Second Season (14 page)

Equally he turned aside Lady Inverclyde’s comments on his Party. “Very pleasing, happy to see Bascombe again. I liked that vicar’s wife. She knows what needs doin’—very sound woman! Give her the money for it, Imbrie, and my compliments to your cook for the
pigeons en gelee.
Don’t doubt I’ll suffer for ’em, but not her fault,” her ladyship stated. “All the upsetment of that ninnyhammer, Emily—Incomparable she may be, but in MY day we’d have called her
shtupid.
”

“Fashions change,” Julian murmured apologetically, but Lady Inverclyde merely snorted, eyeing him up and down.

“Not for you,” she said with finality. “Well, invite me again when you’ve a hostess to welcome me.”

“Not,” said his grace irrepressibly, “if you insist on bringing that odious pug, Cupidon—and a more unsuitable name I never heard.”

Lady Inverclyde had the last word—as always. “Cupidon is twelve years old, and at the rate you’re goin’, he’ll be
dead
before my next invitation.” She poked the coachman with her cane. “Go ON, Thompson, or we’ll never reach London in daylight.”

Chuckling to himself, Julian rode back to Bascombe at an easy pace, but the house seemed strangely empty after the cheerful babble preceding Emily’s mishap. He threw off the formal country clothing, impatiently shrugged into rough coat and long gaiters with a dark concentration that Stepan knew better than to interrupt. “I’ll be out in the fields. Tell them to set dinner back to seven.”

“
Ne, ne
,” Stepan bowed, but observing the duke’s stride and his walking crop slashing at the hedge weeds along the path, Stepan was uneasy. Which Miss Stanwood was his grace’s objective?

CHAPTER VI

Emily’s accident
altered everything, and Lady Stanwood could not be blamed for feeling seriously annoyed with her Incomparable. Although Sir Henry Halford majestically approved the duke’s bandaging, and a night’s repose induced by his soothing draught restored Emily’s sunniness, it would certainly be some time before she could venture to walk more than a few paces. Dancing was entirely out of the question, as was her presentation at Court, and the season was drawing to a close. Sharlie was for cancelling all en
\’
gagements, but this her mother flatly refused to permit.

“Emily suffers nothing beyond mild discomfort, which is entirely her own fault, for nothing could be more idiotish than to be entering unfamiliar fields, not to mention oversetting Imbrie’s party. I vow I am afflicted by some wicked christening fairy! Last year
you
contracted mumps, not that you could help yourself, but it ruined all—and
this
year Emily contrives an end to her reign as a Belle by sheer silliness.”

“It seems so—so unfeeling to leave her at home while we enjoy ourselves.”

“Save your sympathy,” Lady Stanwood advised tartly. “Emily is very well entertained, I assure you. Every Tulip, Pink of the Ton, and Nonpareil infests my salon. It is so thronged I can scarce find a chair for myself. I shall be glad when she can wear a shoe again. Then she can accompany us—and sit on the sidelines to be admired.”

Lady Stanwood had a deeper reason for desiring Emily to be ambulatory. She was, in fact, quite distracted by the situation. On the one hand, nothing could be more dangerous than Eustace, who arrived as soon as his duties at the Horse Guards were finished—and who
stayed.
Viscount Pelham, Lord Dawlish, Mr. Bigglesworth and others called frequently, sent floral tributes, or stopped en route to some mandatory engagement, but Eustace was simply
there.
Her ladyship half thought of returning Emily to Stanwood Hall for these final weeks, but Charlotte protested vehemently, and Algy Whipsnade was more of a threat than Eustace.

On the other hand, Lady Stanwood was determined that Sharlie should have the last measure of her season. There was still the Drawing Room, followed by the Prince Regent’s gala at Carlton House. There were three more assemblies at Almack’s, and half a dozen private parties before one after another of the great houses would be put into holland covers for the next six or eight months. Lady Stanwood’s practiced eye told her that of Sharlie’s original three suitors, Lord Wrentham would come up to scratch, providing there was anyone at hand to receive his offer, which there was not. Lady Stanwood considered it all of a piece that at this precise crucial moment his lordship should have departed jovially for Newmarket—and upon falling in with some kindred spirits, have departed for northern trout streams instead of returning to town.

It was not that Lady Stanwood particularly favored Lord Wrentham, although he was highly eligible. It was merely that, after all the dash of Sharlie’s second season, her mama would have liked a formal application from
somebody,
even if she rejected it. Already four engagements had been announced in the Gazette, and two other mamas were smiling with sweet anticipation of glory to come. Lady Stanwood could tell herself with perfect truth that no one of the men was much of a catch, but in her darker moments she admitted that if she had to take Sharlie back to Stanbury without even one offer, she really could not BEAR it.

A daily bouquet arrived from Bascombe “with his grace’s compliments to the ladies of the household.” Initially Lady Stanwood took this as an indication of continued interest, but as time passed she became perturbed at the absence of Imbrie in person. Recalling his party in detail, she was at a loss to guess what could have gone wrong, “for nothing could have been more promising, even Flora noticed.” Had Charlotte said something that indicated her belief of his interest in Emily—and when forced to bandage the ankle, Imbrie feared the ministration might give rise to hope? Could Charlotte somehow have convinced him she had no wish for him? “Did
I
say or do something to give the impression I thought him a possible for Sharlie?” Lady Stanwood wracked her memory, but could not honestly accuse herself of any tinge of complacency, any inadvertent word or glance.

Sharlie was equally uneasy at the duke’s non-appearance. Bascombe was no more than an hour’s ride on Ajax. The duke had spoken of estate matters, but what on earth could take such a concentration of time? Had he been seriously annoyed that Emily’s stupidity had unsettled his
criollo?
Perhaps the bull had been injured when he was forced to draw off the animal. Sharlie fretted and fumed privately, was inclined to sharpness with her sister when at last Emily could be shod and accompany them to Almack’s.

Leaning on a small gold-handled Malacca cane scaled to her inches (presented by Mr. Bigglesworth), and resting her hand on the arm of Viscount Pelham while carrying the posy of Lord Dawlish, Miss Emily was the cynosure of all eyes. She was tenderly settled beside her mama and instantly surrounded by beaux. Her card was quickly filled by those desirous of sitting out in her company, upon whom she smiled impartially.

A single glance told Sharlie that Imbrie was not there. He might yet appear, she kept the waltzes free until the musicians were starting the opening flourishes, when she was sitting unbespoke. Upon Emily’s innocently remarking that his grace seemed not to be present and she wondered what could be delaying him, “for I thought it was a standing engagement between you for the waltzes, Sharlie,” Charlotte replied with asperity that she was not surprised. “Considering all, I am prepared for his dropping our acquaintance.”

Emily blushed with distress, and Lady Stanwood said, “Nonsense, Charlotte,” in a firm undertone that recalled Sharlie to her surroundings. She was shortly asked to dance by Lord Wrentham, but despite relief that she was not seen to be left at the post, he was a very indifferent substitute for Imbrie. So, in fact, was every other man in the room, and to Sharlie’s fear that Emily was rolled up was added the secret admission that quite half the pleasure of Almack’s had been waltzing with the duke.

On the morrow all was explained: the duke had left Bascombe unexpectedly for Calydon Towers. “I supposed you knew, miss. That Stepan who brought the flowers told Anatole,” Maria revealed. “There was an express arrived early one morning that his grace was urgently required. Stepan was to pack clothing
from Grosvenor
Square, and they drove direct from Kent. The duke never came back to London at all.”

It was some consolation, but not much. How long would Imbrie remain in the north? Would he ever return to London, or suppose the Stanwoods to have left? Already the fourgons were rolling away from town. The older people without daughters to present made haste to withdraw before the summer heat, and daily the knockers were off new doors. Lady Stanwood could not decide on her course. Logically she should return to Stanbury, but she doubted Imbrie’s fancy was sufficiently caught to cause him to journey to Northamptonshire. No matter if he had a legitimate reason for being in that locality, to visit Stanwood Hall must betoken some positive interest which Imbrie was far too wary to arouse.

More and more it seemed she must contrive a casual meeting. Otherwise, he would forget Sharlie or recall her merely as a pleasant young woman with something more of intelligence than the usual society miss, and it was no solace to Lady Stanwood that Charlotte would not be unhappy or humiliated. She had never realized the duke’s interest was in her, and neither had any member of the
ton
aside from Lady Inverclyde.

It was she, however, who provided a solution. “Takin’ my leave,” she announced in a morning call. “I’m off to Bath on Thursday, although I don’t know why. Loathesome waters don’t do anyone a particle of good. Place used to be entertaining, watching the flirtations and manoeuvrings, but now it’s infested with old tabbies like Laura Voss—Imbrie’s mother, y’know.” She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “She was a Daintry, made her come-out with me—one of your die-away misses. Hah, did she want Inverclyde!” the old lady chortled, “but I got him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lady Stanwood smiled absently.

“Do I understand the Dowager summers in Bath?” “House adjoins mine in Queens Crescent,” Lady Inverclyde nodded, “and which is infuriatin’, she chooses to consider us bosom friends. Often thought of selling, but there’s nothing so comfortable in as good a location. Besides, Inverclyde liked it—the baths helped his sciatica in the last years.”

“I wonder,” Lady Stanwood mused. “Emily’s ankle does not strengthen as it should—perhaps the waters would be helpful for her.” She ignored Lady Inverclyde’s sharp glance. “That is, if any suitable lodgings could be discovered at this date,” she added with dignity. “I must own I had not thought to do more than return to Stanwood Hall, but the uneven country terrain—the least garden pebble might lead to a second sprain and cause irreparable damage.”

“Not to be risked,” Lady Inverclyde agreed blandly. “I should consult a house agent at once, Nelly. I doubt of there being anything left on Royal Crescent, but in any case Camden Place would be better for Emily’s foot... and what d’you hear from Imbrie?”

“Why, nothing,” Lady Stanwood shrugged. “I believe he is in the north on family business, from something a servant let fall to Beamish. You must know that a fresh bouquet is sent us daily from Bascombe.”

“Hmph, very pretty of him.” Lady Inverclyde arose to take her leave. “Let me know when you settle in Bath. You can send Sharlie to call—not Emily; it’d be unwise for her ankle. Besides, she’s afraid of Cupidon, the silly goose.”

Lacking any exact address for her piscatorial husband, Lady Stanwood sent a dozen notes in various directions to inform him that she was removing to Bath where Emily could enjoy a water cure. She was not disturbed by lack of response. The present crisis, she
felt, was
not one in which he could be useful. It would be time enough for him to learn they were in Camden Place when he reached Stanwood Hall. With no notion of ulterior motives, Sir Geoffrey heartily agreed that all must be done for Emily’s preservation, while firmly pleading prior engagements that would prevent him from accompanying the ladies to see them settled.

“Lud, ma’am,
Bath
—y’know it’s dull stuff. I’d as lief not go, you’ll not do this in a single day.”

Lady Stanwood’s expression was mulish. “Eight hours,” she stated, “and Emily can survive on tea and toast.”

“You’ve still no need of me,” he protested. “If a man you must have, here’s Wrentham, panting to be asked.” Sir Geoffrey polished his quizzing glass casually. “Think Sharlie means to have him?”

“I’ve no idea,” his mother replied repressively, “nor do I wish for his escort. We shall manage very well with the servants.”

“He’s a good fellow, I don’t mind him,” Sir Geoffrey observed, “but for myself, I think she’d do better with Imbrie. Thought it seemed in the wind—pity if it’s gone off.”

Lady Stanwood eyed her first-born with suppressed hatred, and deflected his mind by a request for his direction, “not that I suppose I shall wish for you, but since your father appears to have lost himself, I would appreciate a general idea of
some
male of the family.” “Can’t see that,” he said, surprised. “If ever anyone was up to snuff, it’s you, mama. Don’t tell me you’ll ever be under the hatches, and if you were, I’d be no use.”

“That,” said his mother, “I can well believe.”

Miss Stanwood’s curtsey to the Queen was exceptionally graceful, and the Princess Mary smiled at her. Miss Stanwood’s appearance at the Prince Regent’s dress party was a marked success. His Highness, with Mr. Brummell at his elbow, distinguished her by inviting her to view his conservatory, although he did not (as usual) attempt to kiss her—blondes were his preference, and he asked most solicitously for Miss Stanwood’s sister of whom (he said) he had heard much. It was noticed at the final assembly that Lord Wrentham had secured all the waltzes and the supper dance with Miss Stanwood. Those ladies whose daughters were already fixed ventured to smile at Lady Stanwood and observe, “I fancy we shall soon see an interesting announcement in the Gazette.”

“I can’t say, Lord Stanwood is from home, you know,” was all she could reply, but the general expectation somewhat raised her spirits. Only Mrs. Drummond Burrell had the power to disquiet Lady Stanwood by remarking, “What a pity! So often these promising situations come to nothing for lack of the right moment. I wonder Lord Stanwood should not be at hand to settle matters.”

Lady Stanwood ground her teeth silently, but clung to her hopeful gamble: let Sharlie be in Bath—quite certainly he would learn of it. If there were any interest, he would shortly arrive to visit his mother—and if he did not, Lady Stanwood had lost her private wager.

For a full three weeks, it seemed that she had, and it was taking all her stamina to face the succession of days. Emily was beginning to droop at the morning footbath, and in truth there was no need for them. She was perfectly fit to walk through Russell Street to the Circus and the Pump Rooms. While the gentlemen who had set their names on Mr. Guynette’s subscription list at the New Assembly Rooms were instantly gaining presentation to Miss Emily, she found them less amusing than her London beaux. Sharlie was happier only in being able to ride Moonshine out to the countryside each day with John-groom, but otherwise she also found Bath rather boring.

As for Lady Stanwood, she was so weary of gentle drives, tea parties and mild dinners that she felt her face would crack with smiling. Nevertheless, she persevered grimly, even going so far as to endure the dowager Duchess of Imbrie’s company for a full four hours’ drive to the Abbey. That lady’s querulous conversation very nearly caused Lady Stanwood to call the whole thing off and accede to Emily’s sighs for home. She could not feel that Sharlie would prosper with such a mama-in-law, particularly as she lost no opportunity to introduce Emily to the dowager’s notice.