"I wish you good fortune, vicar,” said Sir Harry, returning the handshake, “but if you were a betting man, I would lay you odds!"
* * * *
It was not to be expected that Georgina would submit without protest to this test of her devotion; nor did she.
"But I cannot neglect my church work,” she objected, upon being informed of the treat in store. “If I go to London, who will see to the altar cloths, or the flowers, or—"
"Cut line, Georgie,” said Sir Harry, interrupting this recitation. “The parish church has survived for nigh on three hundred years without you; surely it can bear your absence for three months. And don't tell me you won't enjoy going to balls and the theater, and wearing clothes that are all the crack, for I know you too well."
Georgina gave him a look of pitying disdain. “At one time, perhaps, I might have been tempted by such frivolous pursuits. Fortunately, my dear James has opened my eyes to the futility of a life devoted entirely to pleasure. My feet are now set on a higher path."
"Save it for the reverend,” advised her brother with a snort of skepticism. “You'll forget all about your high principles the minute some blade asks you to waltz."
"You may banish me to London, Harry, but you will never prevail upon me to whirl about a public room in the lascivious embrace of any gentleman, be he blade or no."
"No? Not even with your vicar?"
"Oh!” cried an outraged Georgina, her cheeks suffused with an angry flush which, had she but known it, clashed most unfortunately with her coloring. “For your information, James says—"
But Mr. Collier's opinions were destined to remain a mystery, for the quarreling siblings’ mother chose that moment to voice her own objections to the proposed scheme.
"My dear Harry, you cannot have thought,” she protested in a quavering voice. “I have scarcely put off my blacks! How can I undertake the launching of a lively schoolgirl into society? I am sure my poor nerves would never bear the strain."
Having long acquaintance with his mama's poor nerves, Sir Harry recognized the futility of opposing this argument. “What of Grandmama, then? Perhaps she might be persuaded to take Georgie in hand."
"Your grandmother? Bah!” scoffed his fond parent. “Why, she abandoned London for Bath fifty years ago, and she hasn't set foot outside her lodgings in twenty years—not even for your poor father's funeral, God rest his soul."
"But why should she?” protested Georgina. “You must admit, Mama, there was very little she could have done."
But this argument, however reasonable, found no favor with the widow. “In times of bereavement, one's proper place is with one's Family. There is nothing like the presence of one's nearest and dearest to give one comfort."
"Perhaps she didn't consider us near and dear,” pointed out Georgina with youthful candor. “After all, Papa only visited Bath twice a year, and we rarely accompanied him. Indeed, I can scarcely remember Grandmama at all—although I do recall that she bore a most striking resemblance to you, Harry."
"A handsome old girl, in fact” was Sir Harry's irreverent observation.
Actually, the resemblance between Sir Harry and his paternal grandmother was often remarked upon by those who were acquainted with both the dowager and the current baronet. The likeness was generally felt to be a fortuitous one, since the dowager Lady Hawthorne was the daughter of a viscount and bore the physical stamp of her illustrious lineage. To be sure, she would be an impressive patroness for any young girl making her come-out—or she would have been, had she not long since elected to cloister herself in her Laura Place lodgings.
"Failing Grandmama, I've another idea,” continued Sir Harry, undaunted. “Olivia is to be brought out this spring; perhaps Mrs. Darby would be willing to take Georgina on, too—with all expenses to be paid by me, of course."
"An excellent notion,” nodded his mama in approval, warming to the scheme now that it seemed unlikely to cut up her peace in any way. “You must enlist Miss Darby's aid in bringing her about. Georgina, my dear, you would not object to visiting London in Miss Darby's company, would you, now that you are to be sisters?"
"Not at all, Mama. In fact, James has the greatest admiration for Olivia. He said that he admired her good sense, and that he hoped she would be a settling influence on you, Harry,” she added, not without satisfaction.
"I say!” cried that young man, eyes open wide in alarm. “When I settle down, it will be by my own choice, and not through the machinations of some cursed interfering female!"
"That is not at all a proper way to speak of your affianced bride, Harry,” scolded his mama.
Thus chastised, Sir Harry had the grace to look ashamed. “You are quite right. Mama, and I beg your pardon. I am a fortunate man to have Olivia for my bride. Besides,” he added with a rush of affection for his betrothed, “Livvy ain't the type to begrudge a fellow his pleasures."
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Chapter Two
London, thou art the flower of Cities all. WILLIAM DUNBAR, London
For Miss Olivia Darby, the next two months flew by in a blur of preparations for her London debut. The local dressmaker was summoned to take Miss Darby's measurements for the vast wardrobe which, according to her mama, was de rigueur for a Season in Town. When she was not submitting to endless fittings, Olivia was enlisted to aid her mother in writing to all that lady's London acquaintances, in the hopes of exploiting these connections to her daughter's advantage. But of her affianced bridegroom Olivia saw little, for Sir Harry, upon learning of Mrs. Darby's intention to hire lodgings in Upper Wimpole Street, objected to seeing his future bride installed at such a démodé address, and insisted upon offering Mrs. Darby the use of the Hawthornes’ town house in Curzon Street, while he (he said) would content himself with hired rooms more suited to his bachelor status. Upon Mrs. Darby's acceptance of this generous offer, he announced his intention of departing for London within the week to ensure that all was in readiness for their arrival. Mrs. Darby was moved to exclaim at the thoughtfulness of her future son, but Olivia, aware of Sir Harry's fondness for town life, quite correctly ascribed this fit of generosity to more self-serving motives.
Mother and daughter arrived in London in mid-March, along with Sir Harry's sister Georgina, who whiled away the journey by outlining for her companions the various perils of the fashionable life which, according to Mr. Collier, lurked in the Metropolis, ready to devour the unwary. Indeed, any disinterested listener might have supposed their southeasterly course to lead directly to Hell, rather than London. At last they entered the city, its cobbled streets alive with the cries of vendors hawking their wares and the squeals of grubby, unwashed children at play. Upon seeing these unfortunates, Georgina was moved to denounce the beau monde for frittering away fortunes on gaming and fashion in the face of such squalor. These noble sentiments, while they would no doubt have found favor with the good reverend, were quite wasted on her intended audience, for the Darbys, both mother and daughter, had long since fallen asleep.
The slumberers at last awoke as the carriage rolled to a stop before the Curzon Street town house, and the ladies exited the vehicle somewhat stiffly. Sir Harry's butler flung open the front door as they mounted the stairs, and the travel-weary trio entered the edifice which was to be their home for the next three months.
"Well,” declared Georgina, who had not visited the London house since she was in leading strings and, consequently, feared the mansion might be out of keeping with her newly-acquired democratic notions. “'Tis not nearly so large as I remembered it."
"Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Darby, who had no such scruples. “It is a fine house indeed, and it appears dear Harry has done an excellent job of seeing all put to rights."
Only Olivia declined to offer an opinion. Instead, she silently followed her parent into the tiled entrance hall. Here her heart leaped at the sight of a solitary figure which, upon closer inspection, proved to be a very fine piece of statuary set into a niche in the wall.
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"Oh,” she said, striving in vain to keep her disappointment from showing in her voice. “I thought perhaps Harry would be here."
"But my dear, don't you remember?” prompted her mama. “Harry has taken lodgings in Stratton Street. ‘Twould not be at all proper for you to be living under the same roof before you are wed."
"I know, Mama. I only hoped—that is, I thought perhaps he might be here to welcome us."
"I think it very shabby of him not to meet us upon our arrival,” concurred Georgina. “Depend upon it, he has probably gone to some dreadful prize-fight or some such thing."
But in this estimation she was mistaken. Sir Harry was, in fact, preparing to visit Covent Garden, where the celebrated actress Violetta was to appear in one of the breeches roles for which she was so much admired. Enthusiastic patron of the arts that he was, Sir Harry arrived early in order to procure a choice spot in the pit from which he might ogle the fair thespian to his heart's content. It was here that he was hailed by the Honourable Felix Wrexham.
"I say, Harry,” remarked this worthy. “Had no idea you was in London. Beginning to think you'd left us for good."
"No, just until my mourning was up. My pater, you know."
"Deuced sorry to hear it, old boy,” Mr. Wrexham muttered, ill at ease with the subject of man's mortality. To this gentleman's heartfelt relief, the curtain rose at that moment, revealing the fair Violetta as the heroine of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. For this first act she was clothed in female garb, to the vocal dissatisfaction of her admirers. Fortunately, her role as the sole survivor of a shipwreck had given Mr. Kemble the inspired notion of saturating his comedienne's gown with water, so that it clung enticingly to her every curve. It was, perhaps, only this happy circumstance which saved the theater from a mob revolt. By the time the curtain rose on the second act, revealing Violetta in her masculine disguise, her audience was in a much more receptive mood.
"I say, Felix,” remarked Harry, elbowing aside a Cit who, overcome with adoration, had pressed forward and consequently blocked Sir Harry's view. “Dashed if she ain't the most delectable morsel I've ever clapped eyes on!"
"No argument from me. Not that we're likely to clap anything else on her,” Mr. Wrexham added morosely.
"What do you mean?” asked Sir Harry, his attention momentarily diverted from the stage.
"Islington,” was Mr. Wrexham's reply. “She's been under the duke's protection for the last twelvemonth."
Sir Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. “You don't say! I thought perhaps she favored Mannerly."
"Thought so, myself. If you ask me, there's something dashed havey-cavey about the whole affair. Happened just before you left town, as I recall. Perhaps you remember. Mannerly suddenly took himself off to the Continent, leaving Islington a clear field. Know anything about it?"
Sir Harry turned back to the stage, concealing the telltale flush that stained his cheeks. “No, Felix. Not a thing."
By the time the final curtain fell, Sir Harry had had occasion to recall the arrival of his sister and his future bride. However, a glance at his pocket watch informed him that he would not be thanked for calling on them at this late hour. And so when Mr. Wrexham suggested that they look in at his club, Sir Harry was quick to agree—a profitable enterprise which left him, in the chill gray hours just before dawn, some one hundred guineas to the better. It was only natural that he stayed abed until well into the afternoon to recover from his night of merriment, and so it was that, when the belated bridegroom finally presented himself in Curzon Street, he was met with the information that Mrs. Darby, Miss Darby, and Miss Hawthorne were not at home.
* * * *
If Miss Darby was disappointed in her lack of a reception, her sentiments were not shared by her mama. In fact, Mrs. Darby congratulated herself on her forethought in writing to all her London acquaintances, for invitations began to arrive in Curzon Street even before she and her charges had taken up residence there. Consequently, their first full day in the Metropolis was filled to overflowing, the morning hours being spent in consultation with Madame Girot, one of London's most fashionable modistes, while the afternoon was devoted to paying calls on the aforementioned acquaintances. Arriving at the town residence of Lady Bainbridge, Mrs. Darby and her charges were greeted with every evidence of enthusiasm by Mrs. Darby's long-ago school friend.
"Elinor Darby, as I live and breathe!” exclaimed her ladyship warmly as the trio was ushered into a modish saloon furnished in airy shades of blue. “How long has it been? And this must be your Olivia,” she concluded, grasping Georgina's hands.
"No, no,” protested Mrs. Darby. “This is Miss Hawthorne, whose brother is to marry my daughter. This is Olivia."
"Why, she is charming!” cried Lady Bainbridge, transferring her effusions to the proper object. “I'm sure I wish you very happy, Miss Darby. But who is the fortunate young man?"
"Sir Harry Hawthorne,” replied the beaming bride. Her smile dimmed somewhat as she added, “I regret he could not accompany us today, but—"
"We shall do quite well without him,” declared Lady Bainbridge, who had seen too many ton marriages to wonder at the prospective bridegroom's absence. “But you must meet my other guests. Elinor, you must remember Lady Sefton and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell; ladies, Mrs. Darby, her daughter Miss Darby, and Miss Hawthorne. Miss Darby is to marry Miss Hawthorne's elder brother, Sir Harry Hawthorne."
Mrs. Darby was in alt. Here under her dear friend's roof were not one, but two of Almack's patronesses! Wreathed in smiles, she urged her two charges forward.
"I well remember granting your elder daughter a voucher for Almack's, Mrs. Darby,” said Lady Sefton, nodding a greeting. “A lovely girl, as I recall. She married Lord Clairmont, did she not?"
"Yes, and now Liza is in the family way,” replied the proud grandmother-to-be. “She hopes to present her husband with an heir by Whitsunday."
"But how unfortunate for all our young men, Miss Darby, to discover that you, too, are already taken!” protested the patroness with a smile, as the new arrivals seated themselves on a sofa of pale blue damask.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, generally held to be the starchiest of the seven patronesses in spite of—or perhaps because of—the fact that she was the only one of that select group without a title, remained silent throughout this exchange, but fixed Georgina with a piercing gaze, as if casting about in her mind for a masculine counterpart. “Hawthorne ... Hawthorne. I don't believe I am familiar with the name,” she declared at last.
Olivia was momentarily surprised by the patroness's disavowal of her beloved, since she had often heard from Sir Harry's own lips of his intimacy with the highest of the haul ton. Then she smiled. How very like Harry, and how devastated he would be to know that London's most exclusive sorority did not remember his name!
"Of course you know Sir Harry, Clementina,” Lady Sefton prompted, fixing her fellow patroness with a speaking look. “If I mistake not, Miss Darby's fiancé is a particular intimate of Lord Mannerly."
"Ah!” uttered Mrs. Drummond-Burrell cryptically.
"Lord Mannerly?” echoed Olivia. “I have never heard mention of the name."
"You will,” predicted Almack's haughtiest patroness sagely. “If you remain in London for any length of time, you will."
"And what of you, Miss Hawthorne?” put in Lady Bainbridge, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Have you any matrimonial ambitions?"
"Indeed, I have,” replied that young lady, jutting her chin forward in a manner which could only be described as mulish. “I intend to marry the vicar of our parish, Mr. James Collier."
Lady Sefton shot Mrs. Darby a sympathetic glance. “I see,” she said, and Mrs. Darby was left with the impression that she saw a great deal more than Georgina had intended. “Still, I think I had best send you vouchers to Almack's. Perhaps, Miss Hawthorne, you will consent to waltz with some of our young men, even if you do not wish to marry them."
Georgina could not let this opportunity slip past.
“Oh, but I could not! Mr. Collier says—"
"Your ladyship is too kind,” interrupted Mrs. Darby, sparing the patronesses the good reverend's most unflattering opinion of the daring German dance. “I am sure my daughter and Miss Hawthorne would be delighted to attend. Indeed, no young lady's Season may be judged a success without it."
Having achieved this coup, Mrs. Darby decided not to press her luck. Precisely fifteen minutes after their arrival, she herded her charges into the carriage and set the horses’ heads toward Curzon Street, before Georgina could destroy both young ladies’ chances with some tactless—though undoubtedly pious—remark. Upon their return, they were greeted with the news that Sir Harry had called and planned to return the following afternoon at five o'clock, at which time he hoped Miss Darby would consent to drive with him in the park. This buoyed that young lady's spirits even more than the projected visit to Almack's, and she retired to her room that night with a much lighter heart.
Alas, the reunion was not an entirely felicitous one. Olivia had dressed with special care in a very fetching carriage gown of rose-colored lutestring, and her appearance was enough to inspire more than one gentleman to inquire as to the identity of the deuced pretty chit riding with young Hawthorne. Unfortunately Sir Harry, absorbed in pointing out the various perfections of his newly-acquired phaeton, was oblivious to the charms of his fair passenger.
In point of fact, Sir Harry was unaccustomed to paying court to ladies of quality, particularly ladies whom he had known since they were in leading strings, and he found himself quite at a loss. So long as he was boasting of his cattle or entertaining his future bride with such on dits as might be judged fitting for a lady's ears, he could forget about the betrothal and think of her as the childhood friend with whom he had spent so many carefree days. It was to this less intimidating person, therefore, that he addressed his apologies.
Miss Darby's Duenna Page 2
