Authors: Amanda Scott
“Well, I did tell him he ought not to have done it,” Mollie said, looking up at him from under her thick lashes. A small, choking sound came from Lady Bridget, and Mollie’s gaze shifted. “I did, ma’am. You know I did.”
“To be sure, you did,” Lady Bridget agreed, “but I cannot think you caused him to feel the slightest remorse, you know.”
“Why not?” Hawk demanded.
Mollie looked at him, then back at Lady Bridget, whose lips were folded tightly, as though she felt she had said too much already. “Well,” Mollie said, casting a wary eye back at her husband, “I’m afraid I found the whole episode a trifle amusing, sir. It was difficult to scold Harry when I kept…well, when it just seemed as if…” She shrugged, unable to put the matter in words she thought would be acceptable to him.
Hawk’s eyes began to dance. “Couldn’t stop laughing long enough to give the boy a proper trimming. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Mollie nodded, her own eyes atwinkle. “I daresay it was wrong of me, sir, but they had both given him
such
a time of it. He’d managed on his own to pay off Lady Andrew, and somehow I felt that by telling Bates he wasn’t to thrash Harry after all, I was helping him pay off his lordship as well.”
“And not just for Harry’s sake, I’ll warrant.”
His eyes were no longer laughing, but he was not angry with her either. That gentle, caressing note was in his voice, and Mollie felt the color rushing to her cheeks. Her gaze met his, and the understanding she saw in his eyes brought a sudden salty dampness to her own. She turned away and gave a small laugh.
“I daresay I handled it all wrong, sir. Perhaps they are right to say we’ve spoiled him.”
“There’s nothing amiss with Harry that a term or two at school won’t cure.”
“You don’t think he will disgrace the family name?” Mollie asked, smiling more naturally now.
“I thought you said Andrew’s reason for not sending him was that the boy was sickly?”
Mollie nodded. “And I can’t think how he came by such a notion,” she admitted. “I confess, her ladyship’s reasoning makes more sense.”
Lady Bridget gave a self-conscious little cough, and when they both turned their eyes upon her, a delicate shade of pink crept into her smooth cheeks. Flustered, she gave a deprecating little wave of her hand.
Mollie’s eyes widened. “Surely,
you
never told them Harry was sickly, ma’am! Why, you’ve never in your life been able to tell a bouncer with any conviction!”
“No, no. Oh, no, of course I did no such thing,” Lady Bridget said hastily, her cheeks darkening. “And I don’t even know for a fact that Thurston did so. Only—”
“Of course,” Mollie said quickly. “That is precisely how it came to pass.” She looked at Hawk. “Your papa doted on the boy, but if he suspected anyone might accuse him of it, he went all brusque and crusty. I truly think he cared more about Harry than he ever did about anyone else. It is entirely possible that he complained of the boy’s being sickly and spoiled rather than admit he merely wanted to keep him at home.”
Agreement having been satisfactorily attained, the subject soon turned to those preparations still to be achieved before Mollie and Lady Bridget would be ready to be seen in company. In the days that followed they enjoyed themselves with an orgy of shopping. Neither had realized that Hawk meant to plunge them immediately into the social whirl, and they had come to London ten days prior to the opening of Almack’s, generally the true beginning of any London Season, with the intention of replenishing their wardrobes. Not that they were totally unprepared, of course, for they had made a flying visit to London six weeks before in order to see their dressmaker. Still, there were final fittings to be seen to and a number of accessories to buy. Tuesday morning found them in Covent Garden bright and early to visit their dressmaker.
Having done a great deal of work for them in the past, Mademoiselle Bertrand was happy to exert herself in order to provide both ladies with suitable gowns for the dinner that evening at Carlton House. The fittings were attended to, and Mademoiselle agreed to send the finished products to Grosvenor Square by four o’clock. Well satisfied, the Colporter ladies returned to their coach and directed the driver to Oxford Street and the premises of W. H. Botibol, plumassier, in order for Mollie to purchase a pair of ostrich feathers to wear in her hair that evening.
The dinner at Carlton House was as grand as Lady Andrew had promised it would be, and Mollie was fascinated, as always, by the opulent decor. She had attended several balls and musical evenings in the Regent’s magnificent house, but because he lacked a suitable hostess—not being upon speaking terms with his wife, who was currently doing all in her power to undermine what little popularity he retained with the English people—Mollie had never before attended a dinner there. Six courses were provided, each consisting of three or four main dishes, as many as ten or twelve side dishes, and upward of twenty removes. The meal seemed to go on for hours.
It ended at last, however, and first the ladies and then the gentlemen, after their port, repaired to the Crimson Saloon, where musicians had been engaged to play for their entertainment. No one seemed to heed the music, however. Everyone was more interested in seeing and being seen. Mollie, looking for her husband when the gentlemen joined the ladies, was surprised to see him in conversation with the Regent and Lord Bathurst. They had moved a little apart, and their conversation appeared to be a serious one. She watched them curiously, having not realized that Hawk was on such terms with the secretary of war or with the Prince of Wales, who had become Regent, after all, in his absence. But then, she told herself, there were no doubt a good many things she did not know about her husband.
She asked him about the conversation when they were once again in their carriage on the way back to Grosvenor Square. Hawk smiled at her.
“His highness and Lord Bathurst were curious to hear what I might tell them about Wellington. I know little, of course, that they have not read in the dispatches, but I think Prinny, at least, liked talking to someone who has been there. He has always regretted not being allowed to take part in the action.”
“It would scarcely be suitable for the Crown Prince to be sent off to war, Gavin,” Lady Bridget said gently. “’Tis no wonder his majesty would never hear of it.”
“Well, Prinny resented it, nevertheless.”
That was all he said on the subject, but Mollie’s curiosity was unappeased. She was sure he might have said more if he had wished to do so.
Lord Ramsay had not been included in the invitation to Carlton House, and he had been displeased when Hawk decided he would be wiser to remain at home the first two nights. Having seen his tailor, arranged to have several pairs of boots made for him by Hoby, the fashionable bootmaker located at the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, and having purchased several hats from Lock, the hatter in St. James’s Street who provided hats for such fashionables as Lord Alvanley and Beau Brummell, Ramsay was ready to make his entrance to society. It clearly irked him to be left at home to kick his heels. However, Hawk was adamant, saying that he would make it up to him by taking him to White’s the following day.
Mollie spent the rest of the week shopping with Lady Bridget, for there were still any number of necessary purchases to be made. Besides visiting the shops in Covent Garden, Mayfair, and Oxford Street, they visited the linen drapers, silk mercers, haberdashers, milliners, and corsetiers situated around Leicester Square. Not only were there items to purchase for themselves, but Mollie, after a long conversation with Mrs. Perfect, had decided to redo the ground-floor saloon as well. Thus it was that Lady Gwendolyn Worthing, arriving in town the following Monday, found her sister-in-law sitting on the floor in the midst of a pile of silks and brocades on Tuesday morning.
“Gwen, how perfectly delightful!” Mollie exclaimed, jumping to her feet to greet the smiling, smartly dressed, auburn-haired young woman, whose speaking gray eyes at once proclaimed her to be a member of the Colporter family. “Aunt Biddy and I intended to call later in the day to welcome you to town.”
“We have already been welcomed, I thank you,” said Lady Gwendolyn acidly. Then her eyes twinkled, and her tone changed to a teasing one. “As I understand you were welcomed, immediately upon your arrival last week.”
Mollie chuckled. “I hope she was more charitable toward you than she was toward me. But I know she was. She positively dotes on you, Gwen.”
“I should live to see the day,” Lady Gwendolyn said dryly. “She informed me that she knows to the penny what I laid out—or rather what Worthing laid out—for the new nursery at Pillings, and much as she detests criticizing, she felt it her duty to tell me she thought I had been a trifle extravagant. The inhabitant of said nursery being a mere female had a good deal to do with her sentiments, of course. And not even a Colporter female at that.”
“Well, at least she did not feel it to be her duty to send detailed accounts to your brother for the last four years, telling him precisely what sins you were committing in his absence,” Mollie pointed out.
“Not last year, at any rate. I was safely indisposed. The year before, however, when Worthing and I were at outs over that predatory opera dancer of his, and I let the handsome Lord Featherby squire me about to get even, I received the devil of a scold from Hawk. Two full pages, Mollie. I can tell you, I was glad he was on the Continent and not here at the time.” Lady Gwendolyn smiled ruefully. “I know
you
didn’t pass the word along to him.”
“No, of course not. Though it might not have been Lady Andrew either, you know. You have other relatives nearly as busy.” Lady Gwendolyn nodded, and Mollie added, “How is young Megan, by the bye? She must be nearly big enough to sit up by herself now.”
“Indeed, she is, and a handful. I cannot tell you how grateful I was when she was old enough to be turned over to Nannie.” Lady Gwendolyn ran a hand over a piece of green brocade. “Do you and Hawk go to Almack’s tomorrow?”
Mollie agreed that they would be attending the first assembly of the Season, and from that point the conversation alternated between social events and upholstery fabrics.
E
VERYONE WHO WAS ANYONE
had arrived in London in time for opening night at Almack’s, and Mollie, having already paid and received a number of morning calls, knew that most of her friends and favorite flirts were in town. Lady Jersey and the Countess de Lieven, wife of the Russian ambassador, had stopped in to see her. And she had met Lord Alvanley driving with the famous Beau Brummell Wednesday afternoon in Hyde Park. They created quite a picture—the one so short, plump, and ugly; the other elegant, slim, and well-favored. Rumor had it that both gentlemen were suffering from financial reverses, but one would never guess it to look at them, as Ramsay, riding beside her on a neat cover hack, had commented.
“Precise to a pin,” he said, adding consciously, “Met them both when Hawk took me to White’s, you know.” Lord Alvanley drew up his rig at a sign from Mollie.
“Good day, Lady Hawk,” said his lordship, adding with his customary lisp, “You look charmingly in that riding dreth, ma’am. Becometh you mighty well.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Brummell agreed, smiling slightly.
“I know better than to accuse either of you of flattery,” Mollie replied with a laugh, “so I shall simply say thank you in a ladylike fashion and bring my brother-in-law to your notice. I fancy you have met Lord Ramsay?”
Both gentlemen having condescended to acknowledge the acquaintance, Ramsay was in excellent spirits when they rode on. But it soon became clear to Mollie that he had had a specific purpose in mind when he had invited her to ride out with him that afternoon.
“I say, Moll,” he said at last after several false starts, “do you think perhaps you might have a word with Hawk on my behalf?”
She looked at him in surprise. She had thought the two brothers were getting on famously with each other. “What could I discuss with him that you cannot?” she asked.
“He don’t choose to discuss the matters I wish to discuss.” He looked at her in frustration. “Dash it, Mollie, the fact of the matter is I think he does not trust me. He’s keeping me on a dashed tight leash, you know—not at all what I expected.”
“He wants you to go carefully, Ramsay, not to make any errors before your good character is known to those who matter. If you do something dreadful, you might be denied tickets to Almack’s. It is even more difficult, after all, for a gentleman to come by them than it is for a lady in her first Season.”
“Much I should care for that,” Ramsay muttered. “Devilish poor place to be stuck every Wednesday night, by what I hear. Cardplaying for chicken stakes with old ladies or being made to do the pretty with insufferably young ones. And nothing to wet a man’s thirst but orgeat and lemonade. And knee breeches! I should much prefer to be denied admission to the place. Hugh Hardwick, that fellow I had the wager with in Gill’s Green, invited me to go along to a bang-up affair tonight at a new gaming place in Cockspur Lane, but Hawk insists upon dragging me to Almack’s. And Friday, when Hugh and a friend of his knew where there was some first-rate entertainment to be had, Hawk took me off to Boodle’s for dinner instead.”
“But you enjoyed that,” she pointed out.
“That don’t signify. It’s all of a piece. I can do nothing on my own. He even refuses to increase my allowance to meet the added expenses of living in town. Says he’ll spring for anything I really need, but that’s a hum. I daresay he’ll prove to be as much of a dashed squeeze-penny as Father was.”
“Impossible,” Mollie said, grinning at him. But when he only glared in response, she relented. “Very well, I shall speak with him. But I cannot promise it will do the least good, you know. You are the one who was telling me not long ago that he is merely exerting his rightful authority.”
Ramsay sighed. “I know he is. But don’t it seem a trifle unfair, Moll, after all those years of living under Father’s thumb, finally to be free to cut a dash in the world, only to find oneself under Hawk’s thumb instead?”