by Jane Ashford
Both young men turned to stare at her, frowning, but though she struggled, it was a moment before Marianne regained her composure. At last she managed, “I beg your pardon.”
“What’s so amusing?” asked Tony. He had a sudden awful fear that he looked ridiculous.
“Nothing! That is, your conversation with Mama.”
“I must have missed the joke.”
Seeing that William, too, was looking thunderous, Marianne suppressed her lingering smile. “It is just that Mama is distracted lately,” she added, as if this explained everything.
The gentlemen puzzled over this briefly, but there seemed nothing they could say, and Marianne’s next words drove all other thoughts from their minds.
“You have been to the tailor Sir Thomas suggested, I see.”
“Yes,” answered Tony eagerly. “What do you think?” He turned in his chair to give her a good view.
“You are…dazzling,” said Marianne. “I have never seen such a waistcoat.”
“Nor will you,” he responded proudly. “The man said this piece of cloth was all he had. Arrived in a special shipment direct from Paris.”
“Really? How lucky for you.”
Something in her voice made him suspicious again, and he surveyed her for signs of mockery. “It’s all the crack.”
“I know,” agreed Marianne solemnly. “I daresay you will soon be one of the leading lights of the dandy set. Have you met Oliver Grigsby?”
“At the ball the other night.” Tony grew confiding. “Actually, it was his coat that decided me on what to buy. I’d never seen its like.”
Marianne nodded. “You must tell him so.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“But he aims to set fashions, Tony. He will be so pleased.”
Tony pondered this. He had been much taken with the dandy set. Their dress and manners, so different from the older generation’s, seemed to express a rebellion that matched his own impulses.
“There’s Grigsby now,” said William, looking down into the theater.
Tony followed his gaze to the group of budding pinks below. “Perhaps I will just speak to him,” he said.
Marianne and William nodded encouragingly, and Tony rose and slipped out of the box with a bow to the Benthams.
Immediately, William had qualms. “I suppose it’s wrong to push him on them,” he said, watching as Tony emerged below and joined Grigsby’s group.
“Nonsense. They’re harmless.”
“Are they?”
“Grigsby and his friends, yes. They are merely young men who enjoy shocking their parents and society with their eccentricities of dress. It lasts only a year or so. I think it is a public statement of independence.”
“Do you?”
Seeing that he was smiling, Marianne raised her eyebrows.
“You sounded like a dowager giving her judgment of the younger generation,” added William.
“I did not!” She drew herself up indignantly, then slowly smiled a little. “Perhaps I have heard someone else say that.” Her smile broadened, becoming sheepish. “Mrs. Grigsby, I think.”
“A very sensible woman, evidently.”
Marianne nodded, and they laughed together.
“And what do you think of my new clothes?” asked William then.
“In the very best of taste,” she replied promptly.
“You don’t think I am making a statement of independence?”
“I don’t believe you need to.”
Their eyes met, both a bit surprised. Marianne had not known she was going to say that, but once she had, she realized that it was true. William was not much older than Tony, but he was far more sure of himself. For his part, William was pleased as well as startled. Marianne’s good opinion was becoming important to him, and he was happy to see that she did not classify him with Tony, whom she clearly viewed as a kind of amusing younger brother.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, holding her eyes. “Indeed, my effort may be just the opposite. My old coat possessed a little too much independence.”
They laughed together again, each feeling a dawning warmth that intrigued and excited them. But at that moment the warning bell rang, signaling the end of the interval.
“Oh,” exclaimed Marianne, her disappointment obvious.
William was pleased to see it, though he cursed all theater managers. He rose, then paused to look down at Marianne. “Perhaps I may call on, er, your mother one day?”
“Yes, of course.” She smiled. “I’m sure she would be happy to receive you.”
With an answering smile, William turned and strode buoyantly out of the box. Despite the abrupt end to their conversation, he felt quite satisfied with the encounter.
If the second installment of the play seemed less engrossing to certain members of the audience, Susan and Tony didn’t notice it. Indeed, when the second interval arrived, each was bewitched by the action on stage, and William again had to rouse his friend with a shake. This time Tony said, “By Jove, it is good, isn’t it?”
William agreed, though with less fervor. “I’m going up to Susan and Georgina. Coming?”
“Umm? Oh, yes, I suppose I should. How do you think they do it, William?”
“Who? Do what?”
“Actors. I mean, one knows they’re playing a role, but I’d swear they mean every word as they say it. It’s astonishing.”
This was not one of William’s areas of expertise. “Well, they have an aptitude, I suppose. And they practice, of course. Rehearse, isn’t it?”
Tony nodded. “It’s astonishing,” he murmured again.
There were no other visitors to the Goring box, and Susan seemed glad to see them. “Isn’t the play wonderful!” she exclaimed to William as he sat down. “I never imagined it would be like this.” Before William could reply, Tony seconded her enthusiasm, and the two at once embarked on a detailed review of the play’s action and numerous attractions.
The others watched them, smiling, for a moment, then William said, “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” responded Georgina. “I think it very well done.”
“But you do not fall into raptures.”
“Perhaps I am past the age for that.”
William had been keeping a surreptitious eye on Marianne across the way, wondering resentfully who the three young men visiting her box might be and whether she was acquainted with all of London, but something in Georgina’s tone drew his full attention. Georgina was looking tired, he saw as he surveyed her more carefully, and her gray eyes showed shadows of some unfamiliar emotion. “Is Susan running you ragged?” he asked quietly. “You mustn’t let her, you know. You should ask me for help. I came up to town for that purpose, though I may seem to forget it.” He smiled.
“It’s all right.”
“That I should forget? It isn’t. Or do you think I cannot help? You might be surprised.”
Georgina looked up, her brown study dispersed.
“I’ve been dealing with Susan almost all my life, you see,” added William.
Georgina smiled. “And rather well, I imagine.”
He shrugged. “Our brother Nick is better, really. He thinks it out. But I manage. You will ask if you need something, I hope.”
She nodded, oddly warmed, and impressed by the inner strength evident in this young man. Whether by temperament or education, he had matured into a calmly capable, quietly compelling man. She could, she realized, rely on him; the thought was comforting.
“You blockhead!” exclaimed Susan, too loudly. “She meant nothing of the kind. She was trying to keep him from seeing that she loved him, so she pretended to be cold.”
“Pretended!” retorted Tony, his voice just as penetrating. “She treated him shamefully, and you could tell she didn’t care if he went off to Italy and died.”
“He didn’t care if she remained behind with her beast of a brother and was made to marry Runyon,” Susan snapped. “He didn’t mean to do anything about it.”
“What could he do? She gave him no sign that he had a right.”
“Oh, you are just like him. Any idiot could see that—”
“A bit softer, Susan,” interrupted Georgina. Their dispute was attracting attention.
Arrested in mid-spate, Susan noticed it. “I was simply trying to explain the play to Tony,” she replied with quiet hauteur. “He has misunderstood it completely.”
“I?” Tony laughed, though he too lowered his voice. “We shall see who has misunderstood when it starts again.”
“Yes, we shall,” said Susan hotly. They turned their heads ostentatiously away from one another.
William and Georgina exchanged a smile. “Susan, you have not told us if you like our new coats,” William pointed out.
But if he thought this placatory, he was mistaken. “You look very well,” she replied. “Tony is a complete quiz.”
The latter sputtered with renewed rage. “What do you know about it?” he managed finally. “A chit fresh from a country schoolroom. I shouldn’t give a snap of my fingers for your opinion if you fell into raptures. Oliver Grigsby said I looked fine as a fivepence.”
“Then he must be as silly as you are,” answered Susan, with that air of utter conviction and infuriating superiority so familiar to her brother.
“He happens to be one of the pinks of the ton,” responded Tony through gritted teeth.
“A dandy, you mean? Well, that explains it.”
Tony looked as if he would cheerfully throttle her. William started to intervene, but the bell rang again, and Tony rose with alacrity to return to his seat. “Miss Goring,” he said in his most polished accents, bowing to Georgina. He turned his back on Susan and left the box.
“Idiot,” murmured Susan.
“Well, he isn’t,” William informed her. “And you were dashed rude to him.”
“I was rude? What of him?”
“He didn’t call you a blockhead.”
“He called me a chit!”
Her brother merely looked at her. Gradually Susan’s flush lessened. “He made me angry,” she said in a subdued voice after a while. “I was so enjoying the play.”
“So was he,” William pointed out.
“But he was wrong!”
“I understand there may be two opinions on such matters—perhaps even more than two.”
Susan tossed her head, started to speak, then changed her mind. “If you do not go, you will miss the end,” she said.
William shrugged, smiled at Georgina, and went out. Thus, only Georgina saw Susan’s shoulders rise and fall in a great sigh as she leaned forward to watch the resuming play. Georgina was, however, oddly heartened by this reaction.
Seven
The following afternoon, at the fashionable hour, Susan Wyndham set off to walk in the park, escorted by her maid and the cat Daisy. Susan was not in the best of moods. Neither Georgina nor William had been available when she made up her mind to walk—the former had gone out to Hookham’s circulating library and the latter on some unknown errand of his own—and Susan unreasonably took this as a deliberate slight. Actually, her impatience arose out of the fact that she was accustomed to far more exercise than she got in London, for despite her fragile appearance, she habitually rode or walked a goodly distance every day. But she was not aware of this, and so blamed her family for their disregard of her comfort.
Once outside, however, her temper improved. It was a lovely afternoon, and she had put on a new gown of pale buff muslin sprigged with tiny, dark green flowers and a new chip straw hat. The matching sunshade she raised over her head filled her with deep satisfaction, and an admiring glance from a gentleman on horseback as they entered the park completed her triumph. She lifted her chin and smiled a little, and her maid heaved an almost audible sigh of relief.
Susan chose a path that ran beside the main avenue of the park, where fashionable carriages moved in a dignified cavalcade to allow their passengers to bow to one another and exchange occasional remarks. She kept a sharp eye on these vehicles, hoping to see an acquaintance, but only twice did she spy a known face, and on the second occasion the rider did not notice her.
This ruffled Susan’s temper again. It was exactly as she had concluded at the theater, she told herself irritably: she wasn’t well enough known to make a hit. Grandmama had promised a ball in her honor, but since she had fallen ill the plan had not been mentioned. Georgina was clearly incapable of carrying through, and even Susan was a little daunted at the idea of supervising such an undertaking. Yet her introduction to society so far had been definitely disappointing. Susan watched the passing stream of carriages, filled with elegant people whom she did not recognize, and she felt suddenly isolated and excluded. She was prettier and more interesting than any of those women, she thought petulantly. Why should they have every advantage and she none at all!
With this very unfair observation, Susan turned homeward. She was not consciously aware of the need to relieve her pent-up feelings in some outburst, but she knew she strongly wished to talk with William or Georgina.
It was at this moment that Susan saw Baron Ellerton approaching from the direction of the park gates. He was driving an impeccable high-perch phaeton drawn by the most magnificent team of chestnuts Susan had ever seen, and he handled the spirited animals with negligent grace. Without pausing to think, Susan stepped forward, nearly into the carriageway, smiled, and raised her hand. When it seemed as if the baron would simply bow politely and drive on, she moved even further forward, eliciting a warning exclamation from her maid. Susan continued to smile.
Ellerton pulled up with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. The Wyndham chit was certainly determined, he thought as he brought the phaeton to a halt beside her. He’d never encountered such a strong will in such a deceptive package, but if she thought to get the best of him, she would be disappointed. The baron had been a target for countless marriage-minded young ladies and gimlet-eyed mothers in the fifteen years he’d been on the town, and he had profited from this experience. “Good day, Miss Wyndham,” he said coolly. “A fine day for a stroll.”
“Oh, I’d much rather be driving,” replied Susan brightly. “Would you be so kind as to take me up for a spin round the park, Baron Ellerton? I have never ridden in a phaeton in my life.” She gazed up at him with large, innocent eyes, just as if this was not an outrageous request. Both her maid and the middle-aged groom who sat beside the baron had gasped.
Ellerton could deal with simpering, flirtation, even tears, with the greatest ease, but Susan’s flat demand—for it amounted to that—could not be turned aside without absolute rudeness. Because of the chit’s connection to the fascinating Miss Goring, Baron Ellerton found himself reluctant to give her a sharp setdown. His handsome face stiff with annoyance, he answered, “Very well, Miss Wyndham. You may get down, Hines.”
Any other young lady in London would have cringed at his tone, and hastily withdrawn her suggestion, but Susan merely turned to her maid and said, “You may go, Lucy. I daresay the baron will escort me home later.”
Lucy opened her mouth and closed it like a beached fish.
“Oh, and I will take Daisy’s basket. He loves carriage rides.”
The maid, knowing this to be untrue, paled and tried again to object. But Susan paid no heed. She took the basket from Lucy’s nerveless fingers and accepted the groom’s aid in climbing up the vehicle’s steps. Only when the phaeton was moving away did the maid regain her powers of speech, responding to the groom Hines’s “Well, I never!” with a half-hysterical catalog of the vicissitudes of her post. Hines was forced to support her on the journey home, giving her gratefully into the hands of the Goring cook, who had witnessed such scenes before.
/> “This is splendid,” declared Susan as she settled herself in the carriage. She set Daisy’s basket beside her feet and adjusted her dark green shawl about her shoulders. The view from the phaeton’s high seat was impressive; she felt far above the people sauntering in the park, whom she had numbered among just moments ago.
The complacency in her expression goaded the baron, and now that there were no listeners, he felt able to remark, “You know, Miss Wyndham, it is not usual for a young lady to command a gentleman with whom she is barely acquainted to take her up in his carriage.”
“I know,” agreed Susan. “But I didn’t think you would ask me, and I wanted to come.”
Once again, Ellerton found himself silenced by her bluntness. One side of his mouth quirking up at the ridiculousness of it, he began, “Nonetheless—”
But Susan did not want to hear his admonitions. “And everyone will see me and talk of it,” she interrupted happily. “It is quite a mark of distinction to be driven by you.”
The baron was not unaware of this. “A mark of distinction is customarily bestowed, Miss Wyndham,” he answered dryly, “not, er, seized.”
“Yes. But you have no idea how difficult it is to make an impression here in London. There are so many girls coming out, and even though they are mostly the merest nothings, one is classified with them and ignored. I want to make a splash!”
“Do you?”
“Oh, I don’t wish to do anything scandalous.” She turned wide green eyes on his face. “But I should be a famous belle, Baron Ellerton.”
Taking in her passionate determination, Ellerton found his annoyance fading into curiosity. Irritating, Miss Wyndham certainly was, but she was also unusual, with a far stronger will than most young ladies Moreover, she had a point. Although there were many factors involved in the creation of a reigning toast—money and rank as well as beauty and personality—a strong character such as this girl clearly possessed could tip the scales. Ellerton discovered an interest in her future career, though no desire to take an active role in it. Indeed, the thought made him shudder. But he would enjoy observing her tactics. At the moment, however, he had a more important mission. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I will not be used in your campaign again, Miss Wyndham. I give you fair warning, the next time you put me in such a position, I shall be rude, as I was not today.”
