Spring in Hyde Park

by Jennifer Moore

  “They are. Frederick and Johann,” Tubby replied.

  “They are sweet steppers,” said the duke. “Shall we set a date for a practice run?”

  As the two men spoke together, Sophronia compared them. His Grace was long-limbed and rode a horse beautifully. Tubby was short and the slightest bit overweight, but appeared to advantage in his curricle, dressed in earth-tones to match his bays. He was also considerate, seeking to include her in the conversation, whereas the duke hardly seemed to notice she was there.

  Chapter Four

  Mayfield was more than ordinarily conscious of the lady in the curricle as he rode alongside, his stallion at a walk. For once, he found himself at a loss, having no conversation at hand, yet he couldn’t tear himself away. What was amiss with him?

  “Your Grace, Lord Stephens, I have a great favor to ask of you,” Lady Sophronia said. “You both are acquainted with Lady Clarice Manton, are you not?”

  “Lady who writes operas about cats,” Tubby answered with a smile.

  “She does so much more than that, Lord Stephens,” Lady Sophronia tapped his wrist playfully with her fan. “In fact, she is a benefactress for many worthy causes.”

  “Hmm,” said Tubby. He was staring at the space between his horses’ heads. “Fills her house with Whigs.”

  “And other worthy gentlemen, such as yourself,” the lady continued.

  “Just what are you up to, my lady?” asked her escort.

  “Tomorrow night, she is holding a benefit concert in her home. I should be very grateful if you both could come and lend your support.”

  “Not one for musical dos,” Tubby said.

  “Ah, but His Grace is, are you not?” She threw him a sunny smile, not untouched by mischief.

  “Not a soprano,” he said, raising his eyebrow.

  “No, of course not. Knowing your tastes as I do, I would not dream of inviting you to hear a soprano! It is to be a piano concert. Mozart! I am certain that you, Your Grace, are particularly fond of Mozart.”

  He realized she was playing a game, pitting him against Stephens, knowing he would not wish to seem a churl.

  “Ah, Mozart! Yes, well that is a different story entirely,” the duke said, giving her one of his half smiles. “And what, or should I say whom, are we benefiting?”

  “My particular charity—Literacy for the Poor. I feel certain that so many of the ills they suffer are due to ignorance. I am so glad you will attend, Your Grace. And you, Lord Stephens?”

  “If I may have the honor of escorting you,” said Tubby.

  “I am afraid that privilege falls to me, old man,” the duke said. “I was the first to take up the invitation, so it is only right.”

  Tubby opened his mouth and then shut it.

  “Never mind, Lord Stephens. We shall make a party. My sister and Lord Gilbert will be joining us. Perhaps you could bring your sister, Lady Margery, as well? It is for a worthy cause. We are hiring a schoolmaster and remodeling a small structure in the East End.”

  Tubby sighed heavily. “Very well, Lady Sophronia.”

  “At what time shall I call for you?” asked the duke.

  “A little before nine o’clock. Lady Clarice lives only a few steps away. If the night is fine, we can walk.”

  Tipping his hat, he said, “Until tomorrow evening, then.” It was not until he rode away that he fully appreciated how Lady Sophronia had handled the two of them. Poor Tubby was undoubtedly a suitor, but he wasn’t. He laughed as he brought Prometheus through the gates of Hyde Park and out into the street. What a complete hand the lady was!

  He arrived along with his brother at Larkspur House the following evening to meet the sisters. Tubby was already present, his own sister in tow. The duke blinked at his first sight of Lady Sophronia. She was stunning in a gown of poppy-colored silk that set her pale skin aglow. Her eyes looked particularly blue, and her figure was shown to great advantage by the simple lines of the gown. Who was responsible for this transformation?

  He remembered what a poor mouse she had seemed the first time he had met her, dressed all in brown, her hair in some severe style that did not suit her in the least. Used to thinking of himself as a connoisseur of beauty, he admitted to himself that he had been far too quick to dismiss this woman.

  It soon became obvious, however, that tonight she favored Tubby. It was his arm that she took for the walk to Lady Clarice’s townhouse, leaving the duke to squire the spotty Lady Margery.

  Lady Clarice welcomed their party handsomely, her overweight Siamese, Queen Elizabeth, clutched against her formidable bosom.

  “Oh, Lady Sophronia, dear! I see you have brought quite a party!” She greeted Tubby and his sister and then her eyes grew wide. “The Duke of Mayfield. Welcome!” She curtseyed with surprisingly little awkwardness. “And, of course, Lady Lavinia. Is this your fiancé, dear? Lord Gilbert, you are a lucky one. I have known Lady Lavinia since she was knee high.”

  The duke had heard that Lady Clarice’s home was constantly undergoing redecoration. The entrance hall was hung with red silk and housed an enormous white porcelain Buddha at one end. The ballroom where the concert was to take place was painted rather inexpertly with murals of Grecian landscapes.

  At the moment, the dais was occupied by Miss Susannah Braithwaite and her great tortoise, Henry Five. As people began to take their seats, Miss Braithwaite explained, “At the intermission, you may make your donations in the back of the room while you are partaking of refreshments.”

  She then introduced the pianist, but the duke heard nothing, for Tubby had seated Sophronia next to him. Her sister occupied the seat on her other hand. After the excruciatingly long concerto, it was Tubby whom she allowed to fetch her cake and punch.

  “Are you not enjoying yourself, Your Grace?” she asked him. “I do think Mr. Gregory is blessed with extraordinary talent. I have never heard Mozart played with such feeling.”

  He longed to ask her if she had some kind of understanding with Tubby, but instead said, “I prefer Bach. He is not so unremittingly cheerful.”

  “Well, I am sorry, then,” Lady Sophronia said. “I hope you will still see fit to make a donation. Our school is a very worthy cause.”

  “Why are you so bent on educating the poor?” he asked, giving his irritation full rein.

  She narrowed her eyes. “They are people, Your Grace, just like you and me. It is not their fault they were born to a lower station. Or are you Tory enough to believe that God put them there because they are less worthy than you?”

  Her eyes might as well have been shooting sparks. Falling back on his most quelling manner, he said, “I must say I have never given it much thought.”

  “Of course you have not. Why should you, when everything in your own life is so comfortable?” Turning to Tubby, who had just approached with her refreshments, she said, “Thank you, Lord Stephens. How very kind you are.”

  Soured by the entire situation, he told himself that if he could not cut Tubby out, things had come to a pretty pass. He caught himself up.

  Do I want to cut Tubby out? He obviously is intent on marriage. I do not intend to marry anyone.

  The duke returned to Mayfield House that evening determined to put the troublesome lady out of his mind. Throwing himself into a chair before the fire, he poured himself a whiskey.

  Her observations did trouble him. Was he really a Tory at heart? Did he truly believe that God ordained the station that one was born into and that one meddled with His decree only at one’s peril? Or did he, like Sophronia, believe that if one was born to a higher station that it was one’s duty to help the afflicted?

  Grudgingly, he admitted that he admired her efforts. They demonstrated more depth of feeling than those females he customarily associated with. But then, the females he dallied with offered him the casual kind of relationship that was all he was looking for. He had no inclination to marry. The duke had never seen one marriage worthy of emulation. It seemed to him that every one of his friends had su
ffered great limits to his freedom once he tied the knot. Such restrictions were not for him.

  Tossing back his whiskey, he threw more coal on the fire and wondered when Gilbert would be home. It occurred to the duke that he dared not get any more involved with Lady Sophronia, lest he come under condemnation when the real state of his brother’s financial affairs was revealed. He did not wish to be party to any of that deception.

  Nevertheless, he had to admit that Lady Sophronia was a fine-looking woman. Sighing, he poured another whiskey.

  Chapter Five

  Lavinia and Sophronia sat on the sofa in their dressing room before the fire, drinking their customary before-bedtime cup of chamomile tea.

  Lavinia chuckled. “The great and mighty Duke of Mayfield’s nose was definitely out of joint tonight.”

  “Good,” said Sophronia. “I find Tubby’s companionship far more satisfactory than his.”

  “The problem I see is that Tubby is soon going to be asking Uncle for permission to pay his addresses,” her sister said.

  “That would be lovely,” Sophronia said, quelling the little voice inside that was calling herself a liar. “I am certain we could have a very comfortable life together.”

  “Gilbert has said that the duke will never marry.”

  Some part of Sophronia found this news unwelcome. “But what of the succession?”

  “He is quite happy to have Gilbert be his heir, and after Gilbert, our children.”

  Sophronia considered this. “You have a large responsibility there, Lavinia. I hope you will raise benevolent children who will not think their station in life entitles them to neglect those in need.”

  “Indeed, I have thought of it, dearest. Though I do not know how Gilbert will take to the idea of helping the poor. I could not but notice that his donation this evening was a very small one.”

  “At least he made one. I do not believe the duke even did that.”

  “Oh, but he did. A very generous one. Fifty pounds.”

  “Fifty pounds! You must be mistaken!”

  “No, I saw him hand the note to Sukey Braithwaite, and her eyes were round as saucers.”

  “Oh my heavens, Vinnie. I have misjudged him terribly. I accused him to his face of being a Tory!”

  Lavinia laughed. “You make it sound as though you accused him of being a devil instead of a member of a political party. Dear Sophronia, you are so very earnest.”

  The following morning, the sisters took breakfast with their aunt who was pondering her to-do list for Lavinia’s wedding.

  “Ladies, you need to spend the morning writing out invitations. They should have gone out last week! And Lavinia, it is past time that you made your decisions about your flowers. You shall accompany me to the florist this afternoon.”

  Their aunt was a spare woman who ruled the house and her husband with a will of iron. Sophronia had intended to ride that morning in the park, but now she gave up the idea. It was indeed time for the invitations to go out.

  While Lavinia went with her aunt to the florist, Sophronia visited Lady Clarice. It was the day for their weekly excursion into the East End.

  “Oh, my dear, I am so glad you could come this afternoon!” the lady said, her arms full of cat as usual.

  “That was such a lovely evening last night,” Sophronia said. “Was it a good benefit?”

  “Oh my, yes. Everyone was very generous, and I have such a surprise for you this afternoon.” She had led them into the dark blue sitting room, hung with maritime paintings that she considered suitable for gentlemen callers.

  “Your Grace!” Sophronia was surprised to see the Duke of Mayfield standing in front of the white mantle.

  “Lady Sophronia.” He bowed from the waist with a flourish.

  “But what are you doing here?”

  “I understand that you always have a gentleman accompany you on your forays into the East End. Today, that is my duty.”

  “He volunteered last evening,” Lady Clarice said. “It was a good thing, because Lord Roderick was taken ill yesterday and could not come with us this afternoon.”

  Sophronia strove to regain her composure. “I hope Lord Roderick is not seriously ill?”

  “A putrid sore throat. Very worrying,” said Lady Clarice. “But I sent my own physician to see him, so I am in hopes that he will recover shortly.”

  “So what is the program today, ladies?” asked the duke.

  “First, we must check on the progress of our building,” said Sophronia's friend. “Then we go to a chapel that a friend of ours is letting us use for readings. Until our building is finished and we have our schoolmaster teaching a regular class every day, we are building interest by having Sophronia conduct a reading hour on Friday afternoons. She has a lovely reading voice.”

  “Well, I suggest that we get underway,” said the duke. “My carriage awaits.”

  As they rode through the West End into the stews of the East End, the duke asked, “May I inquire what you read to those who attend, Lady Sophronia?”

  She felt a moment’s discomfort. “You must understand that we are trying to attract people and entice them with the joys of reading.”

  The duke gave her his one-sided smile. “Let me guess: horror, mayhem, and romance.”

  “Well, yes. The Mysteries of Udolpho, to be precise. We cannot read to them from sermons, law books, or anything dull.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “Tell me, do many men attend your readings?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “There are a surprising number of boys and very young men. But you are right, it is mostly women.”

  “And what are women to do with reading skills?”

  Sophronia sat up very straight and looked him in the eye. “Teach and encourage their children. Do not undervalue the importance of women, Your Grace.”

  His eyes sparked with amusement. “I would not dare.”

  Sophronia could tell by the smell of dung and garbage that they had reached the East End. Lady Clarice leaned out the window and directed the driver through the crowded streets to a building near the Covent Garden Market, from which they could hear the sound of hammers pounding.

  “This is it,” she said.

  Chapter Six

  The duke held a lady on each arm as he escorted them through the construction on what Lady Clarice referred to as the "Academy." Smelling of new wood, the site was an impressive one. There was a large, light room with a low ceiling to conserve the heat. In the back was a small kitchen for baking bread and other treats for the scholars who might not get anything else to eat that day. The duke was struck by the idea as a way of attracting pupils. Upstairs were the schoolmaster’s quarters.

  “We shall have several classes each day for pupils of different ages, and eventually, different abilities.”

  “The cost of books is to be defrayed by the charity also, I assume,” the duke said.

  “Yes. We will start with primers and go on from there.”

  The duke smiled with a new kind of satisfaction. It took him by surprise. It had been a long time since he had been enthusiastic about anything other than horses. “This is a very worthy undertaking, Lady Clarice.”

  “Lady Sophronia has been a great help. The kitchen was her idea. She also found our schoolmaster.”

  “He is the curate at my aunt and uncle’s country estate,” Sophronia said. He had noted with disappointment that she was dressed in her browns again. Now he thought the decision wise. It would not do to flaunt one’s wealth in these surroundings.

  “We should have the Academy functioning by the end of the Season, if the work continues on schedule,” Lady Clarice said. “Now excuse me a moment, I must speak with Mr. Budgeworthy, our building foreman.”

  The little woman moved off. Lady Sophronia looked up at him, her eyes earnest. “Is it not a splendid project?”

  “I think it very well-conceived. I only hope it is well-appreciated. Perhaps you do not realize it, but people do not tend to value that which they
do not pay for.”

  Her brow contracted, and in a moment she became angry. “You speak from experience, perhaps? I agree that the peers in our class surely do not value their inheritances as they should. They go about gambling them away on foolish wagers.”

  Her words hit a sore spot as he thought of his brother’s foolhardiness. “The poor are not necessarily virtuous, you know. They are subject to the same ills as the rest of the human race.”

  “I happen to think that, given opportunities, these people will have more choices in life. Right now, there is very little the poor can do to alter their situations. Education is essential if that is to happen. Perhaps it will take more than one generation, but I believe what we are doing here is valuable at the most basic level.”

  Anger gave her an animation that made her eyes sparkle. Though he did agree with her statement, he could not help but goad her further. “What makes you such an expert on the poor?”

  Her color increased in a most becoming way. “You are impossible! I do not wish to speak with you any longer. I will wait for you outside in the carriage.”

  Alarm shot through him. “You will not sit out there alone. It is not safe. I offer you my sincere apologies. It is a very worthy project.”

  She seemed not to have heard him. Turning away, she began stepping over lumber and picking her way to the entrance of the building. He followed and managed to halt her by grasping her arm. “Do not let your anger with me overcome your good sense,” he said. “I will await you in the carriage.”

  He went out, leaving her to stand in the midst of her dreams.

  Why did I find it necessary to prick her bubble of goodwill? She has her head in the clouds and will doubtless be disappointed. But who am I to stop her from trying to do good?