“No, no. Assure you, not ruined. Don’t know how or why, but you’re to take the girl to St. James’ on Sunday. Ten to one, the King is curious. This person says she talks of nothing but pigs, and the Earl says she’s a delightful linguist, with a fair command of the German language. Don’t know how he knew, but he told Newcastle in front of us all … very significant!”
“Do you speak German, girl?” Lady Midmain shook Sophia. “Do you? A little? Why didn’t you say so? Don’t you understand what an asset this might be, socially, when it is His Majesty’s native tongue? Oh, heaven grant me patience! What a fool you are!”
“Very significant,” said Sir Gregory, raising his voice to attract his wife’s attention. “The Earl told Newcastle that Miss Tarrant was proficient in several European languages.”
“Well?” demanded his wife, staring. “What of it? I assume Nan taught her from books, or …”
“I learned partly from books, and partly from Aunt Nan, in order to teach Jasper. My father wanted Jasper to speak French and German, in case he had to go abroad to seek his fortune. I don’t know how the Earl learned of it.”
“What is it, Sir Gregory? You have heard something?”
Sir Gregory chuckled, rising on his toes and then falling back on his heels. “Very significant,” he repeated. “The Duke told me later … private conversation … just a hint. Not a firm promise, mind, but … a post in the Treasury for me, at last! All due to Rame, of course. Wouldn’t be getting it, otherwise.”
“Speak more clearly, Sir Gregory!” shrieked Lady Midmain. “I am on tenterhooks.”
“Rame is spoken of as the next Ambassador to Stockholm, or if not Stockholm, to The Hague. The Duke told me … in confidence, of course!”
Sophia sat down abruptly. It seemed as if her heart had stopped beating for a moment, and then restarted at a faster rate.
“No,” she said, and hardly recognized her own voice. “You are mistaken. The Earl is not serious in his attentions to me. He made a wager with me, that is all. I am to give him my lovelock, in exchange for a certain number of invitations into Society life.”
“Better and better,” cried Lady Midmain. “The man must be besotted with the girl to risk so much for a lock of her hair! What a tale this will make. It will wipe out the story of the pigs, entirely! I see it all, now. He met you under romantic circumstances, tried and failed to forget you during those months in Hanover, and in spite of the marriages which the Duke and Lord Carteret are trying to arrange for him …”
“Perhaps because of them,” said Sir Gregory. “Caught between two parties, he chooses to marry neither of the ladies concerned. By taking Sophia, he offends no one, because he can pass it off as a romantic affair. Fact that Sophia has no dowry is unimportant … because no dowry, no obligations, except to me, of course. Hence the post in the Treasury.”
“I am sure you are wrong,” said Sophia, near to tears. “He does not like me, nor I like him. You have no idea of what has passed between us … the very idea of marriage is out of the question.”
“Then why did he make such a point of your being able to speak French and German this morning … in public … when it is known he is to go abroad as Ambassador? It can only be because he envisages you as his wife, being able to converse with diplomats.”
Sophia tried to stand, but the pressure of her corsets was unbearable, and the room was so stuffy. …
She came to herself, lying on the sofa with her laces cut. She was able to breathe properly for the first time for weeks, and her aunt was coaxing her to drink some wine. She felt better. She sat up. Then she saw the posy of pink roses in a silver filigree holder, on the table beside her.
Lady Midmain’s eyes glistened with anticipation of the triumph she and her niece were to enjoy. “As you see,” she said, indicating the flowers, “The Earl did not forget.”
What was she to do? What could she do, but say she was feeling better, and submit to being laced up again, and dressed, and inserted into the coach, while Lady Midmain talked and talked. …
“… and if that cat Millicent Fairweather should be at the ball—and of course she will—you must hold up your flowers and smile. No need for you to say anything. Trust me to put it around that the Earl sent you the roses. She is so jealous of you, they say, that she is telling everyone you are more of an Amazon than a Rose. Of course, she is small, and the contrast with your height. … If she speaks to you, you may find it best to sit down, so that the difference in your heights is minimized. Be sure she will find some way to discredit you if she can. Your dancing, now … are you happy with the steps of the quadrille?”
Sophia had been having lessons with a dancing-master. She shook her head. The sequence of steps in the quadrille was hard to remember.
“Then make some excuse not to dance it. You have twisted your foot … wish for a drink … must speak to me. I have it! Put Sir Gregory’s name down on your dance card against the quadrilles. He will not dance, of course; he will be busy in the card-room. That will provide you with an excuse for refusing to stand up with anyone else. I will explain it to him. Dear child!” Lady Midmain brought her cheek to within an inch of Sophia’s. “You are almost as pretty as I was when I first took the Town by storm!”
“Dear aunt,” said Sophia, with an equally false smile, “I owe you so much.”
The coach took an age to thread its way through the traffic to Lady Rochester’s. Sophia kept telling herself that she must enjoy this evening. It was her first ball … the music, the dancing … her beautiful dress … yet all the while she was close to panic. She must see the Earl and tell him what his thoughtless words to Sir Gregory had done. The Earl did not wish to marry her. He would be horrified to hear the rumor … would have to make some public statement. Of course, if he disavowed her, Society would send no more invitations to Lady Midmain’s niece, but she would not go to these great houses under false pretences. She did not know what would become of her … back to the sewing-room?
“You are never crying, child?” asked Lady Midmain. “Here, take my hartshorn. Your nerves are overtaxed with all this excitement.”
The ballroom at Lady Rochester’s was on the first floor. Sophia climbed the stairs behind Sir Gregory and Lady Midmain, together with a hundred other members of the fashionable world. She curtseyed to her hostess, and made polite conversation and felt her face tighten into a smile for this acquaintance and that. She admired the painted ceiling, and the enormous candelabra with their hundred of wax candles, and dutifully exclaimed how large the room seemed to be because it was lined down one side with enormous mirrors. She accepted compliments and returned them. She danced, although she could not have said with whom. She admired a flower arrangement, someone’s plumed headdress, a new fan, a waistcoat encrusted with brilliants. …
Mr. Dalby was talking. What a very large mouth he had, to be sure! And yet he was a worthy young man, a man who would eventually have two thousand a year, and a man who was familiar with all the things she knew about. He complimented her on her looks—who had told him to do so? His mother?—and made sure that his name was down on her program for another dance later than evening. Perhaps she might be tired enough by then to sit on one of the settees, and listen to a very particular question?
What could he mean? From any other man, that might mean he intended to propose, but coming from Mr. Dalby, it probably meant he wanted to consult her about pigs. She sighed. She had never been particularly fond of pigs, and it was vexatious that her name had become associated with them.
He was gone, and another man took his place. She did not know him. Yes, she did. It was Lord Lincoln, looking worried, as usual. They talked. She must have said something amusing, for he laughed, and he was not over-ready to laugh. Her aunt said she was doing very well, and moved away to talk to a severe-faced woman. Her next partner was Sir Gregory—well, he would not appear, and she could find herself a seat and think!
“Ah, the Amazon!” drawled a female voice. Lady Millicent F
airweather dipped a curtsey. “I have been longing to make your acquaintance, but this is positively the first moment I have been able to spare all evening.” Remembering her aunt’s warning about Lady Millicent, Sophia sank onto a nearby settee. The girl who was reported to be her rival for the Earl’s affections was well-formed but small. She had ash-blond, feathery ringlets and a most expensive complexion. Sophia was sure that Lady Millicent must darken her eyebrows and eyelashes.
“How kind of you,” she murmured.
Lady Millicent seated herself at Sophia’s side, with feigned impulsiveness. At once Sophia felt gauche and as if her hands were too large. Lady Millicent laughed, a pretty, practiced sound.
“Dear me, how very tall you are beside me! But then, you are extremely tall for a woman, are you not?”
Sophia smiled until her face hurt. “I believe so.”
“You must find all this …” Lady Millicent indicated the seething crowd in the ballroom with a flirt of her fan, “… so very different from your pig farm.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else. We have never kept pigs. I come from Tarrant Hall in Sussex. There have been Tarrants at the Hall since the Norman Conquest. “And you?”
For a moment the doll-like face lost its composure. “Oh, we have a place in Kent, but of course we are always in Town for the Season.”
“This is not your first Season, then? I thought ladies were only allowed one Season on the Marriage Market?”
“Perhaps two, if their families can afford it. This is my third Season. I have had many offers, of course, but my guardian says that only the best is good enough for me.” Honors were even. They sought for fresh holds, like wrestlers.
“The tale goes,” said Lady Millicent, “That you picked my poor Philip out of a ditch, after he had fallen off his horse. Did you carry him yourself? I am sure you are strong enough.”
“Oh, no. He was not that badly hurt. He walked to the house. People exaggerate.”
Lady Millicent understood that this was meant for her. “I must say I found it hard to believe. Philip is such a notable horseman. Many’s the ride we have together early in the morning in Rotten Row. I have not seen you there, Miss Tarrant. Do you, perhaps, ride astride? One can expect anything of an Amazon such as yourself.”
Sophia stifled a pang of regret for the horses she had been used to ride in the country. They had been sold, with Tarrant Hall, and she had not ridden since. She started to sigh, and checked herself. It would never do to let Lady Millicent see that she had scored a point.
“I would find riding in the Park very tame, after my gallops in the country. But why are you not dancing, Lady Millicent?”
“I turned my ankle,” said Lady Millicent, with a terseness of tone which forbade further enquiry. “It is only a quadrille. I shall be quite all right for the next dance.”
Sophia smiled. Was Lady Millicent unhappy about the steps of the quadrille, too? “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said. “Are you sure you are wise to dance again, this evening? Such injuries may seem slight at first, but …”
“It is quite all right,” said Lady Millicent. “It doesn’t ache at all, now. But why are you sitting this dance out?”
“I was engaged to dance with my uncle, but I fear he has forsaken me for the card-room.”
“Poor you!” sympathized Lady Millicent. “If you had known, perhaps you could have got another partner.”
“And you?”
“I sent mine for a glass of lemonade.”
They smiled at each other, and even their smiles were weapons. Sophia showed better teeth, but Lady Millicent contrived a dimple.
“Your lemonade, Lady Millicent.” It was the Earl, elegant in dark green satin with a silver-embroidered waistcoat. He was wearing a new tie wig, which suited him well. He handed Lady Millicent her glass, and bowed to Sophia. “Your servant, Miss Tarrant.”
“Oh!” cried Lady Millicent, squeaking deliciously. “How you startled me! Come and sit down, beside me.” She patted the seat beside her, on the opposite side to Sophia.
“I could not enjoy the sight of the most beautiful women in London sitting together, if I were to join you. Let me feast my eyes at a respectful distance.”
“You flatterer,” cried Lady Millicent, using her fan to good effect. “You know I cannot compare with the beautiful Miss Gunning.”
“True, she is beautiful; perhaps equally beautiful. But it is quite impossible to converse with her. You heard what she said to the King the other day? She told him she was greatly enjoying the sights of London, but that what she really wanted to see was a Coronation.”
Sophia said she hoped she would not make such a silly mistake, out of sheer nervousness, when she was presented.
“It is not likely that you will,” said the Earl. “You seem to have acquired a reputation for good sense, as well as for beauty.”
“And for a knowledge of pigs,” said Lady Millicent, laughing merrily. “I believe she is fond of entertaining the company with dissertations on the subject of pigs.”
“I mentioned crop rotation, once,” said Sophia, shortly.
“I am happy to say I know nothing of pigs,” said Lady Millicent.
“I don’t know as much about pigs as I do about crop rotation,” said Sophia, “But then, my acquaintance with them has been slight—until now.”
The Earl put a hand to his mouth to cover a smile. Lady Millicent frowned, remembered that frowning produced wrinkles, and treated them to one of her dimpled smiles. She rose, laid her hand on the Earl’s sleeve, and suggested that they finish their dance in some place not quite so warm.
“Delighted,” said the Earl, not moving. “But I see your next partner hastening across the floor to claim you.”
Lady Millicent bit her lip, slapped her fan shut, and went to meet her partner. The Earl took the seat she had vacated at Sophia’s side, and picked up her dance card.
“I must speak with you,” said Sophia, “But I see my own partner approaching.”
“Yes, yes. You have not given me any dances, but I see that Mr. Dalby has two. Hm! Sir Gregory has the other quadrille? How unlike him.”
“I am not too happy with the sequence of steps in the quadrille,” muttered Sophia.
“Neither is Lady Millicent. She would not, however, admit it. She does not dance as well as you do.” He crossed through Sir Gregory’s name, and wrote his own against the next quadrille. “I doubt if you will make a mistake, but if you do, I will prompt you.”
“But …”
“I have news of your brother and your aunt; good news. Ah, here is your partner? Mr. Dalby, is it not? I believe we have met somewhere before. You are the young man who is so interested in pigs?” His tone was kindly, but his quizzing glass was brought into play.
“Crop rotation,” said Sophia, between her teeth.
“That’s so, my lord,” said Mr. Dalby, eager to please. “We have a considerable acreage which is not producing as well as it ought; Miss Tarrant is an encyclopedia of information on the subject. You must understand …”
“We must have a long talk about it, some other time. Miss Tarrant, as you can see, is waiting to dance.”
Mr. Dalby apologized. Sophia gave the Earl a speaking glance, and took the floor. Mr. Dalby whispered he wished they might sit the dance out. She shook her head. She saw that it would be indiscreet of her to leave the dance floor. She was being watched not only by the Earl and Lady Millicent, but also by her aunt, and all the dowagers who were not playing cards. Mr. Dalby, undiscouraged, said he would call at Lady Midmain’s the following morning. Sophia smiled and lowered her eyelids, and began to wonder if it would be possible to bring Mr. Dalby to the point of making her an offer, and if so, whether Lady Midmain would still wish to present her at Court; Sophia rather thought that Lady Midmain would be so incensed that she would not. And if so … there were a number of imponderables in this line of reasoning which occupied Sophia until the next quadrille.
The Earl’s hand was coo
l in hers. She felt warm, in spite of her low-cut dress. At first he did not attempt to talk. His eyes were watchful to see that she did not make any error. Twice she faltered, and he whispered an instruction. She did not think anyone would have noticed that he was guiding her through the dance.
There was a moment of leisure in the dance.
“You have done well,” he said, in a low voice. “I am amazed. Your aunt said that you learned quickly, but I did not think that you could appear at ease so soon in Society.”
“I must speak to you. Something terrible has happened. Sir Gregory has mistaken the reason for your interest in me. It is very embarrassing. The sooner this farce is over, the better.”
“But not till Sunday, when I may claim my lock of hair.”
“You may have it now, if you wish. You have paid for it.”
“I will call on you tomorrow morning.”
She thought of Mr. Dalby. “I have another engagement. Could you not make it some other time?”
“No, I am otherwise engaged, tomorrow. I have a letter for you from your brother, and I also have news of your aunt.”
They must move again. This time she did not make any mistakes. Another pause in the music.
“My aunt is well?”
“She is traveling down to London, at this very minute. She has accepted a position in my household. I need someone to look after my son.”
She put a hand to her heart. Once more the constriction of her stays made her feel faint. Then the moment of panic passed, and anger took its place.
“You move us about like pawns in a game of chess. Beware! Pawns can be dangerous to handle. The worst possible construction will be put on your bringing my aunt down to London. Do you not see how you are compromising yourself by championing me, and telling the Duke of Newcastle that I speak French and German? How did you know, anyway? You must be more careful.”
“True. But I was in a quandary. I returned to find the Town ringing with the tale of you and the pigs. His Majesty demanded why I wished to present an ill-bred Amazon to him. I could see my lock of hair receding into the distance. I said that perhaps Lady Millicent might have been jealous of an innocent but well-educated country girl who had attracted so much notice. I spoke of your knowledge of languages and of European history; luckily, Miss Tarrant had been singing your praises, so I knew I was on safe ground. The King has a soft spot for anyone who speaks German and has studied the doings of his forebears. He smiled again, and said I might still bring you to him, so that he could judge whether you were Amazon or Rose.”
The Tarrant Rose Page 15
