by Mary Nichols
Esme felt she had lost an ally when Myles went home. Rosemary was becoming impossible, lecturing her morning, noon and night and ordering Miss Bannister to keep a close watch on her. ‘See she does not speak to any strange men,’ she told the old governess when they went out without her. ‘Before we know where we are, she will be carried off and goodness knows what ills will befall her. Just because a man has a title does not mean he is a gentleman.’
‘You cannot mean Lord Pendlebury,’ Esme put in.
It was Sunday and they had just returned from morning service at St George’s Hanover Square, where, to Esme’s astonishment, Lord Pendlebury had been in the congregation. Rosemary had been outraged, convinced he was hounding them, but when Esme pointed out that he had a perfect right to attend whatever church he chose, just as they had done, considering St George’s was not their nearest place of worship, she was forced to agree. He had not approached them, which in one way had disappointed Esme, but in another she had been relieved. Even so, the sight of him tipping his shiny black top hat to them in the churchyard after the service had set her sister off again.
‘I speak as I find,’ Rosemary said, drawing off her gloves and removing her hat and handing them to her maid. ‘We do not know him, we do not know his background and yet you smile and flirt with him like some…some…Words fail me.’ Her fine blue wool coat followed the hat and gloves.
‘He cannot be so objectionable if he is known to Myles and Myles saw fit to present him,’ Esme protested, taking off her own outdoor things and giving them to Miss Bannister who had accompanied them to church.
‘Myles only met the man the evening before, so that does not signify.’
‘I think it is unkind of you to judge him badly on so little evidence. A man may smile, may he not?’
‘Not at a young unmarried lady to whom he has not been properly introduced.’
‘Myles did—’
‘We will hear no more of Lord Pendlebury, if you please. Peers who go into trade and manufacturing are betraying their birthright and not to be considered. I can and will introduce you to other young gentleman who will make far more suitable husbands.’
‘Rosie, I was not thinking of him as a husband.’
‘I am glad to hear that. You are in London to see and be seen in the hope of finding a husband, as you very well know. It is why I offered to sponsor your come-out and keep you by me for longer than a Season, which is too short when all is said and done. You are here ahead of the others and that will give you a flying start. You are, after all, the daughter of an earl.’
‘I sincerely hope no one considers that the prime reason for marrying me. If I thought that, I should most certainly turn him down.’
‘Of course it must not be the main reason, but it certainly makes a difference. Is that not so, Banny?’ she appealed to Miss Bannister, who nodded sagely. ‘There, you see! I am right. Now let us go into the drawing room and have a glass of something before luncheon is served. I want to tell you about the outings I have arranged for next week.’ She led the way into the drawing room, leaving Miss Bannister and the maid to toil up the second flight of stairs with the discarded outdoor clothes.
‘Now, let us see what is on offer,’ Rosemary said, picking up her engagement diary. ‘Nothing much happens on a Monday, so perhaps a little sight-seeing. There is St Paul’s or the Tower, though I find that a dismal place. We could go to the British Museum or the National Gallery. If you like, I am sure Rowan could arrange for us to see round the new Houses of Parliament.’
‘I should like to see it all.’
‘Not all at once, I hope.’
‘No, a little at a time whenever you have the time to spare.’
‘We shall see, but once you are out and the town fills up, we shall be inundated with invitations. You know how many we received when we went to Lady Aviemore’s. On Tuesday, for instance, we are expected at Lady Mountjoy’s at-home.’
‘Are we? I don’t remember her.’
‘She was the tall, thin lady in widow’s weeds. She is another like Lady Aviemore, a prominent figure in the beau monde, knows everyone. She can do you a great deal of good.’
‘How?’
‘By introducing you to other important people who will introduce you to more. Before you know it, you will be the asked out everywhere.’
‘Will you be doing any entertaining?’
‘Of course, invitations must be reciprocated. And I have it in mind to hold a ball for you later, when the Season gets under way.’
‘Really? Oh, Rosie, you are so kind. I shall like that,’ Esme said, thinking of Lord Pendlebury. She had managed to banish him from her thoughts for all of half an hour, but now he was back, filling her mind with an image of him in evening dress, taking her on to the floor to waltz. She would be in a beautiful ball gown with her hair done up in coils and jewels at her throat, and they would dance and dance in perfect harmony and smile at each other. But it was a futile image because he would never be invited.
What had made him so unacceptable? The fact that he smiled and tipped his hat to her? The fact that she had smiled back? Or was it that he was an acquaintance of Myles, and Rosemary had always looked down on Myles, for all he was Lord Moorcroft’s heir and one of the richest men in the kingdom, certainly richer than Papa. Or was it that he supported the Exhibition, which Rowan was determined to sink without trace? Or that he manufactured glass? What was wrong with making glass? Some of it was very beautiful.
‘If we cannot find you a suitable husband by the end of the Season, I shall have failed utterly,’ Rosemary said.
‘Suitable does not necessarily mean desirable,’ Esme said. ‘I should like to desire the man I marry.’
‘Esme!’
‘What is wrong with that? Did you not desire Rowan?’
‘That is none of your business.’ Her sister’s face had turned bright pink. ‘And not a subject for an unmarried lady.’
‘Surely it is too late after one is married to discover that one’s husband is not at all desirable? Suitable would not mean much then, would it?’
‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘No, I don’t and I wish I did. What is it like to feel desire, Rosie? Is it the same as love? Shall I recognise it?’
‘Oh, you are giving me a headache. Go and ask Miss Bannister your foolish questions.’
‘Oh, do you think she might know the answers?’
‘I do not know, do I? I never asked her.’
Esme did not ask Miss Bannister because Rowan came in at that moment and a few minutes later luncheon was served.
Lady Mountjoy did not believe in seating her guests unless they were very frail, on the grounds that they should move about and mix with each other. It also meant they did not become too comfortable and overstay their welcome, but for some reason her at-homes were very popular. Esme found herself in a crowded drawing room, trying to keep firm hold of a cup of tea in case it was knocked out of her hand by the constant stream of people who came and went.
Nevertheless her ladyship made sure that every young lady who arrived with her mama or guardian was introduced to every other young lady and every young gentleman, whom they outnumbered by at least four to one. Esme found herself trying to memorise their names, while listening to Rosemary explaining who they were. ‘Toby, the son of old Lord Salford, very wealthy but something of a rake; James, Lady Bryson’s son and the apple of her eye, and Captain Merton. As an army officer he would never be at home, though his wife might travel with him; and there is Lord Bertram Wincombe, the Earl of Wincombe’s heir.’ She stopped speaking suddenly and gave a little gasp of annoyance. Esme, who had her back to the door, turned to see what had caused it. Lord Pendlebury, smart in a blue tailcoat and narrow matching trousers, was striding into the room and making for Lady Mountjoy.
His entrance had caused a sudden lull in the conversation and everyone turned as the handsome stranger bowed to his hostess. ‘Lady Mountjoy, your obedient,’ he s
aid, taking the hand she offered.
‘You are welcome, young man. Let me make you known to everyone. Take my arm and we will perambulate.’
Esme giggled at her antiquated turn of phrase. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the lady did not think of herself as one of those old-fashioned matchmakers who did nothing but suit young men to young ladies and she wondered how successful she was. Everyone had stopped talking to watch the two proceed round the room and more than one mama nudged her daughter into showing some animation at being introduced to this handsome creature. He was charming, remembered their names, made some flattering comment to each and passed on. By the time he reached Esme, she had put her cup and saucer down to stop it rattling and was trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.
‘Lady Trent, may I present Lord Pendlebury,’ their hostess addressed Rosemary while looking severely at Esme.
‘We are already known to the gentleman,’ Rosemary said stiffly. ‘Good afternoon, your lordship.’
‘Lady Trent.’ He bowed. ‘Lady Esme.’
She looked up into his face and realised he was also trying to control his laughter. It made it all the more difficult to keep a straight face. ‘My lord, I did not expect to see you here.’
‘Lady Mountjoy is an old friend of my mother. I came to pay my respects. It is a small world, is it not? You said we might come across each other and you were right.’
‘Yes.’ She wished he had not reminded her of that comment. She still smarted from the dressing-down she had had from Rosemary over it. When she said it, she had had no idea the significance her sister would put on it, nor that he would remember it.
‘Are you enjoying your stay in town?’ He did not take his eyes from her face, though some part of him registered that she was wearing a pale blue gown that was plain apart from a few narrow tucks and satin ribbon trimming, but its very plainness spoke of quality cloth and superb workmanship. It made her stand out from all the other young ladies in their fussy lace and flounces.
‘Oh, very much. We went to the National Gallery to look at the pictures yesterday.’
‘What did you think of it?’
She was acutely aware of Rosemary standing beside her, unable to stop her speaking to him and thoroughly put out that he was undoubtedly acceptable in society when she had made up her mind that he was not. ‘Wonderful. It made me realise how poor my talent is.’
‘You like to paint?’
‘I draw a little and paint in water colours, but I am not very good at it. I envy people who can draw a few lines and produce a likeness without apparently trying very hard. It did not take you many strokes of your pencil to draw Rosemary and me the other day and we were instantly recognisable.’
‘You are kind, Lady Esme, but I cannot reproduce your animation on paper. I only wish I could.’
She smiled at the compliment, but did not comment, being more interested in finding out all she could about him. ‘You are not an artist, then?’
‘No, a designer. I like to design things to manufacture.’
‘What sort of things?’ The noise that came from Rosemary’s throat sounded very much like a snort. Both ignored it.
‘Anything that takes my fancy—household articles, inventions, but particularly objects made of glass.’
‘Drinking glasses, bottles, that kind of thing?’
‘Yes, dishes, vases, ornaments. I have a small manufactory in Birmingham.’
‘Is that where you live?’
‘Just outside it. The estate is called Larkhills. I live there with my mother.’
‘Is your mother in London with you?’
‘No, she rarely travels these days. I came down for the Mansion House banquet.’
‘But that is over and you are still here.’
He smiled, amused rather than annoyed, by her questions. ‘There are other attractions to keep me here.’
‘A lady?’
‘That would be telling.’
She heard Rosemary’s sharp intake of breath and knew she had breached another of her sister’s strict codes. ‘Oh, I should not have asked.’ She saw his lips twitch and nearly laughed aloud. Instead she posed another—to her, less contentious—question. ‘What were you doing in the park when we saw you sketching? You spoke of the Great Exhibition. Are you an architect, too?’
‘No, but I thought I might try my hand at designing something to house the exhibits.’
‘Has that not already been done?’
‘There are architects working on it, but nothing has been finally decided.’
‘Then I wish you luck with it. Has it been decided where the building is to be sited?’
‘I think it is fairly certain to be in the corner of Hyde Park where we encountered each other.’
‘And that was why you were on that particular spot?’
‘Yes. No doubt I shall need to go there again to check my measurements.’
It was a mundane conversation, apparently meaningless, but Esme knew there was more to it than that. They were communicating with their eyes, with the way they looked at each other, even in the way they stood and occasionally lifted a hand to emphasise a point. There was empathy in the very air around them. It was a wonderful feeling that left her slightly breathless.
She did not realise it also made her cheeks rosier than usual and her eyes bright as stars. Felix saw it and felt it. Here was a child of nature, someone so open, so unafraid, he was afraid for her. He was afraid of life treating her badly, of his own emotions, which at that moment were playing havoc with his peace of mind. He had no right to feel like this, no right to engage her feelings when he had sworn never again to let a woman into his heart. She was too young to understand what was happening, too young to be hurt. He did not want to hurt her.
He bowed. ‘I must not keep you from your friends. Good day, Lady Trent, good day, Lady Esme.’
He moved on and Esme found herself watching his back disappearing through the throng and wanting to cry. His departure had been so abrupt, as if she had said something to upset him. But she hadn’t, had she? She had complimented him on his drawing skill—that wouldn’t make him want to disappear, would it? Perhaps he found her conversation boring? Or had he realised Rosemary had not spoken a single civil word to him since her first formal greeting? Was he sensitive enough to feel her sister’s animosity? If she met him when Rosemary was not present…
She pulled herself together to listen to Rosemary making arrangements with Lady Bryson to attend a charity concert the following week, after which they took their leave and returned to the carriage which took them back to Trent House. The whole journey was one long scold, mainly directed at Lord Pendlebury and the way Esme had encouraged him.
‘I cannot understand what you can have against him,’ Esme said. ‘I think you made up your mind not to like him right from the first when he tipped his hat to me and smiled. It was just his way of being polite.’
‘Impudent, you mean, and then to draw pictures of us without even a by-your-leave.’
‘You surely did not mind that. It was only a sketch and very tasteful.’
‘I mind when my sister, for whom I am acting in loco parentis, makes a fool of herself,’ she said, as Esme followed her. ‘And of me.’
‘No one is making a fool of you, except yourself, Rosie. Lord Pendlebury is accepted in society. Why, you could see all the unmarried ladies falling over themselves to attract his attention.’
‘That does not mean you have to. Always remember you are the daughter of an earl and should behave with more dignity.’
This business of protocol and etiquette and what was and was not proper behaviour was full of pitfalls and she seemed to be falling into every one of them. The trouble was, she did not know they were there until she had tumbled into them. The result was that, as soon as they arrived home, she was given a book on etiquette and told to study it.
Chapter Three
Esme’s study of the book of manners soon palled and, since Rosemary was o
therwise engaged with household affairs the following morning, Esme prevailed upon Miss Bannister to accompany her on a walk in the park. ‘I might sit and sketch the riders,’ she said, picking up a pad and several newly sharpened pencils.
‘Don’t you think that is a little advanced for you?’ the governess queried mildly.
‘Perhaps, but I mean to try, then I can send it back to Mama in my next letter.’
If Miss Bannister thought her erstwhile pupil was up to mischief, she did not say so, but fetched her coat and bonnet and prepared to humour her.
It was the first really mild day of the year and the good weather had brought out the populace who had nothing better to do than stroll in the park, ride in their carriages or show off their riding skills. There were some workers among the idlers: road sweepers, park attendants, street vendors, grooms holding horses, coachmen who drove the carriages in which the rich paraded, cabmen hoping to pick up a fare, a soldier or two on his way to or from the barracks. Esme in a patterned gown in several shades of green from palest aquamarine through apple green to dark forest green and a long matching jacket, was alive to it all, drinking in the sights and sounds, chatting animatedly to Miss Bannister, all the while searching around her for a particular figure. He had meant he would be in the park, hadn’t he? But perhaps not today.
Miss Bannister was old and becoming frail and it was not long before she declared herself exhausted. ‘I must sit on this bench awhile,’ she told Esme, indicating a seat beside the carriage ride and suiting action to words.
Esme sat beside her and began sketching. Before long she was aware of gentle snoring and smiled to herself as she tried her best to draw the scene before her.
‘Very good,’ said a quiet voice behind her. ‘But you have made the horse’s neck a little too long and his head too small.’
Her heart began pounding, but she did not turn round. ‘I told you I was not very good, didn’t I?’
