“Cissy, how wonderful to see you again.” She smiled at Squire Hatchett’s oldest daughter, with whom she had daily ridden and studied in their youth.
“Papa wrote that you had married, but I had not heard of your arrival in town.”
“I only just got here. Your papa was very disappointed that you were unable to be home for Christmas.”
“I know it was wretched for him, but we were promised to Nigel’s family. His sister had just presented her husband with an heir, so the season included a christening. But did Matt Crawford really make a fool of himself Christmas Eve?”
“Worse, but this is no place to talk. May I present Thomas’s father and sister, Lord Marchgate and Lady Wembley? And my uncle, Lord Waite. This is Lady Carstairs, wife of Sir Nigel Carstairs and a former neighbor.”
Greetings were exchanged and Cissy promised to call the next day.
The crush swept them toward their respective boxes.
Her disappointment with the theater arose from the impossibility of either hearing the play or following its plot. The theater remained noisy, the audience more interested in conversing with friends than in the action. Worse, the company’s presentation of
Hamlet
had been edited out of all recognition. Shakespeare must be turning in his grave, she reflected as another scene jaunted off in an unexpected direction, introducing new characters at the expense of old and twisting the plot yet again.
But the stated purpose of the evening – introducing her to society – was admirably achieved. Their box overflowed with people at each of the intervals.
“Lord Rufton, how lovely to see you again.” She smiled when he pushed his way through the crowd.
“Mrs. Mannering.” He lifted her hand gracefully to his lips. “And why is Thomas not here this evening?”
“A small emergency delayed him at home,” she explained yet again. “But he should arrive within a few days.”
“How did you find Crawley?”
She shuddered. “Thomas can describe it far better than I. But things are slowly improving. You must visit and inspect our progress.”
Rufton smiled. “I would be delighted. But we cannot converse here. Perhaps I could call upon you tomorrow?”
“I will look forward to it. There was no time to get acquainted at Sheldridge Corners.”
Waite recalled her attention in order to introduce another visitor, and Rufton slipped away.
“Caroline, this is your second cousin, Andrew Morris, Viscount Wroxleigh. Drew, my niece, Mrs. Mannering.” He flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Do not believe a word he says as he has a well-deserved reputation for flummery.”
“My secret is revealed,” Wroxleigh moaned, theatrically smiting his brow. “How can my consequence survive such assault?” About thirty, the blond, blue-eyed viscount exuded the same powerful presence as Thomas. Noting the twinkle in his eyes, she concluded that Waite was warning her that he also shared a penchant for raking.
“Doing it too brown, aren’t you, cousin? Perhaps it has long since succumbed,” she teased as he raised her hand to his lips, retaining it considerably longer than protocol demanded.
“You wound me.” He pouted.
“Is that possible?” she riposted with a twinkle.
“But of course! And you must make amends. Drive with me in the park tomorrow.”
“Certainly, cousin,” she agreed, stressing their relationship. A flicker of his eyes acknowledged the message.
“Alas, the interval draws to a close and I must return to my party. But I expect the full tale tomorrow of why you have hidden yourself from my sight all this time.”
“You’ve not missed me a bit, my lord.”
He laughed and departed as the second act began.
A moment later new arrivals entered a box across the way – Alicia and two well-dressed dandies. If the gown she’d worn to visit her modiste had been immodest, tonight’s costume was little short of scandalous. Sheer silk clung revealingly to every curve, the neckline so low she was in danger of popping out each time she inhaled. A sapphire necklace dangled its pendant into the exposed cleft, further drawing the eye. Nor was she at all hesitant about leaning close to each escort in turn as she laughed at their sallies, offering an enhanced view even as her breasts brushed against their arms. Her behavior was far worse than that of the courtesans in the next tier. Even Lady Shelby – whom Uncle William had pointed out on arrival – acted the lady in public. But she could understand Thomas’s interest. Nearly every buck in the house avidly devoured her charms. And who could blame them?
* * * *
Cissy and Lady Potherby both made morning calls the next day. Previously unacquainted, they took an instant liking to each other and the three spent a pleasant hour conversing over tea.
“What happened with Matt Crawford?” asked Cissy. For years he had pursued his self-appointed task of judging the behavior of the neighborhood young people – and not sympathetically.
Caroline laughed. “He returned home last autumn in a very agitated state, but whether from debt or disappointment in love or some other cause we never discovered. The night of Sir Robin’s Christmas party he was quite melancholy, spending much of the evening in conversation with the punch bowl.”
“Oh, dear,” interrupted Cissy. “Matt never could handle wine.”
“That much certainly hasn’t changed,” she agreed. “It wasn’t long before he emerged very well to go. He grabbed Edith Hawkins and insisted that she waltz with him – despite that the music was a country dance.” Cissy giggled. “They twirled dizzily into the refreshment room, his face turning greener by the second, until they crashed into a table. Matt landed flat on the floor with Edith sitting on his stomach and the punch bowl upside down on his very green face.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Two footmen dragged him hurriedly into the next room before he succumbed to his just desserts. He slipped off the next morning and hasn’t been home since.”
Shaking their heads over the excesses of young bucks, the three ladies recalled other ludicrous events they had encountered. From those, conversation moved on to the destruction wrought by Cissy’s cat when a bird blundered into her morning room, to the condition of Crawley upon Caroline’s arrival, and finally to the lurid and cluttered decorating scheme Lord Potherby’s grandmother had imposed on the house. By the time her guests took their leave, Caroline’s spirits were soaring. London promised to be quite enjoyable.
Lord Rufton called as promised, bringing with him another of Thomas’s close friends, Jeremy Caristoke. The three had formed an inseparable trio since first descending upon Eton. Rufton was a stocky redhead of medium height whose most noticeable features were piercing blue eyes. It took but a few minutes to confirm her initial impression of his character. And Caristoke was much the same, though physically different – tall and slender with warm brown eyes set in an expressive face beneath a cap of brown curls. Both were interesting and witty conversationalists.
“So he bought some of Graylock’s mares?” queried Caristoke when she had concluded a brief explanation of Thomas’s plans.
“Four, as well as several from others.”
“I quite long to see what the result will be from breeding them to that black stallion of his.”
“Patience,” urged Rufton with a laugh. “That must wait years.”
“And perhaps longer if the Abbemarle curse passed to us.” Caroline’s giggle betrayed her teasing. “Oh, dear. I was going to tell this so seriously.”
“What curse could plague so recent a construction?” wondered Caristoke.
“Actually, Crawley is a replacement manor, the medieval monstrosity that preceded it having burned to the ground in 1710. We found old estate records that date back to the Plantagenets. And I believe a painting I discovered in an attic depicts the original dwelling. It would provide a perfect setting for a Radcliffe novel, all gothic battlements, turrets, blank walls, and cold stone.”
“But what of the curse?”
“Why, Lord Rufton! Are you interested in ghostly phenomena?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, do call me George,” he urged.
“And I am Jeremy.”
“I am honored, gentlemen. As to the curse, the contemporary account of the fire suggests that an ancient curse was responsible, but we have been unable to find an account of what it might be. Did it attach to the land, the house, or the original family? Thomas’s great-grandfather acquired the estate from the Abbemarles after the present manor was built.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Let me know if you uncover any information,” George said with a chuckle. “My father’s estate has half a dozen supposed ghosts, but I never encountered a real curse.”
“Nor I,” admitted Jeremy. “But what a dismal topic for a Mayfair drawing room.”
“Thomas mentioned that you were well-read,” commented George to change the subject.
“Yes, you have discovered my darkest secret. I admit to being a fearful bluestocking.”
“You and Thomas must be well-suited indeed, Caroline,” Jeremy observed. “He is exceedingly bright, though he always tried to hide the extent of his intelligence at school. But he absorbs a prodigious number of books.”
“I have studied his library,” she admitted.
They chatted about literature and laughed over memories of Oxford tutorials until it was time for the gentlemen to leave. Their visit provided a glimpse of yet another side of Thomas’s character, she reflected as she changed for the promised ride in the park with her cousin. Anyone who could attract and hold the friendship of two such worthwhile men deserved her respect. Her husband was proving to be a complex character – witty, sensual, capable, intelligent, and protective of his friends. In fact, her only complaint was his continued obsession with Alicia that had so negative an effect on their relationship. If only they could return to the easy camaraderie of the early days.
But such a wish would prove impossible any time soon. Please let the future be better. Even indifference would be preferable to cold fury.
Lord Wroxleigh called to take her up a few minutes later.
“Ah, your ravishing beauty would brighten the most dismal day,” he exclaimed passionately as Caroline entered the drawing room clad in a peach muslin carriage dress and green pelisse. A chip bonnet trimmed in matching green was tied jauntily beneath one ear and sparked green highlights in her brown eyes.
“Fustian!” she snorted, eyeing his elegant blue coat, dove pantaloons, and mirror-finish Hessians with approval. “If you insist on Spanish coin every time we meet, I will be forced to avoid you, else I will become puffed with conceit.”
“You are the hardest person to flirt with.” He pouted as he escorted her to the door.
“You must not confuse flirtation with fantasy if you wish to retain your credibility,” she chided him, shaking her head.
He laughed and led her outside. His equipage proved to be a perch phaeton painted dark blue with the wheels picked out in gold, pulled by a restive pair of matched bays. It took only a minute for her to relax in the knowledge that he drove nearly as well as Thomas.
“Is this your first trip to Hyde Park?” he asked as they drove through the gates.
“Yes. I’ve been in town less than a week, and you know what the weather has been like, cousin.”
“Call me Drew, sweet Caroline,” he murmured. “‘Cousin’ is so respectable.”
“Very well, Drew,” she agreed. “Unless you need a reminder.”
“You are being cruel,” he accused playfully.
“Don’t come the rogue with me or I shall be forced to forego your company,” she warned, a note of steel underlying the words.
He remained silent for a full minute before turning a charming grin in her direction. “Agreed. I have an unaccountable urge to know you better, cousin. How can I wish to spend time with an unseducible lady?”
Caroline laughed. “Boredom?” she suggested. “Perhaps your life has become too predictable.”
“Possibly. But I had best introduce you around lest people get the wrong idea.” He hailed a passing curricle. “Ashton! Good day to you. Gerald, may I present my cousin, Caroline Mannering? She is Thomas Mannering’s wife and just arrived for the Season. Caroline, this is Viscount Ashton.”
“My lord.” Caroline smiled. The viscount wore an enormous emerald on one hand that sparkled in the sunlight every time he moved.
“Is Mannering back then?” he inquired.
“In a few days.”
By the time Ashton moved forward, Drew’s phaeton was mobbed by others eager to meet her. Her head soon swirled with names, finally giving up on the task of attaching them to faces. Only three were of sufficient import to stay in her memory: dark-haired Sally Jersey, one of the feared Almack’s patronesses; Beau Brummell, whose position as the ultimate arbiter of fashion was yet unchallenged – Robert might lead the most flamboyant of fops, but the Beau’s quiet elegance had a greater following and was far more pleasing to her eye; and Lady Beatrice, an elderly, purple-robed dowager who was the most feared gossip in Mayfair, knowing everything that occurred, most of it before the rest of the
ton
. With Drew’s assistance, Caroline managed to navigate the conversational shoals without mishap and acquitted herself very well.
“Thank you.” They headed back to Berkeley Square. “I would never have believed I could manage, but you make it easy.”
“There is really nothing to park conversation,” he disclaimed. “It is all hello and good-bye and repeating the latest gossip you learned from your servants and morning calls.”
“I suspect I need to recognize faces and relationships first. Can you imagine repeating naughty
on-dits
to the wrong parties?”
Drew laughed. “Ah, yes. I had not considered that trap. But within a week I warrant you will have acquired enough town bronze to discard your fears. It has been delightful, my dear,” he concluded, pulling his bays to a halt at Marchgate House. “I trust we will meet again soon.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Caroline as he handed her down, retaining her hand a moment too long. “But watch your step. One rake in my life is enough.”
He sighed and turned back to his horses.
* * * *
In the days that followed Caroline found herself caught up in the social life of the
ton
. Emily coached her on town conventions and accompanied her to several routs, a musicale, and a ball. Lady Marchgate and Eleanor sought her company for other events. She furthered her friendships with George, Jeremy, and Drew, and developed even closer relationships with Emily, Cissy, and Helena Potherby. She shopped, viewed the Elgin Marbles with Jeremy and the British Museum with George, drove again in the park with Drew, and danced with them and with others. Helena and Cissy accompanied her to two lectures and a literary evening. Uncle William and Drew introduced her to other cousins. Her acquaintances multiplied as she accompanied Lady Marchgate on her daily round of visits or remained at home when the countess received callers.