The Chocolate Debutante

by M C Beaton

  When she set out, she began to wish she had sent a footman around first with a note. Bertha might be much changed.

  But Lady Dancer was at home and Harriet was ushered up to the drawing room. The pair surveyed each other in silence for a moment and then Bertha ran forward, holding out both hands. “Harriet, you have not changed a bit!”

  “Nor you,” said Harriet, “although you’re vastly stylish.”

  “I am all the crack,” said Bertha complacently.

  She had changed, thought Harriet. She had grown slimmer, but her large eyes were as sparkling as ever and her brown hair under a lace cap just as thick and glossy.

  “Tell me how you go on,” urged Harriet. “Are you happy? Do you have children?”

  “I have two boys, twins, both in the country with their tutor. And you? Are you still Miss Tremayne? I heard you had become a rich recluse.”

  “I lead a quiet life,” said Harriet. “Or, rather, I led a quiet life. I should have called on you before and not waited until I needed your help.”

  “Tish! Of course I will help you.”

  “I have the onerous task of bringing out my niece, Susan Colville.”

  “And what is the problem? Little dowry? Face like a boot?”

  “Large dowry and face like an angel. Men turn to jelly at the very sight of her.”

  “La! What is the problem?”

  “Susan is lazy and does not like washing much. She is learning to read and write for the first time.”

  “You always did have frighteningly high standards, Harriet. Most of the cream of society are lazy and dirty and have minds totally untouched by learning.”

  “Come now, Bertha. The child must at least be fit to do household accounts.”

  “There, now. I can see you are worried.”

  “I am. The sad fact is that my friends are all equally spinsterish and bluestocking. I must enter the fashionable world. I need you to help me with clothes and jewels and frivolities.”

  Bertha clapped her hands. “We will have such fun, Harriet.”

  “You are so generous,” said Harriet. “I confess the fair Susan has dampened my independent spirits. I am aware for the first time of being old.”

  “Fiddle! You are the same age as I. By the time I am finished with you, Harriet, you may be married yourself.”

  “Now, what gentleman in his right mind would want a woman like me? But there are all sorts of things I must do. Meet the hostesses, find out the eligibles.”

  “You will come with me on calls. But if this Susan is such a dazzler, we will not initially take her about with us. Many of the hostesses we will be meeting not only have eligible sons, but they have daughters to puff off and might not take kindly to the competition offered by a diamond of the first water like your Susan. As to eligibles…”

  She crossed to a pretty little writing desk and took out a sheet of paper scrawled with spidery handwriting. “One of my friends who is bringing her daughter out this Season left this behind. I had been meaning to return it to her. It is a list of eligible men. Now, here is one, Charles Courtney. Quiet and stable and of good family, the Sussex Courtneys. And there is Jeffrey Bland, a bit wild, but marriage would no doubt settle him. Of course, the most marriageable of all has decided to grace us this Season, but quite wicked, my dear, and perhaps too much of a man of the world for a little miss.”

  “And which gentleman might he be?” asked Harriet.

  “Lord Dangerfield. The Earl of Dangerfield.”

  Chapter Three

  Harriet went suddenly very still. Bertha rattled on. “Faith, he is a handsome creature.”

  “I… I met Lord Dangerfield.”

  “That must have been this age. He does not usually attend the Season.”

  “I met him when I journeyed to my sister’s to collect Susan.”

  Bertha’s eyes widened. “Tell me.”

  “There is nothing much to tell. I had booked a private parlor in a posting house to break my journey and, by some mistake, the same parlor had also been reserved for Lord Dangerfield. We ended up having dinner together.”

  “But this is wonderful! How romantic! How suitable for your Susan.”

  “He is a trifle old for Susan.”

  “Stuff. It never matters what age the gentleman is. A lady may be past any thought of marriage at his age. That is another matter.”

  There was a looking-glass behind Bertha. Harriet’s reflection stared back at her, a dowdy, unmarriageable spinster. For one brief, mad moment when Bertha had exclaimed “How romantic,” Harriet had thought that Bertha meant romantic for her, Harriet. But one look at her reflection showed her the folly of that thought. Not that she herself was in the remotest interested in such an uncomfortable man as Dangerfield. It was just that Bertha’s dismissal of her as a marriageable prospect had made Harriet feel older than ever.

  “I do not like the idea of Dangerfield for my Susan,” she said firmly. “Apart from any considerations about age or experience, he is much too intelligent for my dim-witted Susan.”

  “I think it is you who are sadly lacking in worldly wisdom, Harriet. When did any gentleman, no matter what his intelligence, fail to be seduced by the sight of a pretty girl?”

  “Perhaps you have the right of it,” said Harriet, “but I shall do everything in my power to find Susan a suitable gentleman, and I do not consider Lord Dangerfield at all suitable.”

  “He has the reputation of being a heartbreaker, but all gentlemen settle down sooner or later.”

  “I would rather not discuss him.”

  Bertha looked at her curiously, but then she said, “Perhaps the best thing I can do for you is to get my bonnet and go with you to see Susan.”

  “How good you are. And clothes! How much I need your advice on clothes.”

  “And you will have it. En avant!”

  The following weeks passed in a flurry of shopping and being fitted and pinned. Harriet had never bothered to buy any jewelry before, but she purchased a diamond tiara and necklace for herself. There was no need to buy expensive jewels for Susan. Debutantes were expected to sport only a simple coral necklace or string of pearls. In all the fuss, she did not have time to call on her bluestocking friends and occasionally felt guilty about neglecting them. But somehow, once Harriet had the bit between her teeth, she could not stop. As her own new wardrobe arrived, she threw away all her old clothes, or, rather, she gave everything she had to Lucy so that the maid could take what she wanted and give the rest to the other servants to wear or sell. The next great expense was a smart phaeton so that when the weather turned fine, Harriet could take Susan to the park. Harriet was an excellent whip and could drive herself.

  She went with Bertha to visit various ladies of the ton now dressed fashionably and with her dark hair in one of the new crops. Harriet did not know quite how much her new hairstyle had altered her appearance, making her look younger and her fine eyes bigger. Perhaps she might have begun to feel at least comfortable with her changed appearance had not her friends, headed by Miss Barncastle, decided to pay her an impromptu visit. They were waiting for her one day when she returned after a successful visit to the Marchioness of Trowbridge, having secured invitations for herself and Susan to that lady’s pre-Season ball.

  As Harriet entered her drawing room, where they were all seated, the ladies looked in amazement at the fashion plate that Harriet had become.

  Miss Barncastle was the first to speak. She looked sternly at Harriet. “You have joined them,” she said accusingly.

  Harriet stripped off her gloves and said impatiently, “Would you have me try to sponsor a young female into the fashionable world while looking like a dowd?”

  “You should have stuck to your principles,” said another, a Miss Teale.

  Harriet looked at them uneasily. They had all prided themselves on being such intellectuals, and the fact that any man might view them as just a lot of embittered spinsters added to their determination to keep to their views, to stick tog
ether. Women such as themselves spurned the fripperies of fashion.

  She said mildly, “I hardly think it fair to inflict my views on a young lady who only looks forward to balls and parties and beaux.” Harriet reflected that Susan probably looked forward only to the delicacies she could manage to cram into her beautiful mouth at such functions.

  She also reflected for the first time that some of the most famous of the bluestockings, ladies she had never met, were happily married. But she felt a traitor and wished they would all go away.

  The conversation was stilted. Miss Barncastle had submitted an article to the Ladies Magazine and it had been rejected, which all went to show that it was probably run by men.

  “But we have all admired the articles in the Ladies Magazine and had often read them aloud,” protested Harriet.

  Miss Barncastle bridled. “Are you saying my work was probably not good enough?”

  “No, no, not at all,” said Harriet miserably. The visit became worse when Miss Teale said they would all be happy when the Season was over and they got their “dear Harriet” back, “for you look not at all like yourself with that odd haircut.”

  Susan had entered the room during the last of the conversation. She was carrying a box of chocolates. She was introduced all around. She smiled at everyone vaguely and then went and curled up on the window seat while Harriet sweated her way through pleasantries until it was time for the ladies to take their leave.

  Harriet returned to the drawing room after saying good-bye to the guests and sat down with a little sigh. She had forgotten all about Susan until a voice from the window seat remarked, “What a jealous lot of frumps.”

  “Susan! I had forgotten you were there. Do not be rude about my friends.”

  “No friends of yours. You may think me stupid and ill educated, Aunt, but with my looks there is one thing I have come to recognize and that is jealousy.”

  “Why on earth would they be jealous of me?”

  “Oh, take a look at yourself. You are not pretty or beautiful, but I would say you are now a vastly modish and attractive-looking lady.”

  “Why, thank you, Susan.” Harriet studied herself cautiously in the glass. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, you know I never say what I do not think.”

  For the first time, Harriet felt a warm glow of pure affection for her niece.

  Lord Dangerfield returned to London to find piles of invitation cards waiting for him. The fact that he was to attend the Season had obviously got about. He flipped through them, wondering in a way why he was bothering, why he had suddenly decided to find a wife. He debated whether to call on his mistress or go to his club. His mistress was a widow, Mrs. Verity Palfrey, of good ton and loose morals. His arrangement with her had lasted for two years.

  He decided to go to his club.

  The first person he saw in the coffee room was Viscount Ampleforth, who was looking with loathing at a glass of seltzer.

  “Bad head?” asked the earl sympathetically.

  “The worst.” Ampleforth looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Love and liquor don’t mix.”

  The earl sat down and stretched out his long legs. “What is this, Ampleforth? Do you need the advice of an older man?”

  “Not in this case,” said Lord Ampleforth gloomily. He took a sip of seltzer and shuddered. “I ain’t talking about wenching, I’m talking about love, pure love, all that stuff the poets maunder on about.”

  “Dear me, and who is this paragon of virtue who has stolen your heart?”

  “Miss Susan Colville.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She is new to town. But I met her last January at a posting house. She is a divine angel but guarded by a frump of a dragon called Miss Harriet Tremayne.”

  “Miss Tremayne is known to me, Ampleforth, and you will speak of her with respect in the future, or I shall have to call you out.”

  “Forgive me. I caught only a glimpse of the drag—of Miss Tremayne when she and the divinity were leaving in the morning. The light was bad. Forgive me. But this is splendid! If you are acquainted with Miss Tremayne, perhaps you can get me an introduction.”

  “I know Miss Tremayne only slightly and do not know where she resides.”

  “In Berkeley Square, about five doors along from Gunter’s. One of her servants told my man that Miss Tremayne has bought a new phaeton and is to take Miss Colville out this very afternoon driving in the park. Perhaps we could go together and you could introduce me there.”

  “Sorry, Ampleforth, I have other things to do.”

  “You might help out a despairing fellow!”

  “You will see plenty of your charmer at the Season.”

  “I won’t get near her,” said Lord Ampleforth gloomily.

  The earl spent some hours talking to friends, having a boxing session at Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon in Bond Street, and choosing material for a waistcoat. It was only when he noticed the time on a church clock and registered that the fashionable hour for driving in Hyde Park—five o’clock—was not far off that he was suddenly overcome with curiosity to see the formidable Miss Tremayne again.

  He went home quickly and ordered his carriage to be brought around from the mews and set off in the direction of the park.

  At first Harriet was enjoying the pleasure of tooling her smart new phaeton too much to realize what a sensation Susan, in blue muslin and chip straw hat embellished with flowers, was causing. But once she turned smartly in at the gates of the park she became aware of the commotion Susan’s appearance was creating. Gentlemen were standing up precariously in their carriages to get a better look. Susan recognized Lord Ampleforth and smiled radiantly and he clutched his heart. His horse backed suddenly and he fell back in his carriage with his feet in the air. Harriet assumed Susan had remembered Lord Ampleforth from the inn courtyard, but Susan, sitting by the window when Harriet was out on calls, had seen him walking past almost every day.

  Harriet felt a lot of her anxieties easing. Susan would surely be engaged to be married almost as soon as the Season started, and then she could return to her old ways. Yet, she was enjoying her new clothes and her busy social life, but the last visit from her friends was a sour memory. Could it be that she, the intelligent and independent Miss Tremayne, had been deluding herself? She had an uneasy feeling that the real bluestockings might find them all rather pathetic. But all this did was to give her a stab of disloyalty. She had spent many happy hours with Miss Barncastle and the rest.

  And then she saw a gentleman driving toward her and promptly forgot about anyone and everything else. It was Lord Dangerfield. He slowed his team to a halt, and Harriet reined in her horse so that both carriages were alongside each other. He raised his hat. “Miss Tremayne, I hardly recognized you,” he said.

  “Am I so much changed?”

  “Very much for the better.”

  He looked at Susan and gave a slow smile. “Will you not introduce me to Griselda?”

  Harriet’s heart plunged sickeningly. “My niece, Miss Susan Colville, Susan, Lord Dangerfield.”

  Susan flashed that brilliant smile of hers.

  “London has seen nothing like you, Miss Colville,” said the earl. “You are already breaking hearts right, left, and center.”

  “So it would appear,” said Susan with her faint lisp. “Do you think I will be all the rage?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Then, that is good. For my aunt will get me off her hands very soon and she can be comfortable again. Aunt Harriet is not of a frivolous nature.”

  His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Is Miss Tremayne very strict?”

  “Oh, no. But Aunt Harriet has had a most fatiguing time what with having to teach me to read and write and choose clothes for me and go on calls and all that sort of thing.”

  “You could not read and write before your aunt took you in hand?”

  Susan gave a gurgle of laughter. “No, is it not shocking?”

  “So no
w that you are literate and modishly gowned, all you have to do is look forward to all the balls and parties.”

  “I suppose so. We are to go to the Marchioness of Trowbridge’s ball. Does she keep a good table?”

  “Very good, Miss Colville.”

  “Susan,” muttered Harriet warningly, but Susan appeared not to hear.

  “I mean, does she have good confectionery?”

  “Gunter’s will probably be doing the catering, and there will be ices and all sorts of delights.”