An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  Unfortunately, it did not take long for word to spread of what the small village considered a windfall for the poor, orphaned vicar’s daughter. There was no more generous girl than Rua Postlethwaite, but she was so often in a scrape, the matrons nodded tolerantly. It was the fiery red hair, in addition to being a man of the cloth’s daughter, which caused the trouble, Rua’s detractors avowed, acknowledging with pursed lips that these factors were often cited to excuse her occasional lapses. A sojourn in London could be the very thing to curb her ill-conceived starts. Therefore, while Rua was deciding she was not fit for London, the village of Bagsby was deciding how to make it happen.

  The next morning, before Rua had finished her coffee, Jane was at her door to deliver some news.

  “Mrs. Merriweather has condescended to hold a tea party in your honour, so we can see what needs to be done!” Jane was so excited she looked as though she would burst.

  Rua eyed her over her cup, trying to think of a tactful way to let her friend down. In fact, Rua needed several more cups before tact came naturally to her.

  “I am not going to London,” she blurted out.

  “Nonsense!” Jane was not to be deterred.

  “I know you think I have made my decision in haste, but I assure you, it is not possible. I have already written my regrets.”

  “No!” Jane hurried from the room to find the letter before it was posted. She returned after a few minutes, holding the missive high. “At least come to the tea party and see what may be done.”

  Rua considered her friend with distaste. “My reduced circumstances are common knowledge; however, speaking of them before the ladies of the village is not my preferred pastime.”

  “Everyone only wants to help.” Jane looked shattered, and Rua felt enormous guilt.

  “Oh, very well.” She conceded defeat. “I shall come, but it won’t make a hap’orth of difference. I have nothing but pearl earrings, a muff, and a shawl to recommend me.”

  With a giddy smile, Jane clapped her hands. “Two o’clock this afternoon!” She left on the words and took the letter with her.

  Thus it was with great reluctance that Rua arrived at Mrs. Merriweather’s Georgian manor house that afternoon, precisely at two. The drawing room was full; every lady with any claim to gentility was present, and Rua felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.

  Jane ran over to greet her and whispered into her ear. “They mean well, dearest. Allow them to do this for you.”

  Rua tried to remember that as she sat demurely on the edge of a chair while being discussed as though not there. It would perhaps have been preferable not to be.

  Mrs. Merriweather presented her with some of the former’s outmoded gowns to be refashioned. Lady Trewlaney also felt the need to instruct Rua on ton etiquette, as though she had never been taught to be a lady.

  “You must not prattle on about the country or all your relations. No one cares and will think you very gauche. Come to think of it, you should not prattle at all. You must develop a sense of ennui, my dear. Do not act shocked as though you are a green girl first come to the big city.”

  Rua was a green country girl on her first visit to the city. She was beginning to wonder if she would like London at all if she had to behave as though she had swallowed a tack or was suffering from indigestion.

  “Never dance more than twice with the same gentleman,” Mrs. Merriweather said, though it was much the same in Yorkshire.

  “No galloping in Hyde Park or riding astride . . .” The lady looked pointedly at Rua, who might have had a habit of doing such a thing when riding with her brothers. To be fair, she had not done it since being out of the schoolroom.

  “You must be chaperoned everywhere you go in Town. It is not at all like here where you can gad about on your own.” She sent a quelling glance as though she did not approve of more than just Rua walking around alone. “St. James’s, for instance; you must not go there even with someone.”

  “Whyever not?” Jane asked.

  “It is where all of the gentlemen’s clubs are, of course! She would be labelled as fast—or worse. Only a certain type of female ventures there!”

  “Which reminds me, for goodness’ sake, do not mention a gentleman’s chères amies,” she whispered loudly to Rua, though the latter was quite certain everyone in the room was all ears.

  Although she knew very well it was the polite term for mistress, Rua maintained an innocent expression despite her distaste for such evils—driven by her conviction they destroyed families. She had three older brothers, after all, and had overheard lurid tales . . . Nonetheless, there were some scandalous behaviours occurring in Town, which Rua was glad to know about beforehand.

  “Most of the gentlemen have them, of course, but you must never mention it. There are also those of a certain sophistication who engage in flirtations—and you must take care to avoid such a thing, especially with those above your touch.”

  “That will be almost everyone,” Rua muttered.

  Lady Trewlaney nodded. “The most exclusive part of the Season is Almack’s, but you must gain the favour of the leaders of the ton to gain admittance. I would not set my hopes as high as that, my dear, for the patronesses are known to be contrary. Why, sometimes they give vouchers to a husband and not a wife if they think he married beneath him!”

  This fact garnered gasps from many of the older ladies who had not enjoyed the advantage of a London Season.

  “I, personally, believe it all comes down to fashion and fancy,” she added. “If you should be given a voucher, do not waltz without the permission of the patronesses. ’Twould be fatal!”

  This drew more gasps from the ladies of the village where the waltz was still thought scandalous.

  “Then we must do our best to see our Rua gives no one cause to look down their noses at Yorkshire,” Jane pronounced.

  Rua was less and less comfortable with the notion of her representing anything, fearing she would be sent straight back before she stepped across the threshold of the Sutherland residence. Nevertheless, the ladies had a purpose, and it would be badly done of her to refuse their kindness.

  Mrs. Winters contributed two very fine lengths of silk she had found in a trunk from her days in India. The widows of the parish had banded together to purchase her a new pair of gloves. Jane gifted Rua the high-crowned bonnet she had been coveting for some time, while even ol’ man Everett decided to be generous and gave her a fifty-pound note! Rua was quite overcome with emotion but could hardly refuse the opportunity with the entire village supporting her.

  Thus, when the carriage arrived, seven days after the shocking letter from Lord Edward, Rua felt as though she would not embarrass herself completely.

  She had never been to a city larger than York, and she was intimidated by the prospect of going to such a grand place, though her pride would never allow her to admit such a thing.

  When the striking carriage with a crest, pulled by four matched bays, arrived in front of the small cottage-like vicarage, Rua tried to remember Lady Trewlaney’s reminders about how to comport herself as a London lady. Therefore, she waited until the footman—in smart green livery—had closed the door and the carriage had lurched forward before emitting a scream of excitement into her muff.

  It was a full hour into the journey before she had stopped exploring every inch of the luxurious conveyance and all its wonders. Who knew there would be compartments with travelling games, a writing desk, and oil lamps? Never had her father’s small income, while respectable, allowed for more than a plain carriage of the useful sort.

  It was therefore some time before she could settle enough even to attempt to read the new book Jane had gifted her for the journey. She was going to London!

  Chapter Two

  Several weeks had passed since Deverell had accepted the wager to bring Lord Edward’s project into fashion, and it had quite slipped his mind. Therefore, when he was sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon, he barely dodged what would have been a pain
ful right hook when Sutherland mentioned the girl had arrived in Town. Rarely one to lose his composure, he quickly recovered, but his mind would not allow him further enjoyment of his sport that day. He quickly disengaged and began to ponder his next course of action. Frequently bored, with few people to match his wit, he started viewing this as a potential source of amusement for the next few months. As he and Sutherland dressed, he became annoyed that his friend had said nothing more.

  “Well, am I to know naught of the girl?”

  “Oh, yes, we have not made plans, have we?”

  “I believe the wager only stated I was to bring her into fashion,” Dev reminded him. “How did Lady Sutherland receive the news of her new protégé?”

  Sutherland shrugged. “Mama takes everything with aplomb. I only caught a glimpse of the girl, mind you, but my mother said she had absolutely nothing to recommend her.”

  Dev’s brows lifted slightly, but Sutherland continued. “Personally, I felt as though she had rather too much to recommend her, if you know what I mean.”

  “Please spell it out for me.”

  Sutherland favoured him with a roguish smirk. “She looks as if she belongs in Covent Garden.”

  “The devil!” he said, surprised into a brief lapse of control.

  “Quite,” Sutherland agreed.

  Dev still was not certain it would not be amusing to thrust such a one amongst the High Sticklers, but he needed to see what kind of challenge he faced.

  “When is your mother holding her next at-home?”

  Sutherland cast a sideways grin in his direction. “Are you certain you wish to throw yourself to the wolves?”

  “Where else am I to gain an introduction?”

  “I will have to discover if Mama is ready for her to be seen yet.”

  “As bad as that? Perhaps I should call when you are home. I am certain you can contrive for us to meet.”

  “It might be better to come when Mama is out. She was beside herself with obtaining a proper wardrobe for the girl at the busiest time of year. If she thought you were coming, she might have one of her nervous fits.”

  “Why don’t you send word when you find a time which would be convenient? I have not seen Caro in years, so it would not be inappropriate to greet an old friend.”

  “I will send word as soon as Mama leaves the house for any length of time, then.”

  The men shook hands and parted company at the door to Bond Street. Dev took longer than usual reaching his front step, so deep in thought was he about the possibilities. He was imagining all sorts of interesting options and how the ton would receive the girl. As the door swung open, he felt a rare smile break out on his face and thought his butler might have a heart seizure at the uncommon sight.

  Dev’s curiosity was not to suffer a long wait. He received a note within the hour that Sutherland’s mother was making morning calls but Caro and Miss Postlethwaite were remaining at home until the latter’s wardrobe was ready.

  Dev made a sound resembling laughter at the thought of the personage which would meet his eyes.

  “Burroughs!”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “My curricle, at once!”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  When Lord Deverell arrived not half an hour later at the Sutherland town house, no one of his acquaintance could have guessed the rare anticipation he held in meeting the source of his entertainment for the next few months. He was dressed in his usual understated, impeccable fashion, with fitted pantaloons, gleaming Hessians, a dark-blue, superfine coat and a crisp white neckcloth.

  After a brief exchange of civilities, Lord Sutherland sent for Lady Caroline and Miss Postlethwaite to join them.

  “I have to admit, I am looking forward to this more than I ought,” Sutherland confided. “Of those I have seen, the rest of the new crop is as tedious as you might expect, but I think you will have your hands full with her, Dev. I am going to enjoy every minute of this. It is a pity Edward had to return to his regiment and miss all the fun.”

  “What will his hands be full of, brother?” Lady Caro asked as she made her entrance into the room. A vision in a bright jonquil muslin, she caused the men to swallow their mischief. “Lord Deverell!” she then exclaimed, keeping the gentlemen from answering.

  “Lady Caroline. You are a sight to behold.” He took the hand she held out to him and kissed the air above it.

  “Fustian! It has been years, though,” she said, a rosy bloom rising in her cheeks.

  Lady Caroline was pleasant enough to look at, with fine dark hair and eyes and a willowy figure. Dev said all that was proper, but he confessed to himself that his thoughts were more intrigued by the shock of red hair and buxom figure of the girl standing behind Lady Caroline. Her drab blue kerseymere dress looked as shabby as he had anticipated, yet there was nothing shabby about the woman wearing it. Her hair was an unusual shade of red—not carrot, not copper—and was enhanced by an expressive pair of violet eyes, a creamy complexion with her cheeks flushed becomingly and a perfectly moulded set of lips.

  “Lord Deverell, may I introduce our guest, Miss Postlethwaite from Yorkshire. Her brother served with Edward in the Greys.”

  He made a polite bow, lowering his lids over his own dark eyes so as to reveal nothing of his thoughts.

  She curtsied, and her eyes flashed more fire than her hair could ever hope to. He was more than pleased with the prospect before him, especially as the girl seemed annoyed by him.

  “How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Postlethwaite?”

  “It is quite different from Yorkshire, my lord,” she said, her voice carrying a slight burr.

  Dev’s ears perked up. Had he imagined it? He glanced from Sutherland to Caro, and they also looked a little uncomfortable.

  “It is, quite. Is it your first visit here?”

  “I have nay been past York before, my lord.”

  “Then you shall have to allow me to show you some of the sights here while you are in Town.”

  Sutherland covered his laughter with a cough, and Dev could tell Caroline turned away quickly to hide her astonishment. Deverell never escorted any female about.

  “Oh, that wahn’t be necessary, my lord. I don’t mind a bit of adventure on my own.”

  “Oh!” Caroline exclaimed. “You cannot wander about in the city without a chaperone, Miss Postlethwaite.”

  “I don’t see why not. I went everywhere alone in Bagsby. I can nay imagine anyone would notice me in this ’ere big city.”

  “Dear me,” he heard Caroline whisper.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I have just longed to see Vauxhall, Astley’s and the Tower!” She clapped her hands in childish excitement.

  “Then we shall see to it, Miss Postlethwaite. However, I must agree with Lady Caro. It is not at all the thing for a pretty young lady to gad about alone here. London is not only more dangerous than York, it can do irreparable damage to a lady’s standing in Society.”

  Dev could have sworn the lady’s eyes narrowed when he called her pretty. She would give him a run for his money if she did not know how to flirt a little, but he was not about to make a cake of himself, even to win this wager.

  “Ay, and I remember Ewan jabbered of watchin’ prime articles and eatin’ oranges in the pit.”

  “I am certain you will enjoy it more from a box, Miss Postlethwaite,” Sutherland said with an impressively straight face.

  Dev felt a muscle quirking at the edge of his lips but quickly repressed it and composed his features into impassivity. This Season was looking more promising by the moment. Either this girl was very clever or was as unsophisticated as a new calf.

  Either way, she presented a challenge. He hoped it was the latter, for it would be much more entertaining.

  ***

  “Miss Postlethwaite!” Lady Caroline exclaimed after Lord Deverell had left. “You must not offend him! He is the leader of fashionable Society. One word of approval from him and you will be assured of success. H
e showed great kindness in offering to show you around Town.”

  Was it kindness or condescension? Rua frowned as she recalled the tall, dark man, with black, arching brows over hooded lids, who had gazed at her with ruthless and brutal scrutiny.

  “Indeed. Deverell is one of the most fashionable beaux in London Society. Many ladies would swoon, break an ankle or surrender a fortune for a chance to be seen in his company,” Sutherland added dryly. He was lounging in a chair, his legs crossed casually, with a look of amusement shaping his face that Rua did not quite trust.

  Mrs. Merriweather had warned her about the games sophisticated gentleman played to amuse themselves, including shamelessly flirting and raising the expectations of young girls who did not know better.

  “I did not mean to offend him.”

  “It is not important. Dev is not easily offended. He rarely gives thought to eligible misses. He did not earn the nickname ‘Dark Devil’ simply because of his dark good looks and attire,” Sutherland assured her before also taking his leave.

  Nothing he could have said could have infuriated her more. “Lord Deverell thinks himself above such company, does he?”

  “No, I do not think it is that so much as he truly does not care, which of course only makes everyone seek his approval all the more.”

  Rua thought London ways were quite backward.

  “Miss Postlethwaite, if I may be so bold?” Caro interrupted her mental tirade against Deverell.

  “Of course you may, but please call me Rua.”

  “Very well, Rua.” She hesitated. “Do you realize you spoke with an accent to Lord Deverell?”

  “Accent? Whatever do you mean?” Rua attempted to control a blush. Why did the devil have to come out in her tongue? She had overheard the quip from Lord Sutherland as they were descending the stairs and had suspected it had to do with her, and hence she had given them a country bumpkin!

  “Perhaps I am mistaken, but it seems you spoke differently just now.”

  “I apologize if I embarrassed you, my lady. I will try not to let it happen again.”