by D. L. Carter
“More and more I begin to understand Shoffer’s point about club membership.” Millicent laughed, as she leaned back in her chair. “I am sorry to distress you, Mildred, dear. Things are not so bad as you suspect. I can afford to keep a carriage, and a few more servants will not be the difference between comfort and the poor house.”
“Are you certain? I can speak to Mother and Maude. We need not go about with Lady Beth shopping as much now that we have our wardrobe for the season. Although, I do need a larger reticule suitable for evening engagements. Lady Beth has brought them into fashion.”
“Dear Mildred, do not worry. Go ahead and enjoy your shopping trips. I would appreciate it if you kept to your budget, though, if it is not too much trouble.”
“I do not understand. I know there is something that is troubling you. There has been for a while.”
Millicent nodded. Turning to the nearest footman she said, “We shall take tea in the front parlor.”
Offering her arm to Mildred they traveled silently through to the parlor. After settling her sister in the most comfortable chair, Millicent paced the room for a while before standing with her back to the fireplace, her hands clasped behind her back.
“You know,” said Mildred thoughtfully, “there are times when you remind me much of our father.”
Millicent smiled at that. “Who do you think I took as my model?”
“Father never joked about as much as you do.”
“Granted, but he worried about money more and now that I have the role of man of the house I find that worry is no longer the appropriate word. There is no word to describe the vacillations between security, confidence, and uncertainty. ”
Mildred went pale. “Please, Millicent, tell me. You begin to frighten me. What is the matter?”
Millicent crossed the room to the chair nearest her sister and leaned close. Even then she kept her eye on the door and her voice low.
“The late Mr. North was not a miserly misery for no reason. He inherited the tendency. I have seen a copy of his father’s will. In it the late Mr. Christopher North insulted our Mr. Anthony North by declaring him to be a degenerate wastrel. Christopher put strict limits on what Anthony could spend and forbade him from selling any part of his inheritance. Our Mr. North was only regarded as a place holder until he died, then the rightful heir, Perceval, was supposed to inherit everything.” Millicent sighed and ran her hands over her face. “It is a constant worry to me, the fear that I shall not have the correct amounts in the bank if I should die. The late Mr. North described to a penny what should be in the accounts. Should I permit you and mother and Maude to buy all you wish I might overspend and…”
“And what?” cried Mildred. “Shall Perceval North drag you out of your grave to hold you to account? What a ridiculous thing to worry about! When you are dead what more can be done to you? Surely you do not think that the North family has influence over God or the devil so that they might petition that you make good on the missing funds from beyond!”
Millicent gaped at her sister for a moment before laughing.
“Oh, Mildred, I should have told you ages ago. I should have known that you would put it all in proportion! But, dearest, do you not see? By the terms of this dreadful will I cannot make over a dowry to you or Maude!”
“Can you not? I cannot see that being much of a problem; after all, when we are wed the money goes into the keeping of our husbands. Mr. Perceval would find it difficult to get it back once it has passed out of your hands. It is not as if he is able to go to every tailor you bought clothes from or every butcher who supplied your meat and demand the money back. Once you have spent it, it is done!”
“The tailors and butcher, I grant you, are beyond his power, but if he were to sue for the return of any money I gave you as a dowry, it would be quickly gone. Solicitor’s fees do rack up at an alarming rate.”
“Hmmm. You do have a point. Perhaps Maude or I will marry a lawyer. It is not as if we have caught much attention amongst the ton.”
“Marry into trade,” cried Millicent, in mock horror, one hand pressed to her cravat. “Mother will expire from the shame.”
They both giggled, unable to stop even when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of the tea tray.
Millicent rose as the door opened and resumed pacing. A maid carried the tray across to set it beside Mildred’s chair. Millicent waited until the girl was gone again before continuing.
“I worry from time to time what shall happen to you all if I am found out,” she said. “They will hang me and all the money will go to Perceval.”
“They will not hang a woman,” declared Mildred.
“Why not?” asked Millicent. “They beheaded a queen or two in the past, did they not? I do not fear for myself so much as I worry about the three of you. I must find some way to provide for you all.”
“That is what marriage is for,” said Mildred.
“Which brings us back to tonight’s gathering,” said Millicent. “Shall we go out? All joking aside, we are unlikely to find your husband lurking in our parlor.”
“I should like to. It will not take me long to prepare.”
“Cousin Felicity will not approve. She did declare no one was to go out until Maude has her wig.”
“Oh, bother Mother. She has taken to bed with a sick headache brought on by her snit. It is likely she will never know.”
“As you wish.” Summoning the maid Millicent said, “Inform Merit we need the horses put to and the carriage prepared. We shall go out in an hour.”
* * *
Millicent approved the carriage Mildred selected as she settled back against the gently broken in leather squabs. The brilliantly polished lanterns’ glass inserts were intact and the floor clean – a great improvement over a hackney. They arrived at the ball just before the receiving line ended and were met with such enthusiasm by the hostess as to be very gratified.
“Mr. North. You are here!” was the cry when the hostess spotted them climbing the stairs toward the ballroom. “I was beginning to despair of you.”
“I do apologize, Lady Fenton,” said Millicent, bowing over her hand. “My new coachman could not believe that such a rattle as I would be invited to your sophisticated revels. Convincing him I was worthy took a few moments.”
Lady Fenton tittered politely as she led them down into the ballroom, ignoring all the other late arrivals waiting to greet her, Mildred following on Lord Fenton’s arm. The hostess undertook to introduce “Mr. North” to all those of importance in the room, thus guaranteeing that Mr. North’s presence at her gathering should be gossiped all over town.
Millicent did her best to satisfy the reason for her invitation. She joked with a parliamentarian about the subtle insults with which the Tories and the Whigs described each other. (The Right Honorable Bastard from West Cumbria is no Gentleman!) When faced with a gathering of dowagers and match-making mamas, she teased that the number, color, and positioning of the feathers in their hair was a coded signal, sending messages to their spouses and children. Released into a crowd of wallflowers Millicent continued her “cult of the cat tail” jest and signed as many dance cards as she could.
Mildred, to her own satisfaction, danced with a number of young bucks eager to claim they had spent a few minutes in conversation with the famous Mr. North, or failing that, his cousin.
* * *
Millicent was quite satisfied with the evening right up until her descent to take breakfast the next day, when she was greeted by Felicity waving a copy of a London gossip sheet.
“What, may I ask, were you thinking?” she demanded. “How could you do this to me?”
Millicent flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Cousin? I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”
“Look. Look. That is your name plastered all over the gossip page. Mr. North said this, Mr. North graced that party. Mr. North. Mr. North. Mr. North. The pages are full of you. Have you lost your senses?”
A
s the page passed under her nose for the third time Millicent managed to take hold of it and, reading as she went, entered the breakfast room.
It was as Felicity described. The attendees at last night’s party competed with each other to describe the “irresistible humor” of Mr. North, some quoting at length the text of her jokes. Millicent set the sheet aside and nodded to the hovering footman who poured coffee before retreating.
“Well?” demanded Felicity, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
“That I am happy my name is a simple one to spell correctly.” Millicent sat and took a sip of coffee before glancing up at her mother. “What would you have me say, Cousin Felicity? That I am ashamed of myself? Of all the things I could be ashamed of, I have to say that being counted as popular cannot be one. Only yesterday you were pleased that my humorous nature caused you to receive a number of invitations. Now you are offended? I do not understand you.”
“That is beyond the point. You have made yourself a public mockery. A fool.”
“Cousin Felicity, I have always been a fool. That was the plan. Have you just this moment realized?”
“But your name is in the paper! People will read it.”
“Yes, I do realize that, though I admit I had no plans to have my name in print. I see no reason to be so excited about it.” Millicent waved her cousin to a chair, only that moment realizing that she had seated herself while a lady was still standing. Immediately she rose to her feet. “My dear cousin, consider, I shall never have my name in the paper as a participant of a duel, nor shall I be the cause of a marital fracas, nor be involved in an infidelity. Compared to those greater sins being a humorous guest at a ton gathering is hardly a crime.”
“But … but,” Felicity sank into the proffered chair, “but you should not make yourself such a public figure.”
“I am fashionable and the ton is fickle. Wait but a moment, my dear cousin, I shall fall out of favor soon enough and no one will utter my name again.”
“The duke does not object,” Mildred pointed out. “Surely he is a better judge of what is acceptable than we.”
“I suppose,” Felicity stared mournfully at the paper at Millicent’s elbow. “It hardly seems proper for a young person to draw so much attention to h…”
A cough from the doorway interrupted the discussion. Merit the butler stood there with two footmen burdened with several hat boxes.
“Sir, as you requested, I have some … items for your review.”
Millicent stared at him blankly for a moment. Merit wiggled his eyebrows, twitched his shoulders and gave meaningful looks toward Maude who was wearing a turban on her head, until Millicent finally realized what the man was trying to subtly convey.
“Oh, yes, items! Please have them taken up to Mrs. Boarder’s sitting room.”
“Mine?” Felicity shook her head. “I have not purchased so many hats.”
“It is the head wear you requested for Maude,” said Millicent. “A selection for you to choose from. Those you do not like will be sent back.”
“Oh, yes.” Felicity leapt to her feet and hurried from the room. Her voice could be heard echoing back down the hall, demanding Maude attend her.
Maude sighed and obediently left her breakfast to follow her mother.
“No thanks given to you for the speed of delivery,” observed Mildred. “Mother is impolite from time to time.”
“Oh, it is no matter. Merit is the hero of this hour. He has distracted Felicity’s attention from me. I shall thank him later.”
* * *
Millicent spent the day peacefully dealing with her correspondence. A note came down from the upper floors informing her that the ladies would be taking their luncheon on trays, but they fully expected to attend the scheduled musicale that evening.
Millicent passed that piece of information on to Merit with a request for the carriage to be readied and promptly forgot it.
It was not until she was dressed in the “best” of her formal attire and waiting in the front hall that she saw what had been occupying the ladies all day.
Felicity was first to descend, a self-satisfied smile on her face. Millicent could only gape. Instead of the faded blond tresses liberally graced with grey arranged in a dignified chignon which was her mother’s usual hairstyle, Felicity Boarder wore a brilliant blond tower of curls, with three ringlets dangling before each ear. Mildred followed beneath a wig styled with masses of ringlets at the back and six kiss-curls across her forehead.
Maude’s was the worst. The hair was styled in a manner more suited to the previous century with three formal white feathers rising over her tower of hair to dangle before her eyes. A string of pearls and three silver ribbons were twisted through the mass.
The weight of the thing was such that Maude was frowning in her efforts to keep her balance. Despite her work she stumbled on the last step. Immediately her hand flew to her head, to no avail. The hair slipped forward and sideways.
“Oh, Maude, be careful,” cried her mother. “You will ruin it.”
“It is impossible to anchor properly.” Maude used both hands to force the wig straight. “My hair is too short.”
“This is beyond enough,” shouted Millicent, surprising even herself by the volume. “I shall not appear in public with any of you if you insist upon wearing those monstrosities.”
“Mr. North,” began Felicity.
“No. In this I am deadly serious. I am a fool for the entertainment of the ton, but this is beyond anything I should undertake. Maude, your own hair could not be more ridiculous than that wig. Take it off; I insist. Go upstairs at once, have your maid comb out your natural hair, and be done with it. Mildred, you as well.”
“I shall keep mine,” declared Felicity, holding her head high.
“That is your privilege, Mrs. Boarder,” shot back Millicent, “but think on this. You wear that in public and I shall spend the entirety of the evening making jokes about people who go about wearing cats instead of turbans on their heads. Do not think that I will not.”
Felicity went pale, then red. “You would not dare.”
“I promise you,” growled Millicent. “I am content to be a figure of fun, but these … I declare to be too much.”
Felicity sulked and argued until she realized that both of her daughters were already disappearing upstairs in obedience to Millicent’s commands. Maude, when she returned was smiling, her bright gold curls fluffed about her head like a halo and threaded through with narrow green ribbons that matched the trim on the bodice and sleeves of her virginal white gown.
Felicity turned with a huff and went upstairs to redo her toilette.
“You look better,” said Millicent to her sisters.
“Oh, much,” said Maude. “It was somewhere between the third and fourth wig that I realized that there were worse things than my haircut. I now think I look very well with short hair, compared to the alternatives.”
* * *
The final touch to her confidence came when Shoffer, upon seeing Maude reared back in surprise, smiled, and kissed the back of her hand and declared that none in the room could compare with her beauty.
* * *
Millicent was strolling about the outer edges of the ballroom and trying to decide which group of wallflowers to honor with a dance when Shoffer stiffened and tried to disappear behind Millicent’s back. His expression was one of such horror that Millicent first checked to see that her sisters and Lady Beth were well before looking about for the danger. A London ballroom was not the place to fear brigands or cut purses, but the cause of Shoffer’s distress was soon apparent. A glowing débutante – all white silk and pink flowers – appeared at his side.
“Your Grace,” she said, “I fear you have forgotten our waltz. You did promise to dance with me at the Longstride soirée last year before you were called away to attend your sister. You did promise and I will hold you to it!” She tittered and simpered in what she imagined was a fetching manner.
Sho
ffer glanced desperately toward Millicent who was tempted to leave Shoffer to deal with the matter himself. That whim lasted just a moment. Listening to the girl’s high pitched titter, Millicent winced and moved between them.
“Oh, no, Your Grace, you cannot,” Millicent laid a restraining hand on his sleeve – though Shoffer made no move toward the débutante. “Remember what your physician said this afternoon.”
The hopeful virgin’s eyes opened wide. “Physician?”
“Oh, yes,” said Millicent. “His Grace had a dreadful accident today. He was dismounting from his horse and his foot landed in a pile of, well, I cannot go into details which are not fit for a lady’s ears. Let it be said only that slipping while half on and half off a giant stallion such as His Grace rides, well … we can only hope that he recovers.” Millicent glowered at Shoffer and shook her finger under his nose. “I believe you were warned that the injury would be permanent if you exercised yourself. You should be at home in bed!”
“Well…” stuttered Shoffer. “My sister… The hostess … I could not disappoint.”
Millicent seized Shoffer by the elbow and began directing him toward the nearest door. “I act your physician’s part in this. If you do not rest, you will be a disappointment to your future wife. Now, come along.” And with that she hustled Shoffer from the ballroom.
“My thanks,” said Shoffer, as they made their way down the less crowded corridor past a gathering of gentlemen hiding from the dancing. “What injury am I supposed to have suffered? In case I should have want of the excuse again?”
“You have herniated yourself.”
“What?” Shoffer began laughing. “What made you think of it?”
“Oh, the local blacksmith was dismounting once and fell. He hurt himself in the … the.” Millicent could not prevent the blush that rose to flood her face, even while she grinned broadly. “The poor man fell, clutching himself in an area gentlemen do not usually admit to the existence of in the presence of ladies, and screamed for such a long time. It was pitiable. Later his wife said he was not much good for anything at all. It was odd. The blacksmith’s wife popped out a child a year for the first five years of their marriage, but since then, not a one.”
