At the first opportunity James asked her, “Where is Hilda?”
Joy waved a white-gloved hand. “I left her to come to the receiving line. She’s somewhere about.”
James looked worried. “I hope she isn’t avoiding me.
“Nonsense,” she said.
Lord and Lady Dever came down the line. They were both elderly, horsey types, and they were only interested in the estate’s newest stallion. They halted to ask Joy some polite questions about her riding and then moved on.
In the following moment James said, “I still see no sign of Hilda.”
“She’s likely in the other room,” Joy told him.
More guests arrived, the males in colorful jackets, and the ladies in evening dresses cut as low as fashion would allow. There were people of all ages, and from every section of the county. The orchestra played, and soon those who had passed through the line were dancing in the big ballroom.
Joy thought the flow of people would never end. She was weary of smiling and shaking hands. She couldn’t help wondering where Hilda was — had she sought out Sir George, and managed to dance with him?
The reception line ended at last and James turned to her and said, “I demand the first dance, little sister!”
It was a waltz, and Sir Richard and Lady Susan became the object of much attention as they led the swirling couples under the softly-lit glass chandeliers. Waiters served drinks to those watching.
As they danced, James said, “I want you to be nice to Sir George. But don’t become too friendly.”
“That is strange advice,” she told him.
James said, “You must understand. Flirt with him if you like but have no serious intentions.”
“What about him?”
James, resplendent in a pale, green jacket and white breeches, laughed as he whirled her around. “You need not worry about George. He has never been sincere in his life!”
Their dance ended, and as James escorted her off the floor George stood waiting for her. She was a trifle breathless from the strenuous waltzing.
George bowed. “You made a lovely figure with your brother in that dance. You looked a fully grown young woman.”
She smiled. “I consider myself a grown woman. I’m seventeen.”
“Your parents should not let you marry for a while,” he surprised her by saying.
She stared at him. “You feel in a position to give advice?”
“James is my closest friend. He’s told me all about you.”
“Really?”
The orchestra began a lively mazurka. He said, “May I have the pleasure?”
“Of course,” she said mockingly.
He led her out, and joined the fast moving couples — all were caught up in the zest of the Polish dance. They had no chance to talk for the dancing absorbed all their attention. It lasted longer than the waltz, and when it ended she and her partner were breathless and perspiring.
“We must go outside,” George said. “I’m exhausted.”
“So am I,” she said.
They reached the verandah and he apologized, “I have spent so much time at the gaming tables my dancing is rusty.”
Standing under the stars, she gazed at the weakly handsome face. “Is gambling such a compulsion with you?”
“It is one of my compulsions,” he said, with another of his mocking smiles.
“I won’t ask the others,” she said, holding her closed fan.
George looked about them impatiently. “Too many people coming out for fresh air. Isn’t there some spot we can go for a little privacy?”
She laughed. “How about a stroll in the gardens?”
The young man escorted her to the gardens, which were almost empty although you could hear the distant music, and the talking of people on the verandah. George found a marble bench, where they sat.
George stared at her. “In many ways you’re an enigma.”
“How so?”
“James described you as high-spirited and flirtatious. I don’t find you like that.”
“Disappointed?”
“No. Your reserve only whets my desire.”
She said, “I understand you often have desires for young women.”
“You’re telling me that I’m a
roué
.”
“Perhaps.”
“It’s partly true,” he admitted. “I have loved many women. But now I have a desire to settle down. I have a house in London not far from Berkeley Square.”
“So James said.”
“I live there with my sister and an aunt, plus the usual quota of servants. Unhappily my sister and my aunt are both afflicted. My sister, Rachel, is very ill with consumption. We have traveled in warmer climates, and tried every sort of treatment, but she gradually grows worse. We are close since my parents are dead.”
“And your aunt?”
“Aunt Sada suffered a stroke a few years ago. It afflicted one side of her body. She must use a cane to move about, and even worse, she has lost her speech. She manages to run the household by writing her instructions to the servants.”
“She sounds like a courageous old woman.”
“She is,” he agreed with a sigh. “Perhaps I have become a rake to forget the tragedies which have beset my family.”
“You should have a wife.”
“True,” Sir George said, gazing at her intently. “I need someone with heart and a brilliant mind. Someone like you!”
She smiled wanly. “You flatter me. But I am young and untried. I’m sure you would find an older girl more interesting.”
“I question that,” he said. “You are seventeen, old enough to marry.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have no plans for marriage.”
“Make plans!” he said.
Joy was startled by his sudden proposal, and the seriousness of his manner. She said, “I’m flattered by your offer. But I’m not ready. I must give the idea thought.”
“You will be mine,” George said, and took her in his arms. He did not break the ardent embrace until sounds of approaching footsteps told of another coming along the path.
A moment later Joy’s father appeared. Sir Richard was alone. He halted by them to say, “I see I’m not alone in wishing to flee the house for some cool air.”
“True, sir,” George said, somewhat embarrassed.
Joy took the opportunity to get away, saying, “I must look for Hilda. I’ll leave you two to talk a little.” And before either of them could reply, she picked up her skirt and hurried back to the house.
She met the dark girl standing by herself, just inside the main entrance to the ballroom. Joy asked her at once, “Did you dance with James?”
“Several times,” Hilda smiled. “He’s just gone to get me a cold drink.”
Joy said shyly, “I’ve been with Sir George Nason.”
“I saw you two leave for the garden,” Hilda said with a knowing twinkle in her black eyes. “I wager you ended in his arms!”
“He wants to marry me.”
Hilda gasped. “He actually proposed to you?”
“Yes.”
“I’d think carefully about it,” her companion said. “He is good looking, but I would never trust him!”
Joy said, “We must stop discussing it! Here comes James!”
James returned with a cold drink for Hilda; and Joy was invited to another waltz with a young noble, who lived in Guildford. The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant and ordinary fashion. The big excitement had ended.
But from that evening, Sir George acted as though she were his betrothed. He proved himself a charming house guest. Once he borrowed a riding habit from James and went out with Joy and Hilda. He was an excellent horseman. They rode along the banks of the river, and passed old Peg’s hovel — Joy was sad to see it was deserted. No doubt the old woman was dead.
This weekend served the pattern for many others: Sir George Nason became a frequent guest at Canby Hall. Though rumors of his debauched excesses continued to be whispered in London, he always behaved himself well as the guest of the family.
If Sir Richard and Lady Susan did not approve of him, at least they began to tolerate him. He continued to pay the family visits when they moved back to London. He often showed up at the mansion in Berkeley Square with James. James warned Joy several times against his chum. She made neither comment nor denial whenever Sir George spoke of an engagement.
They were in Surrey for a few days when word came from London that William the Fourth was dead. His niece, Victoria, the daughter of the late Duke of Kent would take the throne. The King was dead! Long live the Queen!
There were no guests at the Surrey house this weekend. Sir Richard and Lady Susan invited Joy and Hilda to hear the news in the living room.
Joy’s father said, “We have a new Queen. And she is barely eighteen! Only a few months older than you, Joy. How would you like such responsibility?”
“I would not wish it,” she said.
Sir Richard sighed. “I shall have to go to London at once. The House will be meeting for the coronation must be planned. So we must leave here.”
Joy’s mother looked ecstatic. “London is the place to be! History is being made there!”
“True,” Hilda chimed in. “How nice to have a Queen ruling us again! She may even be as great as Elizabeth.”
Sir Richard smiled. “It is hard to say. I have been told she is a complex yet fascinating young person.”
Lady Susan nodded. “Her mother is a widow. And there has been a good deal of gossip about her.”
“Unfortunately,” Sir Richard said. “This girl has been brought up without any of the pomp one might expect. The late King took no interest in her. Yet they say she is extremely smart, fluent in German and French, and excellent in all her other studies. But the intimate relationship between her mother and a certain Sir John Conroy has outraged her.”
Lady Susan explained, “Sir John Conroy is the Comptroller of the Royal Household, in charge of the business affairs of the family.”
“Many think him unworthy of the job,” Sir Richard went on. “He has been termed unscrupulous. The story goes that he has enjoyed playing the daughter against the mother.”
Joy said, “I understand Victoria is fond of her cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who is near her own age. Do you think they might marry?”
“I hope not,” her father said. “Not a German Prince! We’ve had enough Germans in the royal family. Well, we must pack and go to London.”
All London was in a festive mood! And the Canby family was soon part of the celebrating. The coronation parade was less exciting than Joy had expected. She and Hilda, with other members of the family, watched it from the balcony of a house on the parade route. The young Queen looked demure and attractive in her open carriage. And the stupendously long parade of soldiers and sailors caught the fancy of everyone. The well trained horses, groomed to startling extravagance, added to the colorful procession.
They cheered the Queen, and then cheered more loudly as the colorful regiments passed by. The cavalry in their fur caps, red and blue uniforms, and yellow trim, captured the enthusiasm of the crowds.
Joy found herself caught in a whirl of social activities which lasted the summer, autumn, and into the winter. London had never known such festivity. The mansion on Berkeley Square was the scene of many great parties.
At one of these, Sir George Nason appeared. He gave most of his attention to her. And when he found the opportunity he took her aside in a shadowed corridor away from the party, and told her, “I’m going to speak to your father about our betrothal.”
She stared at him. “I’d thought you’d forgotten!”
“Never,” he said. “This is a grand party.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
He sighed. “My poor sister, Rachel, has known none of the fun of the coronation parties. She remains bedfast. I wish you would visit her.”
Joy said, “Would she really care to see me?”
“You’re to be her sister-in-law!”
“Please! Do you think she would welcome my visiting her?”
“She is starved for company,” Sir George said. “She has no company but my aunt. And I told you that my Aunt Sada cannot speak.”
“Very well,” Joy said. “I will pay her a call.”
“Let me know in advance and I’ll try to meet you there.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d prefer to see her alone.”
“As you like,” he said with a shrug.
Later she told Hilda, and her friend was concerned. “The girl is ill. Are you sure she wants to see you?”
“George says so. I’d like to take her a present.”
Hilda sighed. “If you must go, perhaps some homemade fudge would be a suitable gift.”
Joy made a batch of fudge, and carefully packed and tied it with a bright ribbon. Then she made the journey through the winter streets. Before she reached her destination she wished she had ordered a carriage. She had not realized the weather’s severity.
She reached Sir George’s house. His father had been a prominent newspaper publisher, but it was said all that was left of the family wealth was this old mansion, and it heavily mortgaged. She walked up the steps to a heavy oaken door with stone pillars on either side of it. She used the knocker, and after a moment the door was opened by a severe and elderly woman, who ushered her into the living room. There, an old lady sat in an easy chair before a blazing fireplace.
The thin, old lady wore a white dust cap with a black ribbon, and stared at Joy without speaking. The cane at her side told Joy this was Aunt Sada.
The housekeeper explained, “She is not deaf. No need to shout at her.” And she left the room.
Joy nodded and clutching her gift, she turned to the old lady, smiled weakly, and said, “I am Lady Joy Canby, a friend of Sir George. He asked me to visit Rachel. I have a gift for her.”
Aunt Sada nodded, and reached for a pad and pencil. She wrote swiftly, and then with a smile on her wrinkled face handed a slip of paper to Joy. On it was written: “Rachel is in her bedroom at the head of the stairway. You may go to her.”
Joy said, “Thank you!”
The old woman wrote again, and handed another slip to her. It read: “Do not overtax her. She is desperately ill!” And the old woman settled back in her chair, showing no further interest in Joy.
Joy left the room and went upstairs. The sound of a dry, hacking cough came to Joy as she reached the dark landing. She found her way to an open door. In a corner of this bedroom near a window lay the sick girl. One look at her wan, wasted face, which bore a startling likeness to her brother’s, showed that unhappy Rachel was indeed very ill.