Authors: Clare Jayne
AMELIA HAD SPENT a pleasant hour on awaking with a book
of poetry by Robert Burns. Her mother would have destroyed the book had she
known of its existence, even though the poet had recanted some of his more
liberal views before his death four years ago. Amelia loved the poetry, though,
and the rich Scottish language it was written in, something else that society
frowned upon these days. Speaking or writing Scottish dialect or with a
Scottish accent was considered uncultured, something Amelia privately thought
ludicrous.
She let Walker help her into a simple
morning dress, the plain white design improved by lace and embroidery, and, as
always, did not correct Walker’s use of the word
lassie
.
At breakfast the butler held out a tray for
Mrs Daventry upon which was an invitation. Amelia brightened at the sight of
it, wondering what form of entertainment it promised. She lowered her cup of
chocolate and waited.
“Mr Brightford is holding a ball,” Mama
said, “and has invited us.”
“Oh, no.” Amelia groaned, her hopes
shattered. “If he holds a ball it will be as tedious as he is.”
Mr Daventry put his newspaper down on the
dining table. “I do not know what you have against Mr Brightford. He is
intelligent and not unkind.”
Amelia laughed. “Yet the best you can say
of him is that he is
not unkind
. He is sneering and condescending and I
am quite sure he dislikes me as heartily as I dislike him.”
“Then you do not wish to attend the ball?”
Mama queried.
Amelia paused with her cup halfway to her
mouth, considering the astonishing idea of turning down such an invitation. Even
a ball held by Mr Brightford was better than none. “I suppose I could suffer
his company for one evening.”
She finished her breakfast then took the
carriage to see Lottie and discuss the important subject of ball gowns. It was
not generally permissible to call upon an acquaintance before one in the
afternoon, a morning call actually occurring any time in the afternoon before
dinner, but she and Lottie had long-since done away with such formalities, both
usually dressed and breakfasted by the unfashionably early time of ten o’clock.
“I do not know if
it is a good idea,” Lottie said, as they sat in her bedroom, when Amelia mentioned
the subject of the ball. Her family had, of course, received invitations too
but, even though three weeks had past since Mr Saverney’s desertion, Lottie had
attended no social events. It had been as much as Amelia could do to coax her
to the park or to the shops.
“Nonsense,” Amelia said firmly, an image in
her mind of Lottie becoming a permanent recluse. “Nothing could be better. Everyone
will be agog to meet Mr Brightford’s cousins and find out if his odiousness
runs in the family…”
“That is unkind,” Lottie objected but
Amelia saw her smile.
“… So no one will even think about any
other gossip. Besides, Mr Saverney is old news now. This is your chance to have
some fun and you are taking it.”
“It would be pleasant to dance again and
forget about … the past. Not that anyone is likely to ask me to dance.”
“I wager you are entirely wrong there and
to prove your side of the bet you will have to attend the ball.”
Lottie smiled. “Very well.”
Amelia gave an internal sigh of relief at
this victory and got back to the subject of what they should both wear.
* * *
Amelia entered the assembly room with her
parents where Mr Brightford was greeting guests, two unknown men at his side. He
introduced the brown-haired man, who looked to be a few years older than him,
as Mr Alexander Fenbridge. The blond man, who seemed in his mid-twenties like
Brightford, was another cousin, Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge. They bowed and smiled
at Amelia and her parents in a way that suggested a friendliness of character
she instantly liked.
Another group entered the room so they
could not linger to talk to the men, but two good-looking new gentlemen were an
excellent start to the evening. She curtsied and exchanged greetings with
several acquaintances, the ball already more than half full of people in full
dress, the pale colours of the unmarried women’s dresses competing with the
brighter ones of the married women and many of the men’s outfits were equally
grand. Amelia paused to admire a blue gauze gown covered in pink satin roses,
ignoring her mother’s comment that several women had gowns with an indecently
low décolletage.
Across the noisy room Amelia saw Lottie,
Benjamin and their parents arrive so she hurried over and pulled her friend to
one side to ask what she thought of Mr Brightford’s cousins.
“They seem most pleasant,” Lottie said. She
was looking about her with a nervous frown, jittery as if waiting for someone
to make a comment about Mr Saverney.
“They seem most handsome,” Amelia
corrected, getting her attention. “Do you know if they are married?”
“No.”
“Then we must find out. Let us approach Mrs
Fraser. As Mr Brightford’s sister, she will know everything we could possibly
wish to discover.”
Mrs Fraser, a friendly woman quite the
opposite in character from her brother, was most helpful. Neither gentleman was
married and she described them both as having excellent characters. She was
just getting onto the important subject of wealth when another guest
unfortunately drew her away.
Both ladies were then asked to dance, after
which they - standing with Lottie’s parents and brother - ran into the
gentlemen themselves. The men fetched drinks for them and Mr Nathaniel
Fenbridge declared what a wonderful evening he was having, his easy good humour
causing smiles all round.
“I know that you are cousins of Mr
Brightford but are you cousins to each other, sir, or brothers?” Amelia asked.
“Brothers,” Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge said. “Alex
here is the wealthy one while I am a useless younger sibling.” He smiled and
Amelia caught Benjamin’s melting expression.
Oh, no: not again!
she
thought. Still, the man was attractive with golden hair and piercingly blue eyes
- she could not fault Benjamin’s taste. It was a shame he was not the one with
the money. Not that Mr Alexander Fenbridge was unattractive in the least, just
as tall and broad-shouldered as his brother but with light brown hair.
“Not useless at all,” Mr Alexander
Fenbridge was answering. “My brother is an excellent estate manager, far better
than me. I rely on him a great deal and there is plenty of land for us to
share.”
“And do you spend much time in London?”
Amelia asked.
“We visit the capital quite often,” Mr
Nathaniel Fenbridge replied. When Amelia asked what it was like he said, “It is
an exciting place full of exhibitions and interesting places to visit along
with constant invitations to dinners and balls. Indeed, sometimes there are not
enough hours in the day to fit everything in.”
Amelia daydreamed over this, almost able to
imagine herself there.
“Still,” he concluded, “I prefer the
countryside. I greatly enjoy the everyday concerns of running an estate.”
“We are in agreement on that,” Benjamin
said at once, without doubt smitten. “I always feel more useful at the estate,
which is a, er, pleasant feeling.” He tailed off, going red.
“Indeed.”
They discussed estate matters for several rather
dull minutes then, during a pause, Mr Alexander Fenbridge asked Lottie to
dance. She agreed, cheeks slightly flushed, and Amelia was delighted at how
well the evening was succeeding in bringing her out of her depression.
“May I request a dance with you, Miss
Daventry?” Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge asked and Amelia willingly assented. Before
they moved away he expressed a hope for further discussions with Benjamin,
ensuring that gentleman’s happiness for the rest of the evening.
The quadrille was a lively dance and Mr
Nathaniel Fenbridge an excellent dancer so Amelia lost herself for a time in
the elaborate moves. When the dance finally came to a close they rejoined the
group and even Mr Brightford’s arrival could not dampen Amelia’s enjoyment.
“I must congratulate you on an excellent
ball, Mr Brightford,” she said with no sarcasm at all.
“Miss Daventry,” he said in a mocking tone,
“I am pleasantly surprised that you find it so.”
“I am pleasantly surprised myself,” she
responded in a tone that said she was in fact astonished that he had succeeded
so well.
“Miss Daventry…”
She turned with a smile which froze at the
sight of the Duke of Elborough.
“… May I have this dance?”
She sought for a reason to refuse him and
could think of nothing. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
He was a good dancer, but he stood too
close to her and she did not like the way he looked at her, as if she were a
snack he wished to devour. However, her spirits rose at the sight of Lottie
dancing with Mr Brightford and she could almost like him for this kindness. The
music, which she would normally have enjoyed, went on for far too long. When it
ended she smiled politely to the Duke and, for fear that he would attempt to
strike up an uncomfortable conversation, begged him to fetch her a drink. As he
did so she returned to the group where Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge and Benjamin were
having an animated discussion about horses. Lottie and Mr Brightford walked
back then he was called away by another guest.
Lottie leaned forward to speak to her but
was prevented by the Duke’s reappearance with drinks which he presented to the
two ladies with a smile. He then hovered at Amelia’s side, making small talk. She
finished her drink and, thankfully, Mr Alexander Fenbridge asked her to dance,
after which time the Duke had vanished.
The evening was drawing to a close when she
caught sight of Mr Brightford talking to a dark haired gentleman she did not
know. The gentleman caught her glance and his eyes widened in clear admiration.
He said something to Mr Brightford, with a nod in Amelia’s direction. She
looked away, hiding a smile, and tried to look surprised when the men
approached her.
“Miss Daventry,” Mr Brightford said, “may I
introduce Mr Wrackley, a friend of my cousins who accompanied them on their
visit here. Wrackley, this is Miss Daventry.”
He bowed and gave her a warm smile that
seemed to reach deep inside her. She curtsied, heart beating loudly in her
chest. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, tall and strong-looking
with warm brown eyes that caused a strange nervousness in her.
“It is a great pleasure, Miss Daventry. May
I request a dance?”
They both glanced over at the musicians,
who were packing away their instruments.
“Unfortunately I cannot accept your offer,”
she said.
“I regret exceedingly that we did not meet
earlier tonight,” he said, “but I will be staying with Brightford for a while
so I hope to see you again soon.”
Amelia saw Brightford roll his eyes at this
but she was charmed by the man. “I am sure you shall. That is, Mr Brightford
and I tend to be invited to the same events, although I am not convinced that
he takes any pleasure in them.”
“I am not much of a dancer,” Brightford
said, not denying her words.
“I am astonished that anyone could object
to any event that included such charming company. Miss Daventry, would it be
overly forward to request a dance with you at the next ball we both attend?”
“I would be happy to save one for you.”
“A cotillian?”
“Gladly as that is one of my favourites.”
The gentlemen bowed and withdrew then
Lottie said farewell and left with her parents and Amelia’s own parents
announced it was time to return home.
She took her leave of Mr Wrackley and his
cousins. In the carriage she thought that Lottie had seemed in far better
spirits than she had been since the broken engagement and even Brightford was
in a less offensive mood than usual. And Mr Wrackley… Amelia was almost afraid
to think about him for fear she had just dreamed such a man. She would be
sensible about the matter and see how things went at their next meeting. She
instinctively smiled at the thought of seeing him again. Yes, she thought, the
evening had been a great success.
DESPITE THE BALL having lasted until the early hours of
the morning, Lottie awoke at her usual time and put on a plain morning dress,
utterly different from the lacy muslin gown she had worn the night before. It
had been the pleasantest of evenings and her fears of people referring to her
broken engagement had proved unfounded. Perhaps Amelia had been correct and
Lottie had been hiding away unnecessarily. The sun was shining outside and it
would be nice to go to the park or visit a few haberdashers and perfumers with
Amelia.
She walked into the dining room, the smell
of food after the previous night’s exertions giving her a keen appetite. Then
her parents turned to look at her with unhappy expressions she had come to
dread and, with a knotting sensation in her stomach, she knew somehow that the
cause was the same as on the last occasion.
“Is it Mr Saverney?”
Her mother walked over to put an arm round
her shoulder, an affectionate gesture that was entirely out of character. Lottie
felt sick as her mother said, “That man has had the effrontery to return to
Edinburgh with …”
“His bride?”
“If that word can be applied to such a low
creature.”
“I see. Thank you.”
She turned and walked out of the room, up
the long flight of stairs and into the bedroom. The dark oak panelling on the
walls made them close in around her until she could barely breathe and she felt
like a prisoner. The humiliations would never be over; she would have to endure
this for the rest of her life. Lottie, who was known for her demure placid
character, picked up a bottle of perfume and flung it with all her strength at
the wall opposite. It shattered, leaving behind jagged fragments of glass and
an overpowering flowery smell.
Lottie looked in horror at what she had
done and sank to the floor, a hand over her mouth so the servants would not
hear her sobs.
* * *
Amelia lay in bed thinking of the ball the
previous night and of meeting Mr Wrackley. Just remembering the warm expression
in his eyes made her want to dance round the room. Surely this was it? This was
what love felt like?
She had never thought much about the
subject before. Her own parents had had an arranged marriage and while they
clearly had a fondness and respect for each other, she did not believe they had
ever been in love. She had expected such a practical arrangement to suit her
but now it seemed inadequate, sad, even. Would it not be wonderful to spend a
lifetime with someone who could make her feel so happy?
She frowned then as she thought of Lottie,
understanding for the first time some part of what Lottie had felt she had with
Saverney. To feel like this then lose the man she loved - it must have been
almost unbearable. And Lottie was the very last person to deserve to be treated
that way. She was recovering, though. She had been far more like her old self
last night, dancing and smiling.
The attention of Mr Brightford’s cousins to
Lottie had been particularly good for her and Amelia thought with gratitude and
liking of the men. This thought led back to Mr Wrackley and she wondered when
she would see him again. Perhaps in a few days. Perhaps today.
She jumped out of bed and ran across the
room to her wardrobe.
By the time Walker arrived with her
breakfast, Amelia had scattered half her clothes around the room.
“Walker, which dress makes me look the
prettiest? No, not just pretty but beautiful?”
* * *
Benjamin had left the house early for a
ride in the park and, having been waylaid by an old acquaintance, had missed
the hour when the family sat down to breakfast. It was not obligatory, he told
himself as he handed Caesar over to the head groom, pausing briefly to stroke
the horse’s soft nose.
The house was ominously silent when he
entered it but he paid no heed, still in a euphoric mood after meeting Mr
Nathaniel Fenbridge last night. He knew he should be cautious, that his tendres
had caused nothing but trouble so far, but just the thought of seeing him and
talking to him again made Benjamin happy. He ate a solitary breakfast then ran
upstairs to check on his sister. She had been brighter the last few days and
had been in excellent spirits after last night’s ball. Since he had no
particular plans for the day he thought she might wish him to act as her escort
on a trip to some of the local shops. The city was changing constantly at the
moment with the various additions to the New Town, of which their own house was
a part. He understood that a new milliners shop had opened that might interest
Lottie.
He knocked on his sister’s door and, since
it was ajar, pushed it open. Lottie turned in her seat at the dressing table. One
look at her face brought all his concerns back again. “What has happened?”
In a voice bleached of emotion, she said, “Mr
Saverney has returned to Edinburgh with his new wife.”
For a moment he refused to believe his own
ears. “Damn the man.”
Lottie rubbed her face with her hands,
expression so defeated that it hurt him to see. The gossip had begun to lessen.
I tried to be brave…”
“… You have been very brave, my dear. I
know our parents have been proud of how well you handled the situation.”
“But now I am back at the starting point. The
gossip will begin again worse than ever and every time I leave the house I will
also face the fear of seeing him again and experiencing even worse pain and
humiliation.” Tears ran down her pale cheeks. “I do not know if I can go
through it all again. Oh, why could he not have stayed away?”
He sat with her as she cried but had rarely
felt so useless. She refused to leave her room, pleading a headache, but
insisted he continue with his day, saying she would be better later. It was a
claim he doubted. He did not know how to contain his fury but then he realised,
with savage pleasure, that he did not need to. As he strode out of the house he
knew exactly where to vent his anger.
* * *
Amelia’s family carriage came to a halt and
she got out to wait for her mother. They were going to look at fabrics for
making into a couple of new outfits for Amelia. While it was always highly
pleasing to have new clothes, the reminder that the season during which she had
expected to be married was halfway over was a disturbing one.
Her gaze lifted instinctively to Edinburgh
Castle high above, admiring its elegance and splendour. What must it be like to
live in such a place, to have the best clothes, the best of everything, more
wealth than could be spent in a lifetime, being envied by everyone..?
She started when a masculine voice spoke
her name. Unused to being so addressed in public by gentlemen, she looked
around, ready to put the man in his place, then her breath caught at the sight
of Mr Wrackley. He and Mr Brightford - whom she belatedly also noticed - bowed
to her and she curtsied, noting as she did so that Mr Wrackley looked even more
dashing in the daylight. His boots and buckskin breaches clung to his legs in a
manner she felt almost too embarrassed to observe; just visible beneath his
dark tailcoat were his shirt and waistcoat while his neckcloth was tied in an
elaborate fashionable knot. He carried his hat and gloves in one hand while the
other rested on his watch fob. His dark hair and eyes were all the more
striking in the sunshine and his high cheekbones and full lips convinced her he
must be the most handsome man in the country.
She wished her own walking dress was more
brightly coloured, but as she was an unmarried woman it was plain cream. At
least the embroidery on her shawl and the ribbons on her straw hat were a bright
blue which matched her eyes. That must surely look fairly pleasing?
“How delightful to see you again so soon, Miss
Daventry,” Mr Wrackley said, with an admiring expression. We are just meeting Mr
Brightford’s cousins for luncheon.”
“We are in fact due now,” Mr Brightford
pointed out with his usual lack of charm and manners.
Amelia ignored him but could not fail to
respond to her mother’s shockingly badly timed arrival when the men turned to
bow to her.
“We keep meeting just to immediately part,”
Amelia said to Mr Wrackley. “I hope our next encounter will allow us a longer
conversation.”
“And a dance,” he agreed, smiling. “You
promised me a cotillian.”
He had remembered their exact conversation,
she noted, delighted. “I have not forgotten.”
He and Mr Brightford left and she turned at
once to her mother: “Is my hat on straight? Do I look well?”
“You look lovely,” Mrs Daventry reassured
her with an amused expression.
“I should have asked which balls he would
be attending.”
“That would have been forward.” Her mother
got into the carriage and Amelia followed her. “In any case, as a friend of Mr
Brightford, Mr Wrackley will no doubt attend many of the same events as us.”
“Yes,” Amelia breathed, thinking:
how
wonderful.
* * *
Benjamin pounded on the door and, when it
opened, pushed past the elderly butler, saying, “Where is that rat Saverney?”
The man gave an instinctive glance at one
of the internal doors. “Sir, you cannot…”
Benjamin strode to the door and flung it
open. Saverney was seated inside with two women whom Benjamin ignored. Saverney
jumped up in a nervous manner. “Harrington…”
“It does not surprise me, sir, that you
have the nerve and cruelty to return here, but I am surprised you have the
stupidity to do so.” He pulled off a glove and flung it at Saverney’s feet. “I
demand satisfaction for your despicable behaviour.”
The women - Saverney’s mother and also,
presumably, his bride - had risen and protested this in alarmed voices. Once
again he ignored them, focused solely on the man in front of him. “Will you
accept my challenge or cry off and prove yourself an utter coward in front of
your family?”
“Surely we can discuss the matter?”
Saverney said, eyes darting to the glove then back to Benjamin’s face.
“It is far too late for that. You have
behaved like the worst kind of scoundrel to my sister. Accept my challenge or
leave Edinburgh immediately, publicly branded a coward.”
Saverney bent down and picked up the glove,
his reluctance showing in every movement.
Benjamin nodded in satisfaction then turned
and stalked out.