by Cheryl Bolen
"Was it not you who said last night that you want to be remembered for any good deeds you may have done for your fellow man?"
His head inclined, he shrugged.
"I have observed your actions in Parliament since the day you stepped on the floor of the House of Commons." Her voice softened. "I know you're an honorable man."
He kept his eyes ahead. They were approaching Rotten Row, where dozens of other conveyances trailed one another. "I thank you."
"Do not hitch all your dreams to the scheme, my lord. It's possible my cousin will favor another of her many suitors over you."
"I am well aware of that fact."
"Be assured I will sing your praises."
"I am destitute of words to express my gratitude."
She gave him a warm smile. "Now, we must decide on a plan."
Chapter 4
“What a lovely surprise seeing you here this morning,” Lady Sarah said as she turned away from her dressing table and peered at Cousin Jane.
Miss Featherstone was incapable of removing her gaze from the perfection of Lady Sarah. This morning her beautiful cousin wore a simple dress of sprigged muslin, its tiny flower matching the blue in her eyes. Her maid had just finished dressing her fashionably short, silky blonde hair. No picture in Ackermann’s Repository had ever been able to capture a young woman even half as elegant as Lady Sarah.
“I presume the loveliest debutante in all of England is readying to present herself before a bevy of admirers paying a morning call.”
“You are, as always, ever so perceptive, Jane. Please say you will join me.”
“That’s precisely why I’ve come. What better place to find a room full of eligible men? Not that any of them would ever look at me when you’re such a feast for the eyes.”
Lady Sarah sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but it gets terribly tedious being the object of young men’s devotion.”
“I can see that the proliferation of posies, the perpetual paying of compliments, and the odes written on your beauty could get very tiresome, indeed, very fast.”
“Perhaps you can latch on to one of my outcasts.” Realizing she had just all but insulted her cousin, Lady Sarah leapt toward Jane, holding out her hands. “Pray, forgive me, my dearest cousin. It was most uncharitable of me to say such a thing.”
“I’ve told you countless times to never apologize for saying something which is true.”
“You are too dear.” Sarah took a last glance in the mirror and started for the door. “One of my suitors, Mr. Mannington, told me at the Vane's ball last night that he saw you riding in the park with Lord Slade yesterday afternoon. I must own, I was surprised.”
“He’s very far above my touch, but we are friends of long standing. He came to dinner at our house the previous night and dazzled everyone at the table with his brilliance.”
They left the lady's bedchamber and began descending the majestic staircase of Clegg House. “It’s a most fortunate young woman who wins Lord Slade’s hand in marriage,” Miss Featherstone continued, “for he is possessed of so many admirable qualities. There is his good looks and his position in the House of Lords and his deep affection for his siblings.”
Lady Sarah giggled. “You, my dear cousin, have just described half the men who will be calling on me today!”
In the Earl of Clegg’s drawing room, every seat was filled with young men, most of whom were bearing flowers for the earl’s lovely daughter. All of them stood when the two young ladies entered the large chamber furnished in dark mahoganies and emerald silk and adorned with paintings by Italian masters as well as a Gainsborough of the present Lady Clegg as a younger woman with lightly powdered hair.
Presently, that lady, whose hair was now lightly gray without artificial help, sat on a settee in the center of the chamber, smugly satisfied over her daughter's spectacular success.
But it was not that lady who drew Miss Featherstone's attention. Her glance whisked first to Lord Slade. She had known she would find him in the gathering of morning callers, but she was surprised to see that he had come with his brother.
Those two gentlemen quickly offered their chairs to the female cousins.
Seated, Miss Featherstone surveyed the almost all-male gathering. She counted three and twenty young men.
And she realized Lady Sarah had been correct about half of them sharing Lord Slade’s attributes of rank, good looks, and amiability, though Miss Featherstone did not think any of them as handsome as Lord Slade or his handsome brother. And she knew none of them could match him intellectually.
A pity his lordship – unlike the other callers – had not thought to bring flowers to Lady Sarah.
One by one the others filed before the beautiful heiress, presenting her with bouquets and praising her great beauty.
Lady Clegg summoned a footman and instructed him to find vases of water for all the flowers.
“I have searched every flower seller in London,” the Viscount Pennington declared as he presented Lady Sarah a single iris, “to find a flower to match the color of your beautiful eyes.”
The somewhat portly Mr. Raikes came to stand before the beauty and unfolded a sheet of velum. “Allow me to present you a poem in praise of your beauty, Lady Sarah. I will not take the time at present to read it to you, but I pray you will do so when we take our leave.”
“Oh, most certainly, Mr. Raikes. How very kind of you.” Lady Sarah barely finished addressing Mr. Raikes when Lord Fordwich came to bow before her, offering a posy of pastel flowers gathered in lace.
“Allow me to say how honored I am to pay tribute to your great beauty, my lady.”
Miss Featherstone now understood how tedious such adoration could be. For the first time since she had been presented, Miss Featherstone was grateful she did not possess astonishing beauty.
Once all the offerings had been bestowed, the gentlemen began to converse. Would Lady Sarah be at the Riverton’s rout? How had she enjoyed the ball at Lord Spencer’s?
The Viscount Fitzherbert asked her if she would join him for a ride in the park that afternoon. Before responding to him, she turned to Jane. “Will you be riding in the park this afternoon, my dear cousin?”
“As a matter of fact I shall.” This was a first for Miss Featherstone. Two days in a row she had been asked to ride with a gentleman. Two different gentlemen–one of whom was very far above her own touch.
“Who will you be riding with?” Lady Sarah asked.
“Mr. Poppinbotham.”
Lady Sarah’s brows plunged. “Have I met him?”
“I don’t believe so. He’s seeking Papa’s advice because he means to stand for Parliament.”
Lord Slade spoke for the first time since he’d offered the ladies his chair. “I had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman at Miss Featherstone’s house this week.”
“You are interested in Whig politics, Lord Slade?” Lady Sarah asked.
“Very.”
The beauty frowned. “Papa is a Tory.”
“I have many friends who are Tories,” his lordship said.
Lady Sarah’s attention returned to the young man who had asked her to ride with him later that day. “How very kind of you to ask, Lord Fitzherbert. Perhaps we can join up with my cousin and her Mr. Poppinbotham.”
“He’s not my Mr. Poppinbotham!”
Lord Slade addressed the beauty. “A shared ride in the park certainly does not mean the couples are exclusive to one another.” His bitter glance fell first to Viscount Fitzherbert, then he smiled at Miss Featherstone. “Take me and Miss Featherstone, for example.”
“Yes,” Lady Sarah interjected, “the two of you rode in the park yesterday, and you are both only good friends.”
“Almost as a brother and sister,” said Lord Slade, his sly glance falling on Lord Fitzherbert.
Though she knew his words true and knew that a plain Jane like she could never aspire to captivate a man as lofty as Lord Slade, his words stung.
* * *
That afternoon Mr. Poppinbotham came to claim Miss Featherstone exactly at four of the clock. He was dressed in what he undoubtedly considered fashionable afternoon dress for a gentleman of means, but his ideas of fashion and Miss Featherstone's were two entirely different matters.
She could find nothing to dislike in his light gray pantaloons. In fact, they were obviously cut by a master tailor. His waistcoat of purple silk spotted with lavender was a bit more bold than Miss Featherstone would have preferred, and the profusion of knots in his excessively large cravat was too overdone for her taste, which veered toward the plain. Like she.
A scarlet coat completed his dress. As one who had studied art, Miss Featherstone understood that all his colors were from the same color ways, which was admirable. At least he hadn't paired pumpkin with pink. But, still, she could not admire his style.
His equipage was another matter altogether. In this opulent display, Mr. Poppinbotham had put his considerable funds to good effect. All four of the matched bays had been hitched to the gentleman's very fine open barouche, and a liveried driver sat up on the box.
"What a very fine carriage this is," she told him as he assisted her onto the rolled leather seat.
A smile of satisfaction lifted his sagging cheeks. "It bloody well ought to be. Set me back a thousand guineas."
She searched her brain, but Miss Featherstone could not recall anyone in her acquaintance ever disclosing what they paid for something. It simply wasn't done.
Such a fine carriage could not go unnoticed once they entered the gates of Hyde Park, where a queue of equipages funneled inward. Miss Featherstone was just vain enough to be flattered that a gentleman obviously meant to call attention to his connection with her.
And she did not think he considered them brother and sister.
His eye had appreciatively swept over her from the tip of her bonnet and down the length of her soft pink pelisse when he had called on her. "You are the very picture of loveliness today, Miss Featherstone," he had told her. Perhaps some men did admire flag-pole figures.
As she sat beside him, she took the opportunity to discreetly study his person. Though his face and limbs were slender, the man was possessed of a large, round stomach. Certainly nothing like Lord Slade.
She had no right to be comparing the two men. She, certainly, was no Lady Sarah, either in beauty, rank, or fortune. She was bereft of all three. Therefore, she should be grateful to any man who paid her court.
Papa was seventy and not in the best of health. Did she really want to be the unwanted maiden aunt in Lavinia's home once Papa was gone?
She flashed a smile at Mr. Poppinbotham. "How did your trip go yesterday?"
"Very profitable."
Is money the only thing the man ever thinks about? "Well, it's nice to have you back in London. You must have sway with the weather gods." Her gaze whisked up at the blue, cloudless sky.
"Couldn't have asked for a finer day."
As they drove along, Miss Featherstone nodded to several lone riders with whom she was acquainted, and she extended greetings to several couples perched on phaetons. That many of those she addressed bore titles obviously impressed Mr. Poppinbotham.
"How is it, Miss Featherstone, you are acquainted with so many members of the aristocracy?"
"My mother was the daughter of the Earl of Clegg. I have many relations who are titled, and it's a rather close society."
"I envy you your contacts. You are invited into these aristocrats' homes?"
What a silly question! "I suppose I have invitations for events every day of the week at homes of the nobility, but I'm not terribly interested in balls and assemblies."
"What of the venerable Almack's? Have you ever been fortunate enough to wrangle a voucher?"
She laughed out loud. "My first two seasons, I had a subscription there. I chose not to this year because I am not particularly enamored of dancing. Had I need to go there, I dare say I could procure a voucher from my friend Lady Cowper." She smiled at him. "Tell me, Mr. Poppinbotham, do you enjoy dancing?"
"Sadly, I must own that when I was a younger man I was too busy making my fortune to go about to assemblies."
"Then you've never learned to dance?"
He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no! I took lessons all of last year. Cost me twenty quid, but when he was finished, my dancing master proclaimed me fit for Almack's."
So he wants to "wrangle" an invitation. Should she try to facilitate it? After a short deliberation, she said, "Should you like me to get you a voucher, Mr. Poppinbotham?"
His dark eyes brightened. She had to admit the man was possessed of very fine eyes. "I would be ever so grateful, but I should not want to go without you, Miss Featherstone."
Because he would know no one. Not a single person. "Would you be available next Wednesday?"
"For something as august as the opportunity to attend Almack's, nothing could be more important. How good of you to ask, my dear Miss Featherstone." He favored her with a broad smile.
In the distance she saw that Lord Fitzherbert was steering his phaeton toward them, looking as proud as a barnyard rooster who'd just sired a peacock, that peacock being Miss Featherstone's lovely cousin.
When they came fully abreast of Mr. Poppinbotham's barouche, Miss Featherstone presented her escort to the viscount and her cousin, and the viscount offered to turn around and ride abreast of them so the cousins could speak freely to one another.
"Fine cattle you've got there, Poppingham," Lord Fitzherbert said.
Mr. Poppinbotham's eyes flashed with good humor. "It's Poppinbotham, your kind lordship. How good of your lordship to notice my horses. I don't mind telling you it was no easy matter finding four so well matched."
The viscount lifted a brow. "You get them at Tattersall's?"
"Indeed I did. I always say nothing but the best. 'Tis my motto. Nothing but the best for Cecil Poppinbotham."
As it turned out, the two men were closest to one another, and they began to discuss conveyances – with Miss Featherstone's escort prompt to disclose his barouche alone cost over five hundred quid.
Not being particularly interested in vehicles, the cousins began to chat. "Another ball for you tonight?" Miss Featherstone asked.
"No. I had but one invitation, and Mama said it would not do me credit to go to the Morton's."
"Dear love," Miss Featherstone advised, "it's best not to mention people by specific names with such a comment."
"As always, you are right, dear Jane. I wish you could accompany me everywhere."
"It's a great pity our interests are so dissimilar. I adore politics; you are sadly ignorant of such affairs. And I'm a hopeless wallflower while you are the Season's reigning queen. I really would love to spend more time with you, pet, especially since we're both in London. Might I persuade you to come to our house tonight? Papa's having one of his Whig dinners."
"I don't suppose my papa would mind since it's at Uncle's house." Lady Sarah eyed her cousin's escort. "Will Mr. Poppingbottom be there?"
"It's Poppinbotham. And, yes, he will."
Lady Sarah took that opportunity to stare at her cousin's suitor.
Twice while Miss Featherstone was conversing with her cousin, she heard Mr. Poppinbotham say, "When I get in Parliament."
She would hear more on that subject that evening.
* * *
Lord Slade surveyed the modest drawing room in Mr. Featherstone’s house with great satisfaction. There was no other place he would rather be. How he had missed the stimulating conversation of Mr. Featherstone, his brilliant daughter, and his former colleagues in Commons. Featherstone had a knack for assembling around him men who were great thinkers. There were on this evening, though, two exceptions.
Why did Featherstone permit that Poppinbotham buffoon to pollute their gatherings? The man’s understanding of the legislative issues of the day was completely lacking – which could tend to explain Featherstone’s willingness to take the printer und
er his wing.
The other exception, Lord Slade looked upon far more favorably. For dear Miss Featherstone had contrived to persuade her beautiful cousin to honor them with her presence this evening. Since it had gotten progressively chillier throughout the day, Lady Sarah wore a gown of soft blue velvet, presenting a picture of complete loveliness. It was difficult not to stare at her. Not in all the years he’d been in London had he ever seen a prettier debutante. And she possessed a fortune, too.
A pity he must compete with such a sea of admirers. At least he had a leg up tonight.
Despite Lady Sarah’s dazzling beauty, he found his attention more readily bestowed upon her plainer cousin, perhaps because she made so many contributions to the conversation.
“I must admit to great admiration for the American system of government,” Miss Featherstone said when the topic turned to Catholic emancipation. “I believe a society which promotes religious freedom to be a far superior one to ours.”
“Did you not also tell me you admired the way the Americans set up representation in the two house chambers?” Slade asked.
She looked up at him and smiled. “How good of you to remember.”
As she continued on her theme of obstacles in the way of equalizing representation in the British lower chamber, he was struck by the contrast between this drawing room and Lord Clegg’s, where Miss Featherstone’s mother had grown up. In size, there was a great disparity. The Featherstone’s was only a fourth as large as the one at Clegg House where he and his brother had called the day before. In quality of furnishings, though, the two dissimilar rooms were on equal footing.
Slade suspected the late Lady Mary must have furnished these rooms as a young bride. The pieces of mahogany furnishings were of very fine quality. While faded, the red and gold silken upholstery was still exceptionally lovely. No Italian masters adorned the walls here, but he recognized a Gainsborough. Was that Lady Mary? He could not say the lovely woman in the painting looked anything like Miss Featherstone, but as he peered at it he realized a strong resemblance between the woman in the flowing blue silk gown and towering powdered hair and Lady Sarah. They were obviously aunt and niece.
