by Amanda Scott
Tiffany, her expression suddenly thoughtful, opened her mouth to speak. At that moment, however, the door swung back on its hinges to admit the countess, charmingly garbed in russet. She exclaimed aloud at the sight of them.
“Why, what is this? Catheryn, you cannot go shopping in your riding habit! Surely, you have something more suitable, child. And Tiffany, that dress is much too thin. You will catch your death.” They stared at her. Catheryn came to her senses first.
“Good heavens, ma’am, I quite forgot!” She started up from the chair and hurried toward the door. “Pray forgive me. Back in the twinkling of a bedpost, I assure you.” She rushed to her bedchamber and, ringing for Mary, rapidly changed to a simple cambric frock. When she returned to Tiffany’s room, the first voice she heard was that of the countess.
“He don’t want to speak to you now, whatever you might think. He’s gone to White’s.” She spied Catheryn in the doorway. “Let’s bustle about, girls, I mean to finish this business this morning, so that we may call upon Emily Cowper this afternoon. I should like to stop at Stanthorpe House as well, now they have returned to town. Get your pelisse, Tiffany. I don’t know why you should think Dambroke would wish to speak with you anyway.” Tiffany obeyed slowly, still seeming to doubt that she might escape her brother’s promised tongue-lashing. It was not until they were safely in the landaulet that she relaxed.
All three ladies enjoyed themselves. The fashionable modiste who delighted in the countess’s patronage was only too happy to take Miss Westering’s measurements and offer advice about materials, styles, and trims. Catheryn was awed by the number of garments deemed necessary for a young lady of fashion, but she placed herself in her cousin’s hands and offered no demur. She was pleased to discover that several gowns, ready-made, could, with slight alteration, be delivered that very afternoon. Unused to London fashions, she was a bit shocked by the flimsy materials but, following Tiffany’s advice, she ordered several frocks for day wear, three evening gowns, a fawn velvet pelisse trimmed with swansdown, and a dashing riding habit of lavender, ornamented down the front and at the cuffs à la militaire with black silk braid.
The rest of the morning was spent purchasing such necessary items as bonnets and hats, reticules, footwear, gloves, silk scarves, handkerchieves, and undergarments. In the Pantheon Bazaar Catheryn came upon an exquisite Norwich shawl that she thought would be nice to drape over her shoulders on chilly days, but Tiffany vetoed the purchase.
“You are too short, Catheryn. It would turn you into an absolute dowdy,” she stated flatly. “The silk scarves will do nicely to add a touch of color to your pelisse, but anything like that shawl draped around you would only detract from the line of your gown.”
“Very true, dear,” agreed the countess vaguely. “Now, I think we have done for the present, but you must begin to be thinking about what you mean to wear to Lady Heathcote’s dress party as well as to our own ball.”
“Yes, indeed,” put in Tiffany. “We must look through my copies of Belle Assemblée and Beau Monde for ideas.”
As they climbed into the carriage, Miss Westering’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation. The countess seemed to take it for granted that she would still be in London for the ball, still several weeks away. Catheryn was tempted to pinch herself but refrained, thinking that if it were only a dream it would be a shame to wake herself. She had given up thinking about the expense, but it did cross her mind briefly to wonder whether Dambroke, whom Tiffany declared to be odiously pinch-pennied, might not object to the number of her purchases.
Much to the surprise of his mother and the consternation of his sister, he greeted them in the hall, having, as he explained, observed their arrival from the library. Bestowing a cool nod upon sister and cousin, he kissed his mother’s cheek. “Been wasting the ready, Mama?”
“Yes, indeed,” she twinkled. “We have had a lovely morning. Dear Catheryn will be fitted out in no time. But I thought you had gone to your club!”
“So I had,” he drawled, still ignoring the two girls. “White’s was somewhat thin of company, so I returned and have been letting young Ashley plague me with matters of business. I think he must be overworked. With quarter day past, I thought he would have time to relax, but he tells me he has received instructions from my various bailiffs and agents desiring him to harass me with plans of improvements here and experimentation there. I am quite worn out with it and have ordered him off to lunch. I shall escape before he returns, I promise you.” Tiffany looked relieved.
Lady Dambroke, unaware of anything out of the ordinary, laughed merrily. “I suppose you are off to Jackson’s then,” she said, referring to the great Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon. “Of course, you will take a bite with us first.”
“I think not,” he replied curtly, casting a scowl in Catheryn’s direction. Really, she thought, he needn’t lay it on so thick.
Lady Dambroke was astonished and looked from one face to another, seeking an explanation. Catheryn looked conscious, Tiffany embarrassed, and the earl saturnine. “Richard, whatever is the matter?” the countess demanded.
“It is nothing important, Mama.”
“That’s not so,” Tiffany argued. “Richard is at outs with poor Catheryn, Mama, and indeed he should not be, for it was quite my fault!”
Fearing that Dambroke would ruin all by agreeing, Catheryn broke into hasty speech. “Oh, no! Please, my lady, you must not!” She gazed imploringly first at Tiffany and then, with slightly more intent, at his lordship. “Indeed, it was my own selfish stupidity. He is right to be angry with me.” Disconcerted by a gleam of wicked amusement in Dambroke’s eye, she dropped her gaze to his shining Hessians and continued, “I-I have told him I am s-sorry. I had hoped the affair was ended.”
The countess whisked to Catheryn’s side, putting a protective arm around her before turning on her son. “Richard, I rarely interfere, as you well know, but Catheryn is my guest, and I’ll not have her bullied. I do not know what she can have done in the short time she has been with us to incur your displeasure, but it cannot have been anything so dreadful. You must apologize at once.” Then she quite ruined the effect of her uncharacteristic vehemence by adding, “Please, Richard?”
Catheryn, peeping from under her lashes at him, was much impressed by his iron control. The inner struggle with his sense of the ridiculous was not lost upon her. As it was, he was forced to brush a hand across his brow before answering. “I do apologize, Miss Westering. Though I must say that for me to worry when you are so foolish as to take one of my high-spirited mounts to Hyde Park without my knowledge or approval is no odd thing. However, I did not intend that my few words of well-deserved censure should overset you.” Catheryn shot him a speaking look and encountered one filled with mockery that as much as told her she was being served with her own sauce. The countess’s arm dropped.
“Oh, Catheryn,” she gasped, “you didn’t!” Her words effectively silenced her daughter who, for a split second at least, had looked ready to join battle in Catheryn’s defense.
Catheryn, taking the sideplay in with an oblique glance, stepped forward and placed one demurely gloved hand in Dambroke’s. Her lips twitched and she dared not look into his eyes, but she kept her soft voice under admirable control. “That is kind of you, my lord,” she said. “I accept your generous apology and promise it shall not happen again.” At this juncture, the earl, with a hasty mumble that Ashley would soon be upon him, turned rather precipitately and escaped out the front door.
Tiffany’s face was a mixture of emotions. Guilt, hesitation, and determination all vied with one another. The countess still looked a bit shocked, and knowing it would only upset her to hear a more detailed account of the affair, Catheryn frowned Tiffany to silence before turning with a smile to her hostess. “Dear Aunt Elizabeth, do you suppose luncheon has been served? I confess I am exceedingly hungry.”
With relief, Tiffany and her mother both agreed that if luncheon were not ready it ought to be. With t
hat they retired to the dining room and subsequently to their bedchambers, where they spent a half-hour recuperating from the morning’s exertions before setting out to pay calls.
The countess explained on the way to the Cowpers’ great house in Berkeley Square that, along with Ladies Castlereagh, Sefton, and Jersey, Mrs. Drummond Burrell, Countess Lieven, and Princess Esterhazy, Emily Cowper was one of the patronesses of Almack’s and that Catheryn must be on her best behavior. Lady Cowper condescended to be at home and, though she seemed an amiable shatterbrain, quickly saw through her principal guest’s artless chatter and demanded to know if Elizabeth had not come seeking vouchers for Miss Westering. Lady Dambroke admitted it, whereupon their hostess turned her attention to Catheryn, asking a number of probing questions about her antecedents and fortune. She seemed to think the latter might better have been larger but laughingly added that breeding was what counted and that, after all, Elizabeth could not, in all courtesy, leave her guest at home on Wednesday evenings.
Catheryn nearly chuckled at this unconscious echo of Dambroke’s words, but the thought brought another on its heels, and the next thing she knew she was making a clean breast of the morning’s episode in Hyde Park while firmly ignoring Tiffany’s guilt-ridden face and the agitated fluttering of Lady Dambroke’s hands. Only Lady Cowper was unmoved, listening patiently until Catheryn had finished her confession and made a graceful apology. Then she smiled.
“It could have been worse, my dear,” she said. “At least you did not choose the promenade hour. Of course, you must never do it again, but if anyone brings the matter to my attention, I shall simply say I know all about it and that your horse ran away with you. It is much better, you know, to have aspersions cast upon your horsemanship than upon your conduct.”
When they climbed back into the carriage for the ride around the square to Stanthorpe House, Tiffany squeezed Catheryn’s hand. “I thought you must be mad, Catheryn, but I see you knew exactly how to carry it off! Imagine if she had heard about it later! She would not have been so conciliating then.”
Lady Dambroke agreed heartily and expressed gratitude to the Fates who had guided her to Lady Cowper for the vouchers and not, though she knew her quite as well, to the much haughtier Lady Jersey. She added that Catheryn would be the death of her if she meant to make a habit of confessing her crimes at such awkward moments. By the time Catheryn had apologized for giving her such a start, the carriage had drawn up at Stanthorpe House. The ladies were soon shown into a bright drawing room, where a regular party seemed to be in progress.
Gay laughter and chatter came to a momentary halt as the butler announced them, only to renew itself in merry greetings to the newcomers. Out of what seemed a mob of people, Catheryn recognized a few familiar faces. Lord Dambroke got up from a chair next to the settee upon which reclined a pale young man with blond hair and blue eyes, who seemed to be the focal point of the gathering. One of his legs was propped up, and a lazy apologetic smile lit his face when he saw them. Lord Thomas stood behind him, and Lady Margaret jumped up from a low stool in front of the settee to greet them.
Catheryn was soon introduced to the Countess Stanthorpe, a brisk, bright little bird of a woman who greeted the Dambroke ladies with great affection, reacquainted them with Lady Trevaris, and complimented them on their looks. Then she clasped Catheryn’s hands warmly between her own and told the three girls that she knew they had no wish to sit gossiping with old women and to take themselves off.
It was easy to see how the Lady Margaret came by her vivacity, Catheryn thought, as she was borne off by that young lady to meet the others. Maggie laughed when she began the introductions, begging everyone’s pardon in advance in case she should make a botch of it.
“First, there is Lord Thomas Colby and two of his sisters, Lady Prudence on the right,” indicating a girl a year or two older than Catheryn with rather prim features and a more placid expression than any of the others, “and Lady Chastity, of all things, on the left,” indicating a merry-eyed brunette who looked fresh from the schoolroom. “We call her Chatty,” Maggie went on, “for reasons that will become obvious.”
“Oh, Maggie, I do not chatter all the time,” retorted the damsel in question with a giggle. Her sister smiled with a fondness that lightened the prim features and made Catheryn think she could come to like her very well.
“And you know Richard, of course, or I should have introduced him first.” That gentleman bowed. “And these are my cousins, Tom and Cynthia Varling.” A hand waved in the direction of a smiling blond youth with a pretty, if a bit rabbit-faced girl at his side. “Tom has been rusticated from Oxford and is in deep disgrace, as you can see,” Maggie volunteered. General laughter followed this comment but did not seem to dismay young Varling in the least.
“Takes more than deep disgrace to ruffle our Tom,” noted the gentleman on the settee. “What queers me is why he didn’t manage to talk his way out of the whole shenanigan.”
“Well, you see,” Tom replied with a sweet smile, “it was the Bagwig’s own nag.” A shout of laughter caused Tiffany and Catheryn to look inquiringly at Maggie.
“Tom quite forgot to mention that bit before,” she laughed. “He told us only that he and his friends had enticed a horse into the don’s study with a rude note attached to his, that is, to the horse’s tail. The don, oddly enough, took exception and reported them to the Bagwig, but this explains why the Bagwig was so out of reason cross about it!” She went off in another peal of laughter. “But wait, Catheryn,” she gasped when she had herself nearly in hand. “You will let me call you Catheryn?” Catheryn nodded, still grinning. “Well, I thought you would, and I am Maggie, you know, and this,” with a grand gesture, “is Tony, that is, Captain the Honorable Anthony Varling, late of Wellington’s Army! You remember Tony, don’t you, Tiffany?” she added while Catheryn smiled a greeting.
Tiffany nodded shyly. “Yes, indeed I do, though it has been some time since last we met. I was but a scrubby brat in the schoolroom, so he may not recall it himself.”
Blue eyes twinkled up at her from the settee while the captain gallantly kissed her hand. “A schoolroom miss, perhaps, but never scrubby, my lady.”
“A brat, however, Tony. That cannot be denied.”
“Nay, Dickon,” laughed Captain Varling, while Lady Tiffany glared at her brother. “I’ll not allow even you to cast slurs on a guest in my father’s house.”
Catheryn was surprised to hear Dambroke called by a nickname, but she soon learned that the two and Lord Thomas had suffered the slings and arrows of Eton and Oxford together and had remained fast friends despite differing interests afterward. Dambroke had turned to his estates and Varling to the Army, while Lord Thomas was haphazardly hanging out for an heiress. Catheryn listened with amusement while they compared their own pranks with those of Tom and his cronies. Captain Varling quickly emerged as the erstwhile ringleader. He boasted, too, of more recent escapades, which had occurred before his unfortunate mishap. Catheryn realized she was seeing a new side of Dambroke. Relaxed and at his ease, he seemed to have cast off the burden of his responsibilities for a moment in the sheer pleasure of welcoming his friend back to town.
“You must have been out of reason bored in Sussex, Tony,” declared young Tom suddenly.
A thin hand ruffled through already tousled blond curls. “I was that,” he admitted. “If it hadn’t been for Dickon’s visits and Colby’s and the governor having the papers sent down from town, I’d have been a candidate for Bedlam. As it was, I amused myself with the antics of Perceval and company.”
“Didn’t know you were a Conservative,” Colby murmured.
“Not. Brought up in solid Whiggery, just like you. Thought like everyone else that old Wellesley would turn the trick and Perceval would be out when Prinny’s year of restricted Regency expired in February.”
“I thought you said the Marquess of Wellesley was a pompous prig,” piped up Maggie from her stool.
Varling reached out and tweak
ed a curl. “So I did, my lady, but there’s no need for you to repeat such things.” When, to the general amusement of the others, she only wrinkled her nose at him, he went on, “Wellesley would be Prime Minister now, I think, were it not for his unfortunate personality. Even Bathurst, the only man in the Cabinet he could possibly claim for a friend, deserted him in the end.”
“Cut from the same cloth, if you ask me,” Colby said. “Bathurst disapproved of Wellesley’s threat to resign, so he cut loose himself.”
“Time was,” Dambroke commented dryly, “when I thought you were rather fond of Wellesley, Tony.”
Varling grinned. “You never thought any such thing. I approve his chief cause, but never the man himself.”
“His cause, Captain Varling?” Tiffany spoke shyly.
“The war in the Peninsula, Lady Tiffany. His family’s rather involved, you know. He was used to be our ambassador to Spain, where he’s been replaced by his younger brother, Henry. Then of course, the new Earl of Wellington, our glorious commander, is also his brother. Wellesley’s been pushing for more troops, weapons, and money for years, but he’s got better support now than he did as Foreign Secretary.”
“If he does, it’s a bit of a personal victory for you, lad,” Dambroke said gently. “Public opinion has swung a long way since the fall of Cuidad Rodrigo and Badajoz.”
“So I rest on my laurels,” quipped the hero.
Having drifted into serious channels, the conversation eventually turned from the war on the Continent to the potential for a new war in America and then to the smaller but no less economically damaging wars right there at home. The latter were caused by working class unrest and stirred by the notorious Luddites, who supposedly fought for full employment and higher wages while, in reality, they terrorized whole villages.
