An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  “Oh, please do not worry yourself over it. I am sorry I said anything.” The girl looked so tender-hearted and contrite, Rua had to admit her sins.

  “Lady Caroline, it is I who must beg your pardon. May I confess something to you?”

  “Of course, but you must call me Caro. Let us remove to my sitting room, where we may speak in private.”

  As they climbed the marble staircase, crowned by a domed ceiling painted with Greek gods sitting upon cottony clouds, Rua was still feeling overwhelmed by the luxury surrounding her. They entered a beautiful sitting room done in pinks and greens, with finely papered walls covered in tiny birds, which alone must have cost more than her father’s annual salary. Her gown was most definitely not in fashion, and her tongue had run amok.

  Lady Sutherland had said all that was welcoming and proper when Rua arrived, but had struggled to hide her astonishment at her old gowns and was quite taken aback when she discovered her mother had been cast off after marrying beneath her. “I hope they do not snub you in public!” she had responded with a frown. Not yet twenty-four hours had passed since her arrival, and Rua fully felt her lack of sophistication!

  “I hardly know you, but since your family has decided to take me into their home for a few months, I may as well take you into my confidence.”

  “Of course. I wish you to feel completely comfortable.”

  “I have a suspicion your brother and his friend are cutting a sham.”

  “They are always up to something,” Caro said in complete agreement. She kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet up under her in a relaxed manner Rua was certain her mama would not approve of.

  “I do not really have an accent, but I believe they were speaking of me when we walked into the room, and I decided to bamboozle them.”

  Caro’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Oh, that is too bad of you!” She laughed. “Do they truly speak such strange words in Yorkshire?”

  “Yes, and much more!” Rua assured her.

  “Perhaps you may be right. How may we find out?”

  “I do not wish to do anything to offend you or your mother or spoil your Season in any way.”

  Caroline’s eyes twinkled. “I think my family’s reputation is safe enough. Did you have something in mind, or are you worried your presence will taint the Sutherland name?”

  “Not my presence precisely, but my behaviour.”

  “Your behaviour is lovely; you have nothing to be concerned about. Some of the old tabbies will look down their noses at anyone who does not meet their exacting standards of dress and decorum, but there is no reason to think your Season will be a failure.”

  “I cannot help but suspect there is something suspicious going on. If there is, I want to give them a taste of their own medicine. That is why I wished to take you into my confidence.”

  “You may very well be correct, although I do not see why you think they were speaking of you, from the little we overheard.”

  “Is it your brother’s habit to invite you to meet his old friends?” Rua asked.

  “Not usually, no,” Caro answered carefully.

  “And if Lord Deverell is such a leader of the beau monde, why would he invite me to see the sights upon the occasion of our first meeting? Especially when he is so clearly a Pink of the Ton and I a dowdy country miss?”

  “I think you undervalue yourself; you are hardly dowdy, even in that dress. Perhaps he sees your potential, in spite of the clothing?”

  Rua shook her head. “I have been a vicar’s daughter too long. No fine gentleman would have any interest in one such as me.”

  “He has been the most sought-after bachelor and has made it clear he has no intention of being caught. Perhaps he thinks to set you up as his flirt for the Season? Mama warned me that he has a new one every year.”

  “I have no delusions about Lord Deverell,” Rua said in reassuring tones, “although I would not be averse to a reasonable match. However, I cannot resist toying with this toplofty gentleman just a little.”

  Caro looked concerned. “How much do you intend to toy with him? I am not certain I would go too far. He could ruin all your chances with one word!”

  “Oh, I will not let it go as far as that, I assure you. My main desire is to see if my estimation is correct. I grew up with three older brothers, after all.”

  “And I with two.” Caro smiled. “Very well, then. I will help you as best I may. What do you have in mind?”

  “Does your mother have any old gowns in the attics?”

  Chapter Three

  Dev was very pleased with himself after he had left Sutherland. The girl was too delicious. Would Society accept her, was the question. If she behaved prettily—minded her tongue—and obtained a new wardrobe, then perhaps it could be done. He could, of course, call in any number of favours from the Almack’s patronesses to win his wager quickly, but where was the sport in that?

  In all probability, they would think he had set her up as his latest flirt and pity the poor girl. He frowned. Hopefully, she would not develop a tendre for him, but she seemed to have more pluck than most of the young débutantes. He would tread carefully.

  Wasting no time, he arranged an evening at Astley’s Amphitheatre, thinking that would be the best place to further his acquaintance with Miss Postlethwaite, without the critical eyes of the ton upon her.

  A box was procured for the next evening, and an invitation sent for Sutherland, Lady Caroline and Miss Postlethwaite to join him. He also invited Lord Tindal so it would not yet look as though he were singling anyone out.

  Dev dressed in his usual understated fashion, this time in solid black, the only relief being his gleaming white neckcloth with a ruby pin. The red he chose in honour of Miss Postlethwaite’s hair. Would she notice? He wondered at the absurdity and why he bothered.

  Arriving precisely at the appointed time, he alighted from his elegant chaise and four, which, singular to its owner, was also understated and lacking any embellishment. He did not like announcing his presence with tawdry ostentation.

  Upon arrival at the Sutherland town house, he was promptly shown into the drawing room, where he was greeted by Sutherland and Tindal. In these opulent surroundings he expected to wait for the grand arrival of the two ladies while enjoying a customary glass of spirits. Counter to his supposition, however, within a few moments the footman hurriedly opened the door to a flushed Miss Postlethwaite, who was wearing the most outdated creation Dev could have imagined. Attired in an apricot confection, complete with modest hoops and ruffles, she only wanted her hair to be powdered to fit into the past century. To his considerable surprise, it was a struggle to keep his face schooled to its famed stoic indifference.

  “I am so ’appy you are ’ere! I ’ave been waitin’ on tenter’ooks all day.” She clapped her hands together as though she were a very young girl escaped from her nurse and spoke in the most atrocious Yorkshire burr he had ever heard. He did not think even his head groom at Winfield could do any better. Indeed, she barely remembered to bob a curtsy at the end of that distinguished speech.

  “I say, this ain’t a costume party, is it?” Tindal asked too loudly into the shocked silence which followed.

  Sutherland choked on his drink. Meanwhile, Lady Caroline entered the room with proper decorum save for a slight look of exasperation, although the way she clutched her reticule indicated she was somewhat harassed. Her demeanour highlighted the difference between the two ladies’ behaviour and dress, since she was wearing a tasteful pink gown in the latest mode of high waist and narrow skirt.

  Dev cast a glance at Tindal, who was staring openly at the guest with a mixture of admiration and astonishment.

  “Are you going to introduce me?” he asked Sutherland once he had apparently recovered the use of his tongue.

  “Do forgive my lack of manners. Lord Tindal, this is Miss Postlethwaite, our guest from Yorkshire.”

  “Well, now that the niceties are out of the way, shall we depart to the entertainment?�
�� Dev suggested.

  “I rather think we have it aplenty right here,” Tindal retorted, flicking a glance at the guest.

  With a finger, Miss Postlethwaite was twirling one of her curls, the rest of which had been tied up with a large bow appropriate for a girl still in the schoolroom.

  “Miss Postlethwaite! We discussed your speech,” Lady Caro remonstrated in a loud whisper.

  The girl straightened immediately and looked repentant. “Please forgive me. I forget myself when I am fuddled,” she said in very proper accents.

  Dev gallantly proffered his arm to escort Lady Caroline to the carriage while Lord Sutherland escorted Miss Postlethwaite.

  Tindal followed in his own curricle, as he had other plans after Astley’s. Dev was not certain even the four of them would fit into the carriage with Miss Postlethwaite’s hoops.

  During the journey, she looked out of the carriage window, completely ignoring the company, her eyes wide with wonder as the equipage drove through the streets and crossed Westminster Bridge, the occasional “Ooh” and “Ah” escaping her lips.

  Dev stepped out of the chaise first, wanting to hand her down and see her reaction to the theatre. He was not disappointed.

  “Eee bah gum!” She stood there, mouth gaping, her eyes wide as she surveyed the majestic theatre with the wonder of a five-year-old child.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, trying to interpret her exclamation.

  She covered her mouth and shook her head. “I must remember to speak properly. I was taught to do so, you know.”

  He could not prevent a faintly sardonic curl forming on his lips, but refrained from comment and led her on to his box while she continued to look around her with amazement. While their presence drew a few curious stares, Miss Postlethwaite’s behaviour was all that a young lady’s should be . . . until the show began.

  He had obtained one of the best boxes, with seats on the front row. Once the show began, she squealed with delight and began to bounce in her seat. It did not appear anyone else noticed, as their eyes were equally entranced with the juggling clowns, rope-walkers and tumblers displaying their talents before them, but Dev could not take his eyes from the performance next to him. He was not surprised at her running commentary on the scantily clad acrobats or her delight in the pig who could tell time and allowed a monkey to ride on his back.

  Yet when Mr. Ducrow, the famous equestrian, began his act, ‘The Flying Wardrobe,’ Dev was wholly unprepared for Miss Postlethwaite’s reaction. Ducrow began speeding around the ring on horseback, pretending to be drunk and deliberately falling off the horse as part of the act. The crowd laughed and roared, but he noticed Miss Postlethwaite had stiffened and had a look of abhorrence on her face. Before he realized what she was about, she stood up and began to shout at the man.

  “Stop! You will harm yourself!” she shouted between cupped hands, to the laughter of those in the neighbouring boxes. When the horse played dead, she proceeded to shout, “You numbskull, you have killed him!”

  Lady Caro groaned and put a restraining hand on Miss Postlethwaite’s arm. “It is all a part of the act, Miss Postlethwaite. Do, please, sit down.”

  “Oh! I beg your pardon. I was reet flummoxed!” Sitting down, she looked appropriately chastened, behaved through the rest of the act, and even laughed at herself in a becoming manner when it ended. Dev was almost growing bored again. Then, the rider stood atop his beast and she proudly announced, “I can stand on an ’orse’s back, too!” At this, she gathered up her skirts and made as though to climb over the barrier with the obvious intention of joining in. Groaning softly and praying no one who mattered was there to witness this spectacle, Dev bestirred himself to intervene by putting a restraining arm out to prevent the atrocity.

  “I am certain you do so most handsomely, Miss Postlethwaite, but they frown upon the audience joining in.”

  “That is very unsportin’ of them!” A very pretty pout adorned her face, and he would have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye, but she sat back down and offered no more shocking entertainment that evening.

  ***

  The ladies only just succeeded in reaching Caro’s chambers before bursting into laughter. Rua was holding her sides from the ache.

  “I think that was the most fun I have had in my whole life!” Lady Caro had tears streaming down her face. “It was too bad of you to deprive me of the look on their faces when they first saw you! I do not know how you kept your composure.”

  “It was a very close thing, but I could not be fashionably late on our first outing! Now do help me get out of this horrid gown!”

  Caro complied by loosening the laces. “They will be disappointed to see your new gowns from Madame Therese. I imagine they are, even now, wagering on what you will wear next!”

  “Quite possibly,” Rua agreed. “I do have one of Mrs. Merriweather’s old gowns which I have not remade yet. It is not meant for hoops but far more suited to a grandmother.” She laughed.

  “How long do you mean to continue with this charade?”

  “Oh, I would dearly love to have them admit to their scheme first. I am more convinced than ever that is what this is about! Did you remark the glances of the gentlemen throughout the night?”

  “They were too composed, I think. It would be grand to see Deverell blush,” Caro admitted.

  “He is as cool as ice.”

  “He still seemed to find you charming. I saw his eyes follow you when you were not looking,” Caro said as her maid arrived to help her out of her gown.

  “We shall see. I think it is all a game, but I will admit to having fun. Thank you for humouring me!”

  “No harm has been done yet. We will not always be so fortunate as not to have Mama’s eye on us,” Caro warned.

  “When do you think we have another excursion?”

  “Mama was waiting for your new gowns to arrive. We cannot let her hear you speak in that shocking way.”

  “I want to be sure I will not embarrass your dear mother. I must consider how to go on.”

  The next day, however, Lord Deverell called during Lady Sutherland’s at-home, surprising every grand dame present. Every conversation ceased, and every head turned at his appearance, so wholly uncharacteristic as it was. Having not yet received any of her new gowns, Rua affably agreed to stay abovestairs and read a book. She did not think her refurbished dresses were so terribly shabby, but she bowed to the more knowing Lady Sutherland, who was all graciousness.

  Therefore, when Lady Caroline gently knocked and entered the sitting room where Rua was comfortably ensconced in Pride and Prejudice, she was quite unprepared to be called forth to the den of matrons.

  “Is it over already?” Rua asked, barely looking up from the pages of the book. Mr. Darcy had just commented on Miss Eliza Bennet’s fine eyes.

  “You must make haste. You will not believe it, but Lord Deverell has called and specifically asked if you were at home!”

  “Whyever would he do such a foolish thing?” Rua asked, not hiding her irritation.

  “He must be playing a very deep game. He has never before attended one of Mama’s at-homes. She is torn between exultation and fear of your reception!”

  “The poor dear!” Rua stood and straightened her simple Pomona-green muslin. “Will I embarrass you dreadfully?”

  “You are just what they will expect of a country miss new to Town. If your manners are pretty, there will be nothing for them to remark upon.”

  Caro tucked a stray tendril of hair back into Rua’s simple knot, and they made their way downstairs. It felt much like the tea at Mrs. Merriweather’s, Rua reflected, though she smiled as demurely as she was capable of at the several faces surveying her with critical eyes.

  Caroline proceeded to introduce her to eight different ladies. Some of their names she was familiar with, having been warned about them by Lady Sutherland. Rua curtsied and said as little as possible.

  “Postlethwaite, you say? What kind of name is that?” one of
the ladies asked as she raised a lorgnette and looked at Rua through it.

  “Yorkshire, my lady.”

  “That does not explain the unfortunate red hair. Who was your mother, gal?”

  “Mary Campbell before her marriage, my lady.” Rua deliberately left off the ‘Lady’ in front of her mother’s name since she had done so after her marriage.

  “Campbell, eh? One of Argyll’s daughters? I remember her. She could have had any one of her suitors and she chose the poor curate.”

  “Yes, my lady. They were very h-happy.” She drew out the h on purpose to show Deverell she did know how to speak like a lady.

  The lady pursed her lips but seemed to give a nod of approval. The rest of the room appeared to release their collective breath all at once.

  Lady Jersey scarcely said a word, which was apparently a rare feat, for her nickname was ‘Silence’ in mockery of her chatty nature; yet her abstinence spoke volumes when added to the rude appraisal of Rua’s gown.

  “The poor girl is an orphan. Her brother was in Edward’s regiment and fell at Waterloo. He wanted her to have a proper Season,” she heard Lady Sutherland explain to those near her.

  Lady Cowper was the kindest of the patronesses, and Lady Caroline had mentioned she was a relation. “My condolences on the loss of your brother, my dear,” she said kindly, and Rua thought perhaps not all of the patronesses were as high in the instep as she had been warned.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “If I may intrude?” Lord Deverell asked. “I would like to steal Miss Postlethwaite and Lady Caroline for a drive.”

  “What a lovely idea!” Lady Sutherland exclaimed, a little too eagerly. Caroline inclined her head, and Rua followed her out of the drawing room into the entrance hall, where the butler handed them both a pelisse as though he had been expecting such a request.

  Rua could not say she was not delighted to escape the drawing room, and being a country girl at heart, she welcomed any entertainment out of doors. She could overhear the ladies speaking about her as if she were already long gone, though they had not waited for the door to close to speak of her.