Papa and Mr. Tarleton were not gone above a quarter of an hour, which makes me think that Mr. Tarleton must have a great deal of address. I have never known
anyone
who could persuade Papa to abandon an interesting manuscript. And I could tell he found it interesting from the manner of questions he put to Mr. Tarleton. Nonetheless, Aunt Elizabeth maintains that they both behaved disgracefully.

Dorothea was perfectly lovely. All the men were quite smitten with her, and I must tell you, Kate, that Oliver was among them. He behaved quite foolishly, even after Aunt Elizabeth reminded him most sharply that it is not at all the thing to dance more than twice with the same lady. She made him escort me in to supper at the end of the evening, which put both of us out of temper—Oliver because he had hoped to claim Dorothea’s hand, and me, because there is nothing quite so lowering as having one’s brother take one in to supper as though there was no one else who wanted to. Even the excellence of the refreshments (lobster patties, savory pastries, and those wonderful little lemon tartlets, among other things) was not enough to soothe my feelings.

Oliver still intends to leave for London today (really, he must do so, because the arrangements have all been made and he has several commissions from Papa to execute), but now he speaks of cutting his visit short, and I know it is only because Dorothea is staying on with Lady Tarleton for another month. Do not show this letter to Georgina; there is no point in
your
having to cope with Georgy’s reaction to this news when it is all
Oliver’s
fault. Besides, I hope that seeing Georgy again will bring Oliver to his senses. Unfortunately, one cannot depend upon such things, however much one would like to.

And it is not Dorothea’s fault in the least, for I promise you, Kate, she did
not
encourage him in the slightest. She did not encourage
anyone
in the slightest, that I could see; they all just buzzed around her like so many bees. She and I are to go riding together tomorrow, which I think unexceptionable, as Oliver will be well on his way to London by then. But what on earth am I to do when he returns? For you know Oliver; he will make a great push to join us in everything, just as he used to do with the two of us and Georgina. And I
will not
be a party to it. Georgy may be a selfish pea-goose, but she does not deserve such treatment. I must simply hope that you will have good news of Oliver to send me, so that I shall not have to fret over this impossible situation.

Yours in haste,

Cecy

20 April 1817

11 Berkeley Square, London

Dear Cecy,

It is the outside of enough for you to say I am bamming you just because London hasn’t changed Aunt Charlotte a jot, nor Georgina, save to make her more of a watering pot than ever, and if I am to be accused by you, in addition to everyone else, of telling tales when I explain to you what happened to me at Sir Hilary’s investiture, I shall go straight into a decline.

The past several days were spent putting the final touches on Georgy’s and my gowns, assembling gloves, fans, bonnets, slippers, and stockings in such quantities that it sometimes seemed to me we were preparing for a voyage to the Indies instead of for the Season.