by Ella Edon
Simon was silent for a moment. "I have to say, Thomas, that I'm beginning to think that it just might work."
"I'm glad you have such confidence in me. We shall find out for certain on the evening of April the seventeenth, some thirteen nights from now."
"Indeed. Well, I suppose if you feel you must do this, you must. But please do not allow yourself to be recognized. I cannot fathom how we would explain such a thing. It is too serious to be a jape and too bizarre to be taken seriously."
"No one will know. I don’t intend to meet the young ladies, but only observe them. I will look nothing like the earl and so, as I am fond of saying, people see what they expect to see."
"That may be. But please be careful with this scheme. If it works, it may be highly effective at finding a truly suitable woman to be the next Countess of Worthington. But if you’re found out – " Simon shook his head. "The ridicule from it may never leave you, or your family. I hope you are prepared for that."
Chapter Nine
A Whirlwind Of Preparation
Over the next twelve days, Grace found herself plunged into a whirlwind of activity like nothing she had ever imagined . . . much less experienced.
As a maid-of-all-work at Northcliff – a position she had held ever since she was old enough to work alongside her mother in the great house – she was well accustomed to seeing the ladies of the house learn lessons in deportment, dancing, and table etiquette.
At first, she thought she recalled the dancing well enough to do it herself, but quickly learned that actually moving through the complicated dances herself was quite different from simply watching someone else do it. All she had done then was giggle if someone missed a cue.
But her intrepid Aunt Betsey was not about to give up when faced with the problem of a nervous girl. Her aunt insisted that Grace come to the shop every day, where the entire afternoon would be spent in strict instruction regarding dance, deportment, and every sort of etiquette.
On top of that, with the first of the subscription balls rapidly approaching, there was also an endless parade of customers in the shop. It seemed that the harness bells in the door window never stopped jingling. Apparently, every young woman living nearby was here with her mother, excitedly ordering a new gown in the most extravagant fabrics they could afford.
In order to have enough fabric to sell, Aunt Betsey told Grace that she would have to make do with the two muslin dresses she had already received, as well as the third one, for which she had been measured on her first day in the shop. They would provide matching cotton shawls to go with each dress and, of course, had already bought her a pair of shoes for dancing.
In return for not having a new gown for each new ball, Aunt Betsey and Uncle Leonard proposed to do something very special instead. For the very last of the subscription balls, which would not be held until mid-July, they would put aside some silk fabric to make a genuine silk gown for Grace.
She could hardly even fathom it. Silk was so very expensive that it was reserved only for the most special of occasions, and only for the women whose fathers or husbands could afford it. Now, she, Grace Miller, maid-of-all-work, shut away at dreary Northcliff House for most of her life, was in the merry town of Birdwell, learning to dance the Four-in-Hand and the Cat-in-Pattens, dressed in her very own beautiful silk gown.
The days flew by. As discussed, Grace was taken to the shoemaker's shop across the street, where an order was placed for a pair of cream-colored pointed slippers, made of the heavy cotton fabric called jean. The slippers had slender little raised heels on them and were as fine as anything the other girls would be wearing.
Grace actually spent most of her time in the room over the shop, alternating between taking tiny and very precise stitches in the pieces of pale blue silk that had been cut out for her gown, and learning to dance.
The sound of Grace and her aunt hopping and turning on the upper floor must have been strange to the customers in the shop directly below – and Uncle Leonard was not pleased by the occasional fall of dust on the merchandise – but neither did he tell them to stop. There were far greater things at stake here.
The secrets were certainly piling up. It was both frightening and exciting all at once. For the moment, at least, Grace found that the excitement outweighed the fear, and she could not wait for the night of the first assembly ball.
The day before the ball, late in the morning, Thomas walked into the drawing room and found his mother sitting at a small table beside the window. She was enjoying a breakfast of tea with cream, toasted bread, fresh pale butter, and her favorite— sweet apple jelly.
"Sit down, sit down, Thomas. I hoped you would come in this morning." His mother, Lady Worthington, the dowager countess, waved him over. "Such a pretty sight out of this window. It’s my favorite, you know. I love watching the little young heifers at play. They’re so pretty, with their coats that look like snowy red roses."
"Yes, Mother, I do know. I like to watch them, too. Good morning to you." There was a place already set for him across from her, so Thomas sat down and helped himself to tea with cream and toasted bread with sweet apple preserves.
He was quite aware of the very tall portrait of his father, the previous Earl Worthington, hanging on the wall behind his mother and could not help glancing up at it. Thomas could only hope that his father might approve of the scheme he was planning for this evening.
His own parents had seemed quite content with each other before the earl's death, two years before. One day, while riding out in the early spring to look at the newest calves, he had simply slid down from his horse to lie motionless in the grass. He had seemed perfectly well before then, if sometimes a little breathless with the passing of the years, and Thomas found himself becoming more aware of how unexpectedly these things could happen. It was up to him, now, to provide for the future of Worthington in the same way his father had provided for him.
"I wanted to thank you, Mother, for restarting the subscription balls down in Birdwell," Thomas said, picking up a piece of toast and spreading apple preserves on it. "I'm sure everyone there will enjoy them very much. There is a great deal of excitement over them, especially among the young women who live in and around the village."
"I was happy to do so," she answered, after taking a sip of her tea. "I do believe it’s good for the townsfolk to have some wholesome amusements."
"I agree."
"And I do not believe it is a secret that I would very much like my son to find his wife."
"No secret, Mother," he answered with a smile.
"I know you’ve been looking among London society for a few years now. And you're about to miss the Season. You will miss it if you stay out here for the entire subscription list of three balls."
"Yes, I will. But I've seen it. And found nothing in the way of any woman I was willing to marry."
The dowager countess nodded. "I sometimes think that too many choices are as difficult as too few. Why make a choice at all, when there could be something even better at the very next ball, breakfast, or country picnic?"
Thomas smiled again. "As always, I think you’re right. Some of the men feel they should not risk settling for a bride who is merely acceptable, when one who is truly wonderful might be right around the corner."
"That is why I do not mind your missing the Season this year. The young women there are entirely consumed with their place in society. They spend too much time competing among themselves for this man or that, as though he were simply a prize to be used for impressing their friends. They give too little thought to the character of the man with whom they will spend a lifetime."
He nodded. "I don't mind saying that I've felt like the prize pig at the fair more than once."
His mother laughed. "That is why, dear Thomas, I remain hopeful that searching among the simpler country folk may prove more fruitful for you."
She poured a little more tea for both of them. "Your father did not find me during the London Season. My family lived ou
t in the country and grew oats and wheat. We took our amusement not in the operas and grand dinners and private balls, but in picnics and pony-carts and small local dances."
Thomas had heard the story many times before, but he knew that his mother enjoyed telling it. And it would certainly be on her mind today.
"I believe your father recognized that I, though plain compared to the bejeweled ladies from London in their grand silk skirts, would make him the wife and helpmeet that he truly wanted. He had met too many glittering diamonds from the city. He was beginning to realize they would quickly grow bored with country life, and most likely, would end up taking lovers and spending his fortune on sapphire necklaces and gold-embroidered gowns."
Thomas smiled to himself at her bluntness, but it had always been this way and he was not surprised. "I think you’re right, Mother. And – I am sorry to disappoint you, but I will not be attending the first ball tomorrow night."
"You are not – will not – " She paused, looking at Thomas and blinking. "Whatever are you talking about? I am glad to provide some entertainment for the simple folk, but I wanted these subscription balls to be held primarily for you!"
"I don't want to seem ungrateful, Mother. But – it's just that – "
He had struggled with whether or not to tell his mother of his scheme, and had decided against it. For now, the simple truth would have to do.
"I would like it to be said that Earl Worthington will not attend this first series of balls because he prefers to leave them to the people to enjoy. Then, perhaps, if the gatherings go well, he will offer Worthington House itself for another subscription set sometime later in the year."
"I see." His mother glanced out of the window again and then reached for another piece of toasted bread.
"I don’t think anyone in attendance will be too shocked by my absence. Everyone knows that even though the earl is personable enough, he doesn’t seem to enjoy the rigors of a ball and being the center of attention all evening long. Everyone knows that he much prefers things like hunting or driving or racing instead."
"Everyone also knows that that is no doubt why he is having such a difficult time finding a wife."
"Well – yes. Exactly so. So, no one will think it too unusual if they don’t see me at the village ball."
"Of course not." His mother went on nibbling at her toast.
Thomas tapped his fingers on the table, feeling as though he was not being understood. "I want to tell you, Mother, that I have my reasons for not attending. I want to do something of what my father did. I want to find a woman of – of simpler tastes. A woman of the country, who might accept me for myself and not for my wealth."
She nodded, and finally looked back at him. "That is a noble thought. Yet, I cannot help but wonder: How does it help you find a woman at the assembly ball if you do not attend?"
"Ah. Well – you see – I thought I would ask you if you might have someone quietly observe for me, and then report back to you their findings. All without knowing I have asked for such a thing, of course."
"Of course."
"I simply – " He paused. "I am convinced, now that I am near thirty years of age, that I simply cannot find a wife any other way without great risk of running across a fortune hunter."
"Like Beatrice Clarke," his mother said.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Very much like Beatrice Clarke."
"Put your mind at ease, Thomas. I will be glad to send someone out to observe the ball and give me a report on which young ladies might best be worth your time."
"Oh, good. Good. That does put my mind at ease. I knew I could count on you." Then he paused, thinking. "Who will you send, Mother? Do you have anyone in mind?"
"Oh, I scarcely had to think about it for a moment. I thought I would ask Beatrice, the wife of your good friend Simon Clarke."
He sat very still. "You want – Beatrice Clarke to tell you which young women she thinks might be suitable for me?"
"Of course, dear. She wanted to marry you herself, didn't she? What better person to know what you would like?"
Again, Thomas paused, hoping to explain himself a little more clearly. "I suppose I thought you would ask someone – I mean, I expected that you would ask a lady more like yourself. A woman who has been married for a time and knows exactly what is at stake."
His mother looked surprised, and poured a little more cream into her tea. "Why, Mrs. Clarke has been married for a time. I am quite certain that no one could know better than she what is at stake when it comes to marriage."
"I see." He wondered if his mother was just getting a bit of revenge on him for refusing to go to the ball she had arranged, but it was too late to resist now. "Thank you. I am sure that between the two of you, I shall be very well informed."
Chapter Ten
Mr. Wheeler Drives The Landau Into Birdwell
Just at twilight on the night of the first Assembly Ball in Birdwell, Earl Worthington placed one booted foot on the hub of the landau's front wheel and climbed all the way up to the driver's box.
Held by Levi, the stablemaster, Raven and Starling fidgeted about as Thomas took up the whip and adjusted the reins. "Are you sure you want no groom, my lord? There will be a crush in the streets tonight, no doubt."
"It will be just myself tonight, Levi," said Thomas. "Simon is merely borrowing this rig to drive his wife to the ball. He will have his own men to see to the horses."
"Very good, sir."
"I'll return in the morning, after spending a peaceful evening at Simon's home while they are at the ball."
"Your lanterns are lit and the checkreins hooked up. Safe drive to you." Levi stepped back, and the beautiful black pair of Norfolk Trotters started down the lane from the barn at a smart trot.
Thomas quickly took up the reins in his gloved hands and pulled them down nearly to a halt. Then, he allowed them to go on, but only at a more measured pace. He grinned, feeling the power through the reins as the horses jogged nicely and the large and open black carriage rolled along as smoothly as a boat on a glassy sea.
It was a beautiful evening with high, thin clouds brushing the blue-black sky. The moon was two days before full. By the time everyone was driving home later tonight, it would be high enough to help make the roads visible.
As Levi had said, the glass lanterns attached on either side of the driver's box were lit and glowing. They would provide a little light for him to see by, though they were mainly there to make sure that any other drivers could see him.
Fortunately, they were not going far. It was only about a mile over to Feathering Park, which sat behind Birdwell on the western side of the Feathering River. His new pair did well going over the bridge, only hesitating a little at an obstacle that they had not seen before.
True night fell. Thomas slowed the horses to a walk as he drove alongside the river. The lanterns gave just enough light for him to see the road and for the horses to find their way.
As the horses walked along, out of sight of the any cottages here and there beside the road, Thomas reached for a leather sack that he had earlier hidden beneath the driver's box. From there, he put on a long black coachman's coat, which had a double row of brass buttons down the front and dark green velvet trim at the collar and cuffs. The tall black hat was the final touch, which he intended to keep well down on his face.
Properly dressed for the occasion, Thomas noticed Starling fussing with his checkrein. The slender straps were attached to the bit and then ran up through a small brass ring on either side of the bridle and down to the top of the harness. Checkreins were meant to keep a horse from rooting its head down too low, but some were very particular about the adjustment. He might have to see to Starling's checkrein once they stopped.
Since company was expected, the groundskeepers at Feathering Park had placed a few torches along the curving driveway that led from the road to the house. The house itself was not so large or so grand as the one at Worthington, but of course, few houses were. Yet, it was a lovely cou
ntry house with many rooms and every amenity, and Thomas had always found it a very pleasant place to visit and keep company with Simon and his parents and his friends.
Until –
"Oh! Oh, Simon, darling! Is this the surprise you said you had for me?"
Beatrice Clarke let go of her husband's hand and hurried down the three steps of that led down from the front portico of the house. "Oh, it's just too beautiful!"
Pulling the hat well down, Thomas gave Mrs. Clarke a brief nod as a coachman would do – but she did not see him at all. Beatrice was quite a sight in her long gown of salmon-colored silk with an embroidered gold wrap to go over it. Her blonde hair was pinned up with a few diamond-tipped pins, and standing up from the back of her head were three long, white, downy swan's feathers.
