Fairfield Hall (6 page)

‘I think maybe she still trades,’ Annabel had said. ‘I see her positively devouring Father’s paper when he’s done with it and she gets letters from a stockbroker
quite frequently.’

‘Then – hopefully – she will guide you too.’

To her surprise, both her mother and father had been delighted to learn of Annabel’s new-found interest, though not so enamoured to hear of her love for the farm.

‘It will be a good inheritance for you and your children. When the time comes, you can employ a bailiff but it is not the sort of thing a woman ought to involve herself with,’
Ambrose had said firmly.

Annabel had said nothing; she had other ideas.

For the next five years, Annabel had played the part of a dutiful daughter and Ambrose had seen no reason to stop her frequent visits to her grandparents’ home. He was confident of her
complete obedience, until he heard about her secret meetings with Gilbert Radcliffe. That, he decided, must be stopped, though nothing was said between Ambrose and his daughter.

When Annabel arrived home again from her most recent visit to Meadow View Farm, her parents’ plans for her to be presented at Court and take part in the coming London
Season were well advanced.

‘I have been in touch with Lady Carruthers and we are to visit her next week at her country home in Brocklesby Park.’

Sir William Carruthers had now retired from the business world and had entered parliament, securing a safe seat for the Tories. Though they still had a home in the countryside just west of
Grimsby, the pair spent much of their time in a town house in London and it was there that Annabel would stay for most of the summer with her sponsor. No expense was to be spared and arrangements
went ahead at an alarming rate as it dawned on Annabel that both her parents and Lady Carruthers had been planning this for some months.

‘You have certainly grown into a beautiful young woman.’ Lady Carruthers looked Annabel up and down. ‘You will take London by storm, I am sure of it, but please don’t set
your sights too high on what kind of man you might ensnare. Your background goes against you, my dear.’ At her side, Annabel felt her mother bristle at the insult, but, wisely, Sarah held her
tongue. ‘However,’ Lady Carruthers went on, ‘the dates for the Court Drawing Rooms held in Buckingham Palace have been announced and I have written to the Lord Chamberlain
suggesting your name. He and Her Majesty go over the lists very carefully and only young women who have hitherto led a blameless life will qualify.’ She eyed Annabel shrewdly. ‘I
presume that they will not find even the merest hint of scandal when looking into your background?’

‘Certainly not,’ Sarah said swiftly now, unable to bite back a sharp retort any longer. ‘She has been brought up and educated to be a gentlewoman and has led a sheltered
life.’

‘Good. Then we must hope for a favourable reply.’

Lady Cynthia Carruthers was a petite woman in her late thirties, Annabel guessed. She had startling blue eyes – the colour of the sky on a summer’s day – and her blonde hair
was sleek and arranged in the latest fashion. She dressed in the finest silks and satins that her husband’s money could buy. She was like a pretty, porcelain doll and yet behind the image was
a steely determination and an intelligent mind. She had always been an asset to her husband in the business world and now she more than held her own in the political world. The great and good of
the land clamoured to be invited to attend her soirées in London or her countryside shooting-party weekends in Lincolnshire. She had two children – both boys. The younger daughter of
an earl, she had the title ‘Lady Cynthia’ in her own right. It was whispered that she saw very little of her own family now as they considered that she had married beneath her, even
though plain William Carruthers had risen in the world and had been knighted for his services to industry. But Lady Cynthia had built her own, very respected, circle of friends and acquaintances.
Ambrose had been helpful to Sir William more than once over the years they had known each other and if repayment came in the form of assisting them to achieve their dreams for their daughter, then
Lady Cynthia was happy to oblige.

Years earlier, she had been presented at court and whilst she had attracted two proposals of marriage from noblemen, she had returned home to marry William Carruthers, whom she loved. The union
had been much against her parents’ wishes, but Cynthia was not a woman to be diverted from her own desires. Now, as she regarded Annabel, she wondered if the lovely young girl possessed that
same rebellious spirit. At the moment the serene face in front of her seemed happy to comply, though the sharp-eyed Lady Cynthia was sure she detected sadness in those violet eyes. She wondered if
the girl was hiding an unhappy love affair that the mother was unwilling to speak about. Or perhaps it had been a secret liaison of which the mother was not even aware.

Just before Easter, Lady Cynthia had sent word that the ‘summons’, as she called it, for Annabel to be presented had arrived.

We have three weeks to prepare,
she wrote to Sarah,
but that is the usual time given. If you and your daughter could come to London and stay with us at our town house, we will begin at
once . . .

The following weeks passed by in a flurry of planning for the big event and, much to Annabel’s disappointment, she was only able to visit her grandparents once more
before being swept off to London.

‘Once it’s all over,’ she promised them, ‘I’ll be able to spend more time with you.’

‘But what if you meet a handsome young duke who sweeps you off your feet?’

Annabel had laughed. ‘Gramps, do you really think that’s likely? They look for a bride amongst their own class.’

‘Love can do strange things,’ Martha murmured. ‘And you are a beautiful and lovable girl.’

‘Oh Gran!’ Annabel laughed, ‘You say the nicest things, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.’

‘Now, we must have a full court dress especially made for you. For young women the bodice is cut low, with short sleeves and a train falling from the shoulders. Of
course, it must be white and you should wear long white gloves and two white plumes in your hair with a veil. I’ll take you to my own dressmaker. She knows all the dress
regulations.’

‘Regulations?’ Annabel laughed. ‘Are there rules as to what you can wear?’

‘Very strict rules, my dear,’ Cynthia said seriously. ‘Just as there are definite rules about how you should conduct yourself and how the presentation takes place.’ Then
she smiled and waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry. By the time I have finished with you, you’ll be perfect – every inch most suitable to captivate, at the very least, an
earl.’

Annabel chuckled inwardly. She wanted to make some flippant, comical remark about ensnaring a duke, no less, but she realized that the whole process of ‘coming out’ was a serious
business to Lady Cynthia. She had no wish to offend the lady, who was being so kind to her, so she bit back the retort and composed her face into sober, dutiful lines.

On the May afternoon when Annabel was to be presented, she was sitting in a queue of carriages on The Mall with Lady Cynthia beside her. ‘Now, can you remember everything
I’ve told you?’ Cynthia asked, seeming far more agitated than Annabel. The girl herself was serenely composed. Perhaps this was because she viewed the whole thing as rather a lark and
not to be taken too seriously. The idea that she was to be paraded in some kind of marriage market amused rather than angered her. But at least, she thought ruefully, it’s taking my mind off
Gilbert. He had been a bitter disappointment to her. So she tried to listen attentively as Cynthia went through the procedure with her yet again.

‘Once we get to the palace,’ Cynthia said, fanning her face vigorously, ‘and goodness knows when that’s going to be – oh, do go away!’ She broke off to wave
angrily at the curious faces peering in through all the carriage windows to see the debutantes in their finery. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes. You’ll wait in an antechamber with all the
other girls. And I warn you, it can be dreadfully hot . . .’ On and on she went until Annabel found herself not listening. Instead, she was fascinated by the crowds of people in The Mall, who
were determined to be part of this special day.

Lady Cynthia had not exaggerated her warnings of the stuffiness of the room in which they had to wait.

‘You’d think they’d at least give us a drink,’ one girl, pressed up against Annabel, muttered. ‘And my flowers are wilting already.’

Each girl carried a bouquet, a fan and a lace handkerchief. Annabel’s posy was a small, neat arrangement, but the girl beside her had a large bouquet that she was finding difficult to
manage. Annabel opened her mouth to offer to help, but at that moment she was called forward. Picking up her train and carrying it over her left arm, as Cynthia had instructed, she walked with her
head held high and a slight smile on her lips out of the room, and she dropped her train to be spread out behind her by an official. Annabel was fortunate to be one of the first to be called
shortly after three o’clock.

‘Please remove your right glove,’ the man murmured. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward into the drawing room and moved towards Queen Victoria. As she curtsied, her name was
announced and she kissed the small wrinkled hand now resting in her own. She glanced up and met the eyes of the Queen and, suddenly, she understood the importance of the moment. To be received by
the monarch in such glittering surroundings was indeed an honour. Annabel smiled as she rose and moved backwards with several more curtsies until she reached the door of the anteroom. So much
preparation and practice had gone into what was over in a brief moment, and yet Annabel would not have missed it for the world.

‘And now,’ Cynthia said as their carriage headed back to her Mayfair town house, ‘the Season starts in earnest. I have several invitations for you already, but tonight, we will
dine quietly at home – we’ve both had enough excitement for one day. Tomorrow night, however, we will be attending your first three balls.’

‘Three?’ Annabel exclaimed. ‘In one night? How do we manage that?’

Cynthia chuckled. ‘It’s usual to attend a dinner party and then go on to a ball. If there is more than one being held, the etiquette is to go from ball to ball, having spent about
half an hour or so at each one and end up at the most prestigious. You’ll see how it’s done. And then,’ Cynthia was not finished, ‘the following day we are invited to a
garden party in the late afternoon and then on Saturday night, I am hosting a dinner for you at home. I have already sent out the invitations.’

‘Is there anything special I should know? I mean – regarding etiquette at all these events.’ It was beginning to sound rather daunting.

Cynthia’s laugh was infectious. ‘My dear, for a little country mouse, you are doing remarkably well. I am very proud of you. Don’t worry, I will be close at hand and keeping an
eye on you. But you do realize, don’t you,’ her expression sobered, ‘that your parents wish you to meet a suitable young man with a view to making a good marriage?’

‘Oh, but –’ Annabel began and then lapsed into silence. Gil was gone and she doubted he would come back. For whatever reason he had chosen not to say a proper
‘goodbye’ to her and for that she would never forgive him. He’d been a coward, unable to face her to end their romance, and, instead, had slunk away without a word. Annabel lifted
her head with a new determination to put him out of her mind. He was not worth her tears. Whilst she wasn’t yet ready to entertain thoughts of marriage, she told herself, a little fun and
flirtation during the Season wouldn’t hurt.

‘Tomorrow morning, we are invited to breakfast at Lady Pilkington’s; she lives close by. It will be a small, informal event and will introduce you nicely to what, my dear, is going
to be a whirl of parties, balls and functions, so mind you get a good night’s sleep whenever you can.’

Annabel was far too excited and when morning came, she felt she had hardly slept at all. But she had a strong constitution and no one would have guessed from the sparkle in her magnificent eyes
that she lacked sleep as Cynthia led her into the room and introduced her to their hostess. Annabel followed Cynthia closely and copied whatever her mentor did, helping herself to eggs and muffins.
There were several dishes laid out that Annabel didn’t recognize, but there was one she did; pigeon set in jelly. Her grandmother made a similar dish and for a moment an acute feeling of
homesickness overwhelmed her.

‘Don’t eat too much, my dear,’ Cynthia whispered. ‘We are due at Lady Mortimer’s for luncheon.’

A few men were present at breakfast, but older, whiskered gentlemen, who were obviously not on Cynthia’s list of possible suitors. Later, however, at the more formal luncheon timed for two
o’clock, there were younger gentlemen present.

‘Luncheons can be either a formal occasion – a sit-down meal served by their servants – or a buffet,’ Cynthia explained. ‘I think Lady Mortimer’s will be the
former. It usually is, but there still might not be many gentlemen present. They’re often engaged in business or other duties.’

And yet, on arriving for luncheon, Cynthia seemed to be looking around the room for someone and when she didn’t see whoever it was, she made a moue and murmured, ‘I trust he will be
at the ball tonight.’

‘Who?’ Annabel ventured to ask.

Cynthia waved her hand vaguely as if the absence of a particular man was of no consequence, ‘Oh, just one of the young men I want to introduce you to. It doesn’t matter.’

But Annabel had the distinct feeling that it mattered very much.

‘Annabel, may I present James Lyndon, the Earl of Fairfield?’

The young man standing before her was undeniably handsome with brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall and slim, his head held proudly, his back straight, and he looked splendid in his smart
uniform. He took the hand she extended to him and bowed over it. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Constantine. May I be permitted to claim a dance with you?’