She glanced out at the vegetable-laden carts and pedestrian fruit-sellers heading in the opposite direction, for Kensington provided much of London’s produce. With annoyance, she noted how her carriage was forced to slow as it made its way through the throngs of girls with their baskets of cherries, apricots, and strawberries. It was not the countess’s nature to concern herself if a child stumbled beneath a heavy load, or wept over the spilled contents of a basket. She despised obstacles.
Her rotund companion shrugged. “I thought you might enjoy the outing, dear cousin,” he said. “And the events of the day may prove amusing. One talks of nothing else at White’s.”
“One must be excessively dull then,” Cynthia retorted.
She hadn’t recovered from her pique the previous Tuesday at seeing that Linley creature making up to Mr. Cockerell. Having married once for money, Cynthia fully intended to claim a handsome young man this time, and Edward Cockerell met her requirements.
Indeed, in his admiring glances and increasingly frequent visits to her home, the young man had shown every sign of offering for her. His tardiness in doing so she attributed to the reluctance of a longtime bachelor to relinquish his single state, and so had determined to encourage his suit with some strategy of her own.
She had been on the point of speaking to him at Vauxhall, in hopes of arousing his jealousy toward her elderly companion, when the Linleys cut off her approach. Why had he permitted them to join his family?
Cynthia wished she knew what he and the chit had been discussing so earnestly after the quadrille, and why he was sponsoring this ill-advised come-out party.
Perhaps she had been wrong about him, Cynthia mused. He might not be suitable as a husband. But no. She had been aware of him for years, even before her aging spouse stuck his spoon in the wall, and this was the first time Mr. Cockerell had made a serious blunder.
It might well have resulted from the influence of his unruly sister. She posed a special sort of problem, for Cynthia could hardly slight Helen and hope to retain the attentions of the brother. Best to concentrate on discouraging the Linley girl.
“A fellow can’t help noticing she’s a taking little thing, that Angela,” noted her cousin, oblivious to the countess’s mood. “Such big blue eyes.”
Big blue eyes indeed! How common they were, Cynthia mused, silently congratulating herself on the subtle elegance of her own grey ones.
Yet she well knew the advantage eighteen has over seven and twenty in the freshness of youth and the soundness of constitution. She nursed a toothache at the back of her mouth, and feared the tooth soon must be replaced by a china one from Wedgwood. Nor could even the whiteness lent by a Spanish paper entirely disguise the roughening of her delicate skin by harsh cosmetics.
“I was dancing with the elder Miss Linley that very evening at Almack’s,” Sir Manfred remarked as the carriage turned onto Kensington High Street. “Didn’t snub me. Can’t say why she took it into her head to cut Brummell.”
“You don’t suppose he’ll be attending today?” asked Cynthia with a spark of interest.
Her cousin shook his head. “He’s out of town, and so is Prinny, but I warrant the Cockerells will not lack for amusing guests all the same.”
The Cockerells’ second home was located between Kensington Palace and Holland House, the turreted Jacobean mansion where Whig statesmen, scholars, writers, and wits gathered. Cynthia had wished to see the affair poorly attended, but her hopes were dashed by the crush of carriages approaching the location.
“What? Not Lady Jersey!” she declared on recognizing a coat of arms.
“One could hardly keep her away from an event which is on every tongue,” said Sir Manfred. “Then there’s this business of being sponsored by the Cockerells. Suppose the chit turns out to be the Incomparable of the season? Sally Jersey will want to see for herself.”
Cynthia sniffed. “I can’t imagine that the Linleys will be granted any more vouchers to Almack’s.”
Her resentment of Angela Linley derived from more than ordinary jealousy. Despite her marriage, Cynthia’s ancestry contained its share of dubious elements, among them a grandmother who had married her coachman. With such questionable relations, she felt ill placed beside a young lady whose grandfathers had been a viscount and an earl. Therefore she begrudged Angela any small advantage in their mutual quest, as she saw it, to bring Edward Cockerell up to scratch.
The gentleman in question was, at that moment, seriously questioning his own sanity as he greeted yet another of the hundreds of guests who thronged the garden.
One couldn’t deny the beauty of the setting, with its luxurious flowerbeds, delightfully secluded arbours, and climbing roses. But he knew full well that the cream of the ton had not driven to Kensington to admire the flora. The object of their attention was standing beside her mother, smiling demurely and resembling an exquisite flower in a gown of silver threaded with pink ribbons.
The dress offended him. Why had she not worn the conventional white? Why had she chosen a costume, however discreet, that flattered her complexion so outrageously and called undue attention to her beauty? Far more seemly to have retreated into the obscurity of plainness until that business of her sister was forgotten.
Edward’s temper was only mildly improved by his observing the entrance of Lady Darnet with her cousin, the baronet. She looked as exquisite as ever, but... Did she always have that coolness about the eyes? And perhaps it was the direct sunlight, but he remarked a roughness of her skin that had previously escaped his notice.
“My dear countess.” He bent over her hand. “Without you, our day would have been sadly incomplete.”
“Naturally I couldn’t absent myself from this lovely entertainment,” she replied graciously. “You know Sir Manfred, I believe?”
The two men bowed to each other.
Helen approached and extended her own welcome to Lady Darnet, but it lacked warmth. Edward tried to catch his sister’s eye with a warning glare, but she ignored him. One would almost think the chit wanted to ruin his suit.
“You will save me a dance, I trust?” he asked the countess. “We are to have dancing out of doors. A special floor has been laid for it.”
“I would be delighted.” She allowed her gaze to meet his and hold it for a moment. He imagined he saw relief there, and wondered what it meant.
“Oh, pooh,” said Helen when the countess and her cousin had moved away. “You’re not still dangling after her, are you, Edward?”
The coldness of his answering stare would have chilled a less bold spirit. “If you cannot behave with propriety, Helen, perhaps we should retire to Somerset,” he said.
“Sometimes I should think you nine and sixty instead of nine and twenty,” retorted his sister. Before he could reply, she turned to greet the latest arrivals.
Angela, standing nearby beside her mother, had caught some of this conversation. Why did it disturb her that Mr. Cockerell was enamoured of the undeniably beautiful Lady Darnet? And that he had regarded Angela with such distaste this afternoon?
“Do you think my dress is wrong?” she whispered to her mother. “Would white have been better?”
Lady Mary didn’t reply. Unfortunately Meg’s white come-out gown had failed to survive an encounter with a drunken gentleman’s supper plate the previous year. To maintain their rented house until August would require the most stringent of economies, and in the absence of a formal ball, a white dress was not strictly required. So the silver, trimmed with new ribbons, must serve instead. Lady Mary knew as well as anyone that this fete’s popularity derived from curiosity rather than respect. One could only hope that Angela’s lovely freshness would overcome the doubters.
Gradually the gardens filled with guests, gaily dressed in springtime colours. The small orchestra wafted a charming melody across the lawn, and couples began to dance beneath a striped canopy on the specially laid oak floor.
“You’re beautiful.” Helen slipped her arm through Angela’s
. “Come and dance with Edward.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary—”
The hostess refused to listen. To her embarrassment, Angela found herself thrust upon the obviously unhappy gentleman.
“Behave yourself, Edward!” Helen said by way of parting. “Remember, you are the host.”
“I must apologise,” Angela said as she and Edward strolled toward the pole-supported canopy, which had been left open to a height of six feet. “You have been most gracious about this affair, and I promise to restrain Helen if in future she tries to force you to attend on me.”
Something about this speech must have touched Edward—perhaps the self-effacing manner in which it was delivered, or the genuine note of apology in her voice.
“I recognize that this is none of your doing,” he said. “And I have already acknowledged you to be the victim of innocent mischance, where your sister is concerned.” It was as far as he seemed willing to venture toward peacemaking, but at least they were not at daggers drawn when they stepped out to perform a stately pavane.
Observing from the side, the countess snapped open her fan and fluttered it angrily. Was the man declaring his intentions? Why had he requested a dance of Cynthia earlier if he meant to expend his flatteries on this milk-and-water miss?
She consented tersely to dance with her cousin, and made a point of ignoring the other couple. Why did Edward smile down at the chit? How could he succumb to a girl who would wear silver at her come-out?
Lady Darnet’s irritation grew as she danced with one gentleman after another, and none of them Mr. Cockerell. Her sore tooth added to her mounting outrage. How dare he slight her in this fashion? She knew her own worth, as a countess and as heiress to her late husband’s fortune. The Cockerells might be highly placed, but not so highly as she.
To make matters worse, the other guests appeared to be enjoying themselves. After the initial inquisitiveness wore itself thin, the brightness of the day invaded their spirits, and they all but forgot their reason for attending.
Even Sally Jersey condescended to speak to Lady Mary, congratulating her on the success of her younger daughter. She added, loudly enough for others to hear, that Brummell had said he believed, after reading the elder Miss Linley’s apology, that she had been woolgathering at Almack’s. Therefore her slight, while a serious breach of conduct, might not be entirely unforgivable. It was enough to give one the megrim!
By the time Edward Cockerell freed himself from his duties and approached Lady Darnet, her mood hovered dangerously on the brink of fury. Nevertheless, she managed to curtsey and nod pleasantly. He had no notion that her habitually cool demeanour hid a violent temper, and the countess didn’t intend to make that fact apparent at this point in the game.
The musicians began a waltz. Not only could she hold Edward in her arms, Cynthia reflected with a touch of cheer, but Angela must stand aside entirely, having not yet received permission from the patronesses to perform this intimate dance.
Except that Lady Jersey, the leading patroness, was nodding at some request of Sir Manfred’s. And now he was strolling across to Angela. After a moment’s conversation, he led her onto the floor.
Betrayed by her own cousin! Cynthia could have screamed in frustration.
“You seem perturbed, Lady Darnet,” said Mr. Cockerell, his hand at her waist as they swayed in time to the music. “Have I said something amiss?”
Cynthia managed a practised smile, despite the nagging toothache. “Why, no, of course not.” Her voice tinkled in the warm air. “Such nonsense, Mr. Cockerell! You are always the soul of propriety.”
“So I should like to think.” He beamed with pleasure. What a handsome man he was, large enough to top her tall figure but graceful and slim nonetheless. And he had this Kensington estate, as well as the one in Somerset and the London town house. Lady Darnet would enjoy being their mistress.
“I must say it was kind of you to bring out Miss Angela,” she murmured. “Poor little soul. She does need one’s charity.”
His brow knitted. “Forgive me, Lady Darnet, but I noted at Vauxhall that you avoided her company. Had she given you offence?”
Dash him! Cynthia clenched her jaw. Oh! Her tooth! It took a great effort of will to reply sweetly, “You must have mistaken my intentions, sir. I would never have slighted the girl. Indeed, I am sure I did not notice her.”
“Of course,” he replied.
Was he defending the sprig? Lady Darnet’s eyes narrowed. She would not allow herself to be put in an awkward light. Why had everyone here forgotten so quickly about the Linleys’ disgrace?
The waltz ended, and Cynthia and Edward joined a cluster of people about the refreshment table. Here were Sir Manfred and Angela, Lady Jersey, a woman whom Cynthia identified as Mr. Cockerell’s Aunt Emily, and several others of their acquaintance.
Well, if they had forgotten the Linleys’ fall from grace, she would remind them.
Accepting a glass of orangeat, Cynthia observed in dulcet tones, “How unfortunate that Mr. Brummell could not attend.” A shocked silence greeted this remark, and she added swiftly, “His presence does always grace an assembly, don’t you think, madam?”
The target of her question, Mr. Cockerell’s aunt, fixed Cynthia with a cold stare. “Grandson of a valet!” She sniffed.
The countess gasped and turned to Lady Jersey for support. “But he is Prinny’s friend!”
“Indeed.” The mistress of London society remained noncommittal, too fascinated by this exchange to end it.
“His presence might have been awkward,” ventured Sir Manfred, grinning foolishly at the silent Angela. “I think he means to make his peace with the Linleys, once the dust has settled.”
This conversation was not going at all the way Cynthia intended. She peeked at Mr. Cockerell, and saw a dark look upon his visage as he gazed at the girl in silver. Well, he at least shared her sentiment.
“I should hardly take a gentleman’s absence as indication of his goodwill,” she replied.
The response, in a mutter almost too low to make out, came once again from Mr. Cockerell’s aunt. “Granddaughter of a coachman,” she growled.
Cynthia paled and her hand flew to her cheek, inadvertently striking the very tooth that troubled her. With a cry of mingled fury and pain, she rushed away.
Sir Manfred and Mr. Cockerell hurried after her. “Pray forgive my aunt,” said the young man. “She speaks her thoughts aloud without considering their effect.”
For the first time in public, Cynthia’s temper overran her control and vented itself on this convenient target. “I have never been so ill-used and insulted in my life!” she declared. “I do not forgive your aunt, nor do I forgive you for sponsoring this jumped-up baggage. Good day, Mr. Cockerell.”
She swept off, further infuriated that her cousin made an apology to their host before following.
It was only when she had settled into her carriage and they were driving back to town that Cynthia realised what a scene she had created. Indeed, were she an unmarried young miss and not a widowed countess, she would be excluded from society for such goings-on.
As for Mr. Cockerell, the consequences remained to be seen. The worst of it, Lady Darnet reflected as she gritted her teeth and winced, was that his aunt had harped upon Cynthia’s greatest weakness in front of him and Lady Jersey.
Well, she wasn’t Margaret Linley, to flee to the country with her tail between her legs, she thought, lifting her chin. It wouldn’t be long before Mr. Cockerell acknowledged that she was the lady he should marry.
Had Lady Darnet seen Edward at that moment, she would have felt less certain. After staring at her retreating form with his hands clenched, he stalked across the garden to a secluded alcove where he might resolve his emotions safe from observation. Jumped-up baggage. That was what the wench had dared to call that sweet Angela Linley! Never had he imagined that Lady Darnet possessed such a viper’s tongue. Always before, she had appeared the soul of good breeding.
> The branches rustled nearby, and Mr. Cockerell turned to find himself facing the wide-eyed subject of his concern. “Miss Linley.” He knew he should declare her presence here unsuitable and escort her back to the others, but he could only stand and gaze at her.
The countess’s remarks had brought a deep blush to her cheeks and a turquoise depth to her eyes, and Angela appeared even more beautiful in the clear daylight than she had in the harsh shadows of Vauxhall. “Mr. Cockerell,” she replied, “I’m truly sorry for what you’ve suffered.”
“I?” he said. “Suffered?”
The girl clenched her hands in front of her. “This unpleasantness would never have occurred were it not for your generosity toward us.”
“It would never have occurred were it not for Lady Darnet’s ill-nature,” he corrected.
Surprise flashed across her face. “You blame her?”
“How could I not?” With difficulty, he refrained from touching those bare shoulders and the milk-white skin of her neck.
“I believed she was someone special to you.” Angela lowered her gaze . “Helen said you were courting her. I thought I had given offence and forced your estrangement. I didn’t mean to cause you distress, Mr. Cockerell.”
“You have not,” he said. “Although I have called on her, I had never witnessed this aspect of her character before.” Edward paused to stare broodingly down at Angela. Having so recently been enlightened as to the true spirit of his former inamorata, he could not immediately trust any woman. Was Angela’s modesty mere pretence? Was she, like Lady Darnet, a shrew in disguise?
“Perhaps we should go back,” Angela suggested. “I came after you without thinking. I suppose it might be considered improper.”
Wordlessly he crooked his elbow and she placed her hand upon it. Together, they strolled back into the midst of the assembly.
Throughout the afternoon and evening, Edward continued to watch the girl. Her expressions fluctuated. Here she smiled warmly; there she nodded politely; once or twice a frown flitted across her delicate face, but was quickly banished.
A Lady's Point of View Page 9
