Rules for an Unmarried Lady

by Wilma Counts

  They were sitting side by side on the seat facing the horses. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Not entirely, Poppy. And thank you so much for supporting me. But I have to do what I can to help Phillip.”

  “His guardian should be the one to take over Phillip’s problems, not you.”

  “I know. Phillip’s father was a fine and honorable man, but what if his uncle—his guardian—is as much of a gamester as the fourth and fifth earls were?”

  The old man snorted. “If he is, have you not just given him carte blanche to send the earldom up the River Tick again?”

  “That is precisely why I shall continue to hold the mortgages on the unentailed properties. With tradesmen’s bills paid, things may begin to fall into place. Or not. We shall see.”

  “I do not see your reason for anonymity, my dear.”

  She patted his hand on his knee. “Need to know, Poppy. Need to know. Phillip does not need know his Aunt Harriet is trying to come to his rescue. At least not now. Maybe some day. Not now. And Colonel Lord Quinton Burnes has no need to know at this time, either.”

  “If you say so, my dear.

  * * * *

  As did many families mourning the loss of loved ones during this time of national euphoria and celebration, Harriet and her grandparents found themselves bending the rules when it came to attending social functions. Harriet accepted invitations to three balls during her sojourn in the city.

  “It does seem as though the ton’s hostesses were trying to outdo each other in entertaining the visiting royalty,” Harriet observed, sitting across from her grandparents as the three of them departed early from a grand ball.

  “One can hardly blame them,” her grandmother commented indulgently. “It has been many a year since our royals have entertained at all, what with the king’s bouts of illness and the unrest on the continent.” The older woman sighed. “In any event, I am glad your visit has given you a chance to get out some. I enjoyed watching you dance with Lord Beaconfield tonight.”

  Harriet grimaced. “But it was a waltz. The tabbies are even now hissing about that, I am sure, with our being in half mourning as it were.”

  “Let them,” her grandfather growled. “Our Anne would not have cared a fig for them!”

  Harriet smiled. “No, she would not. And she would not have put up with all these drab colors, either.”

  “But, my dear,” her grandmother protested, “you look quite well in mauve and lavender, old lady colors though they be.”

  “Nevertheless, come the autumn,” Harriet said emphatically, “I am going to break out in fiery orange and yellow and bright green!”

  “That’s my girl!” Her grandfather chortled and his wife giggled beside him.

  There was a moment’s pause, then the Lord Hawthorne’s tone turned deep and serious, belying the distinct twinkle in his eyes that was discernible even in the light of the carriage lantern. “Now. My dear Harriet, what is this that I am hearing about Snow White? Is there a prince to be found in this picture?”

  “S-Snow—? Oh, Good heavens,” Harriet responded. “That nonsense has now made it to the cardrooms, has it?” She had herself continued to overhear occasional whispers in ladies’ retiring rooms and she had been subjected to sly looks during morning visits, particularly when Lady Bachmann was among the guests. Gifted with a good sense of humor—one that extended to self-humor—Harriet had so far been able to dismiss what she saw as Lady Bachmann’s attempt to gain attention at someone else’s expense—a distinct carryover of habits of the schoolgirl Angelina Grampton.

  “You did not answer my question, my girl,” the earl responded in a mock growl. “Is Beaconfield the prince in this tale? Should I expect him to come calling in the morning?”

  Harriet laughed. “Of course not, Poppy. Lord Beaconfield is simply a dear friend. A fellow writer. You read his book. I know you did.”

  “Ah, yes. So I did. Too sympathetic by half with that Paine fellow, if you ask me.”

  “Tut, tut,” the countess interjected in a tone of mock umbrage, “do not, I pray, the two of you start that argument again while you have me imprisoned and unable to escape in a closed carriage.”

  “But, my love,” her husband said in an equally mock tone of defense, “’tis your fault. You saddled me with these free-thinking females in my family. Wife. Daughters. Granddaughters. And, now, if young Maria is any example, great-granddaughters!”

  “And you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?” his wife asked, stretching to give him a quick kiss on his cheek.

  “No, I would not.” He slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and gave it a comfortable pat.

  Harriet had always loved that her grandparents never hesitated to show their affection for each other in front of family members. They were, of course, all that was correct and proper in company and in public, but it was clear that these two people genuinely cared for and respected each other—even when they vehemently disagreed about something. Not for the first time Harriet found herself thinking Yes, that sort of relationship with a man might very well be worth it—“it,” of course, being some monumental unknown of sacrifice and effort beyond current comprehension. But who had time for it, anyway?

  Well, you might have once, she reminded herself. For a moment, she allowed her mind to drift back—to Anthony, to what might have been—once upon a time. It had, indeed, been an enchanted time: her first season and she felt like a princess; a handsome young guardsman scarcely two years older than she—a fun-loving daredevil—fulfilled the role of prince; those “accidental” touches; a few stolen kisses; whispered secrets. He was a younger son of an Irish nobleman, but “Someday…” he promised—and she believed him. Then, as suddenly as he had entered her life, he was gone from it—shipped off to Portugal to join with the British forces being amassed there. She had railed futilely at king and country when Anthony came to bid farewell—and railed at him for being eager to go. She railed even more and cried bitterly when her grandfather, having seen Anthony’s name in the casualties list in the newspaper, gently informed her of his death in one of the first battles of the Peninsular War. Looking back, though, she often wondered how a relationship between a more mature Harriet and Anthony might have progressed.

  As for Lord Beaconfield, he was, as she had explained, a friend and a fellow writer. Although his lordship was some seven years older than Harriet, they had first met as new members of the London Literary League to which both had been reluctantly dragged, she by her erstwhile school friend Lady Henrietta Parker, he by his Aunt Gertrude, one of the founders of the League. Both felt instantly at home in the group and gravitated toward each other through their mutual interest in writing about politics. Beaconfield tended to take a philosophical and historical view of current ideas and affairs, while Harriet tended to take a more direct view of the specifics of who and what and why of events as they occurred—so far as she could ferret out such information. Their discussions were often quite lively; both had been embarrassed one day at being asked to be quieter in the library at the British Museum.

  * * * *

  Besides reaffirming her own place in London’s social world during these weeks, Harriet set about seeing that all seven children were diverted as well. There were other trips to the park. She took early rides in the park with Phillip. Both Phillip and Harriet were pleased when Maria occasionally agreed to join them on these outings. Phillip reciprocated by agreeing to spend an afternoon at Hatchard’s bookshop with them—especially as he knew that outing would be topped with a visit to Gunther’s ice cream shop—and he was allowed to come away from Hatchard’s with a book of fine illustrations of military uniforms and equipment that he was eager to share with his Uncle Quint. Harriet smiled as he tried not to be too disparaging of Maria’s choices of two new gothic novels. Harriet was sure that Phillip would probably be the second person to read those books. She also took the older chi
ldren on a shopping expedition to purchase gifts for their Sedwick grandmother and their Uncle Quint.

  After much discussion, the adult members of the family agreed to allow Phillip and Maria to attend a showing at Vauxhall Gardens of a popular reenactment of the Battle of Vitoria, deemed to have been a turning point in the Peninsular War. The younger children, especially the twins Richard and Robert, objected vehemently at being excluded, but their outcries were appeased when Harriet promised an outing to the Tower to see the exotic animals there.

  In part to even out their numbers, and in part because she simply enjoyed his company, Harriet suggested her grandparents invite Lord Beaconfield to join the excursion to Vauxhall Gardens. When Lord Hawthorne’s party arrived at their box in the Gardens, Harriet was delighted to see that her grandparents had also invited their youngest son, Sir Charles Montieth, his wife, Elizabeth, and two of their children to join them. Having already reached his mid-teen years by the time she and Anne had been thrust upon his parents’ household, and thus away at school during much of their mutual growing-up years, Harriet’s uncle Charles Montieth was nevertheless as close as Harriet had ever come to having an older brother.

  “Charles! Elizabeth!” She greeted both with a warm hug and quickly drew Phillip and Maria into the circle to reintroduce them to their cousins, Jeremy and Rebecca.

  “Nana, you sly puss, you,” Harriet said with a wink.

  “Elizabeth and I agreed it is time these youngsters got to know each other. After all, they will all be going away to school soon enough, I imagine,” the older woman said.

  “Rebecca is already slated for Miss Pringle’s school,” Elizabeth said, restoring a strand of chestnut colored hair to its place behind her daughter’s ear.

  “She should enjoy it. I know I did,” Harriet said. Glancing to see that the four children and the men were occupied in their own conversations, she leaned closer to Elizabeth and her grandmother to confide, “Neither Phillip nor Maria seems enthusiastic about going away to school. I think they fear being separated from the other children. They even showed some ambivalence about coming out this evening.”

  “Oh, dear,” her grandmother murmured.

  “That could pose problems,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “Oh, yes,” Harriet said, thinking of the colonel’s letter.

  Situated in a central location on the edge of the arena, the Hawthorne box soon became something of a “crush,” for all six of these adults were well known and well received in London’s social circles. Harriet was well aware that the Montieth men were also very well respected in London’s business and financial circles. After all, that earldom had been awarded early on in the previous century and still quietly served as something of a piggy bank to the crown—hence the knighthood accorded Charles only a few years ago. The press of casual visitors diminished as the orchestra began to warm up for a lively concert of military music, followed by the customary supper of melon and thinly sliced Venetian ham for which Vauxhall Gardens was known.

  During the intermission—after some covert discussion among themselves—the four youngsters begged permission to stroll about the paths in the gardens, their enthusiasm spiked no doubt, Harriet was sure, by the whispers and rumors of naughty meetings said to transpire in the byways of the trails and pathways of Vauxhall Gardens. In the end, Harriet and Lord Beaconfield, Charles and Elizabeth accompanied them for a short walkabout before the main event of the evening’s entertainment. Harriet was sure this entourage was not exactly what the children had had in mind, but, considering the eclectic nature of some of the people hanging about on these dimly lit paths, Harriet was glad for the additional adult company.

  The main show of the evening was, of course, the spectacular reenactment of the Battle of Vitoria, which involved much shooting of cannon and exploding bombs in the arena as well as incredible displays of horsemanship, swordsmanship, and other feats of derring-do. The musicians added appropriate touches from time to time. The action was punctuated by loud cheers from the audience for characters costumed as English soldiers and equally loud boos and hisses for those in French uniforms. The exhibition ended with a resounding crescendo of music, booming cannon, and a great swirl of dust in the arena.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Rebecca said in something resembling a squeal to match several she and Maria had emitted intermittently during the performance. “That was spectacular!”

  “But horrifying all the same,” said Maria who was sitting between her great-grandmother and her cousin Rebecca.

  Jeremy, sitting with Phillip across from the girls, snorted. “And probably not at all like the real thing.

  “My Uncle Quint could have told us what it was really like. He was there,” Phillip said. “I remember his writing my father about this particular battle.”

  “Truly?” young Jeremy asked with interest.

  “Uncle Quint said when the English troops discovered the Spanish king—well, he was not Spanish, was he? but French, Boney’s brother he put on the Spanish throne. Anyway, at Vitoria, as Joseph, the king, was trying to escape Spain along with his entourage and a tremendous amount of Spanish treasure, our English troops discovered them, and set upon them like bears on a honey pot! Old Nosey—that’s what our soldiers called Wellington—had to threaten to hang some of his own troops to restore order!”

  “I am sure that cannot be true of English troops,” Rebecca declared loyally. “Our English heroes would never behave in such a dishonorable manner.”

  “I am just telling you what Uncle Quint wrote to my father—and Uncle Quint was there,” Phillip said. “You read his letters too, Aunt Harriet.”

  “Yes, Phillip, I did,” she replied. “Many of them. They were quite detailed. I should think that conditions of war bring out many facets of behavior in all people, though we like to focus on the best ones in our own such as heroism.”

  Charles said, “Reality sometimes needs to be embellished to make good theatre.”

  “Especially if one wishes to cut down on the amount of bloodshed and brutality, knowing there will be ladies in one’s audience,” Lord Beaconfield offered.

  “Well!” Maria said emphatically, “I think it is just ridiculous to expect men to shed buckets of blood and then to expect women to pretend it did not happen.”

  “I quite agree, Lady Maria. I quite agree.” Lord Beaconfield glanced at Harriet with a slightly lifted eyebrow.

  Harriet merely smiled, but was not surprised to hear her grandmother say, without a shred of disapproval directed to Maria, whom she hugged close, “You will find, Lord Beaconfield, that women of this family tend to be dreadfully outspoken.”

  Beaconfield laughed. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I have, indeed, made that discovery.” He winked at Harriet, who found herself blushing, but before she could reply the musicians began to introduce the show’s finale, a huge display of fireworks.

  Afterward, Lord Hawthorne’s party made small talk as they waited for the crowd to thin before joining the exodus from the Gardens. In the process, the young Earl of Sedwick shared with his cousins Jeremy and Rebecca that he and his siblings—that is, the five older of his siblings—would be visiting the Tower of London in the afternoon two days hence.

  “Oh, Papa, please say that we may join them,” Rebecca begged of Sir Charles.

  “Rebecca!” her mother admonished. “You might at least wait until you are invited. Perhaps Cousin Harriet would prefer not to be accompanied by an army.”

  Harriet quickly responded. “No. No. The more the merrier. Maria and Phillip and I will welcome any help we can get in keeping track of the twins and Sarah and Elly.” She laughed. “We are leaving Tilly at home with Nurse, lest we lose her among the Tower’s band of monkeys.”

  “Wise move,” Elizabeth said. “As long as my two urchins are keen on going, I will gladly lend a hand.” She looped a hand into her husband’s arm, glanced up at him flirtatiously, and
added, “And perhaps I can persuade Charles to tear himself away from that stuffy office for one afternoon at least.”

  Charles heaved an exaggerated sigh and murmured, “Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear.” Which earned him a firm shake of the arm she clutched.

  “If you are truly serious about ‘the more, the merrier,’ perhaps you will allow me to invite myself along on this excursion,” Lord Beaconfield said, gazing directly at Harriet.

  “Why, of course.” She was somewhat taken aback. Gavin Castlemere, Viscount Beaconfield, heir to a marquis, was deemed by blushing debutantes and avaricious mamas to be one of the most eligible—and elusive—catches on the marriage mart. His handsome blond good looks coupled with an athletic build never failed to draw attention. Such men did not go about making themselves part of family outings. On the other hand, Gavin had been a particular friend of hers for several years. “You do know what you are in for?” she warned.

  “What?” he said defensively, “you think I will not acquit myself well with the younger set?”

  In the event, she had to admit—and she did—that he acquitted himself quite well with the younger set. He was on hand to stop Robert’s climbing the fence into the enclosure that held a female tiger and her cubs.

  “But they was asleep, Auntie Harry.”

  “Nevertheless, you keep hold of my hand!”

  The Tower of London, one of the oldest walled castles in Britain and forever a favorite tourist site in the city, had served as a royal household in ancient times, then as a prison for several famous—even royal—persons. Now serving as more of a museum than anything else, the Tower had, since medieval times, housed various exotic animals. Monkeys, pigeons, and peacocks were allowed to roam at will on the grounds within the walls. Other animals—a grizzly bear, leopard, hyena, baboon, elephant, and certain exotic birds, as well as the tiger and cubs—were caged or tethered and fenced away from spectators.

  Besides the animals, the older children were ghoulishly interested in seeing where the little princes of Tudor times had supposedly been killed and where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded, as well as prison cells that had held such notables as Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Thomas More. For the younger children, the high point of the visit was seeing what Elly called the “efflemunt.” The four-year-old grew tired as the whole group traipsed along the battlement known as “Elizabeth’s Walk” and Harriet bent to pick her up and hold her, only to have Lord Beaconfield gently take the child into his own arms. Without protest, Elly accepted this exchange, cuddled close to him, and within minutes she was asleep.