by Amanda Scott
Both of her sisters had looked up at her outcry. “What on earth, Lissa?” demanded Arabella.
“Only listen to this if you will,” said Alicia without taking her eyes from the paper as she added in brief explanation. “The Persian ambassador is now at Paris on his way to London, you know, and there is more news today about the fair Circassian who travels in his suite. Listen: ‘His Excellency sends up to his fair Circassian her dinner from his own table, by the servant in waiting, who delivers it to the eunuchs, the only persons allowed to enter her room.’ There,” Alicia declared, looking up at last, “have I not said so these many times past? ’Tis precisely as I have believed from the outset. He holds that poor young woman prisoner. No one has seen what she looks like for the simple reason that no one has seen her at all, or spoken to her, save the ambassador and his eunuchs.”
“Lissa, really,” Arabella said sharply. “Has not Papa forbidden you to read such stuff? To hear such a word as that last one cross your innocent lips is most distasteful.”
“What? Eunuchs? I daresay they are distasteful themselves, guarding her constantly as they do,” retorted Alicia. “Not that I know precisely what a eunuch is. I asked Miss Fellows, of course, but she only colored up to her eyebrows in that foolish, governessy way of hers and then read me a scold for having asked the question. But how is one to discover things if one is not to ask questions? And since, regardless of what some people say, I am quite old enough to make my come-out, I am also old enough to ask whatever questions I like. I daresay, Bella, that the only reason you do not tell me what a eunuch is, is that you do not know yourself. So there!”
Arabella grimaced, then said repressively, “Whether I know or do not know has nothing whatever to say to the purpose, for I do not propose to discuss such a delicate matter with you, Lissa. And despite what you say, you know very well that Papa has declared that, as you have not yet turned seventeen, you are not old enough to make your come-out, and so let there be an end to that matter as well, if you please.”
Alicia tossed her head, causing her sleek, wheat-colored hair to ripple with golden highlights where the morning sunshine from the window touched its gentle waves. “Much you know, miss,” she said. “I do not mean to sit quietly by while the entire royal family shuffles off this mortal coil one by one, plunging us into and out of deep mourning at the most awkward moments, thus ruining my chances for a proper come-out. First the old queen, though most fortunately she chose to cock up her toes in November so that Prinny can bend the rules a bit in honor of one ambassador or another, although one does not know how there will be any drawing rooms with no proper royal hostess for one to make one’s bow to.” She sighed dramatically. “My luck being generally out in such matters, I shall no doubt be poised to enter society next spring, if Papa is allowed to have his way, and the king will pop off just as my time is come. Well, I tell you, I won’t have it. Papa simply must be brought to see reason. Did not you, Tani, and poor Cicely have to sit by only because dismal Uncle Ashley chose to die in the spring? A whole year you had to put off your come-out.”
“And if I did?” Brittany said quietly, at the same time quelling Arabella with a look when that young lady would have expressed her sentiments with more vehemence. “It did me no harm, Lissa, nor Cicely either. She is quite happily married to Ravenwood, and I am just as happily betrothed to the Earl of Faringdon.” When Alicia snorted in unladylike derision, Brittany ignored her, continuing calmly in her soft, musical voice, “It will do you no harm to wait if chance decrees that a period of mourning must be observed, though there is no saying that any such thing will come to pass. Moreover, if the queen’s death has not stopped Arabella’s come-out, I daresay the king’s will not stop yours, and although it would certainly be unfortunate if he should happen to die just as a new Season commences, such timing would likewise be most surprising. He is more like to spoil Arabella’s Season by dying very soon.”
“Nonsense,” said Alicia tartly. “He has lingered unconscionably long already. Years and years when everyone thought he must die at any moment. He is merely waiting until he may spoil my fortune, but I am not such a do-naught as to give him that opportunity. I shall make my come-out with Bella despite Papa’s foolish notions. Only wait, you will see.” The look she shot her two elder sisters was brimful of mischief and meaning, but when neither of them rose to the bait, she grinned and turned back to her newspaper.
Brittany returned her attention to the news of the royal babies and the Morning Post’s speculation as to whether the Regent would allow the Duke and Duchess of Kent to return to English soil for the birth of their expected child. The previous year, as she had pointed out to Arabella, had proved a good one for royal weddings in the wake of the Princess Charlotte’s death and that of her newborn son, and 1819 was producing a bumper crop of royal births, for the Duke of Cumberland’s wife was also in the family way. Though three of the expectant fathers apparently had no particular objection to their infants being born in Hanover, the Duke of Kent had proved remarkably stubborn on the issue, insisting that his child would draw its first breath on British soil. The duke had been warned not to expect a cordial reception from his family, who regarded his insistence on returning as yet another example of his disagreeable habit of putting himself forward. Princess Augusta had called him a fool and a madman, while Princess Mary expressed profound suspicion of his motives. Nevertheless the Regent, though insisting the voyage would prove dangerous to the expectant mother, appeared to have little choice now but to lend the royal yacht, for the Duke of Kent had threatened to bring his duchess over by packet if necessary. Still, Prinny had made his disapproval plain all along, and his capriciousness was well-known. He might yet order the Kents to remain abroad.
Though the Post was notorious for its consistent support of anything the Regent chose to do, Brittany discerned a distinct note of disapproval at mention of this last possibility. Like most of the rest of England, she digested each new installment avidly, just as her younger sister read everything she could discover about the Persian ambassador and his mysterious lady.
Brittany glanced up from time to time during the next quarter hour to see that her sisters were well-occupied with their reading material. No doubt someone would soon come to discover whether one or another of them would not prefer to be more constructively occupied, but although Alicia would no doubt be bored once she had read all the Times’ social news, Brittany knew that if no one interrupted her, Arabella would read her magazine from cover to cover. Really, she thought now, Bella was remarkably calm for a young woman on the verge of making her come-out.
Just then, Alicia sat up and folded her paper noisily. “Enough of this. I have things to do.” She glanced expectantly at the others, but when Brittany only smiled at her and Arabella did not so much as look up, she gave a shrug, smoothed her muslin skirt as she arose, and left the room.
Still without glancing up, Arabella chuckled. “She’s plotting mischief, sure enough. Simply dying for us to cross-question her so that she can be mysterious.”
“Well, I won’t give her that satisfaction, but I must say I hope she doesn’t do anything too outrageous,” Brittany said, gazing at the closed doors with narrowed eyes, rather as though she expected magically to look through them and see what deviltry Alicia was brewing. “She seems to believe she is so grown up that Papa will no longer punish her if she misbehaves. But though she has been fortunate since we came up to London, she will quickly discover the error of such thinking if she does not put a guard upon that unruly tongue of hers.”
Arabella shifted her position so that she could look directly at her elder sister. Her demeanor was serious, her tone when she spoke sympathetic. “Lissa ought not to have expressed herself so disrespectfully when you mentioned Lord Faringdon’s name.”
Brittany’s deep blue-violet eyes twinkled. “Do you mean to say that you have decided to approve of Tony, Bella?”
“Really, Tani,” Arabella responded with more of her usual s
pirit, “I hope I have never been so uncivil as to disapprove of Lord Faringdon. Indeed, I should be a ninny if I were not as grateful as Mama is that you accepted his offer. Only think how much in the shade I should be cast if I had to compete with you on the Marriage Mart. No one would ever call me the Golden Goddess, as they have been calling you these three years past. They will no doubt call me the Poor Drab instead when they see how little I resemble either Cicely or you.”
“Don’t be nonsensical, Bella. You cannot wish to be called Ice Princess as Cicely was called, nor, believe me, can you wish to be described as a goddess. ’Tis most absurdly unsettling, I assure you.”
“No one will call me so, so I shall never know. Having seen your hair, which looks like spun gold, no one will look twice at my insipid blond tresses. And my eyes can never be described as anything more than dull gray. Gentlemen go into poetic raptures over yours.”
“Such raptures, indeed, that not one of those gentlemen spoke seriously of marriage until Tony gathered his courage to approach Papa,” Brittany said, smiling.
“Oh, Tani, now ’tis you who exaggerate. You must know that dozens of young men approached Papa before Faringdon did so. Men more eligible than he, for that matter.”
“But none so amusing,” Brittany said lightly. “’Tis why I find it difficult to call him Faringdon, as I ought. That sounds far too fusty, and Tony is never fusty. You must agree to that much, at least, Bella. Because for all you may say to the contrary, I know you do not approve of him.”
“I have already said that that is not the case,” Arabella protested. But when Brittany only shook her head, she added, “Well, then, perhaps I cannot approve of all he has been. Had Ravenwood not towed him out of River Tick three or four years ago, he would not be solvent enough to offer for you now. And though most would certainly not call him fusty, no one would ever call him practical, either. Who is to say he will not run through his fortune and yours as well before he is done? Amusing he may be, but he is also a rake and a spendthrift. If you love him, I suppose I must say no more, but I do not think you do. I have seen no evidence of deep feeling on either your part or his.”
Brittany shrugged. “As to, love, who can say what that is? Cicely says she loves Ravenwood, but she is furious with him as often as not. Why, practically the first time she met him, she emptied an entire bottle of claret over his head. I have never had the slightest urge to do such a thing to anyone in my life, so if that is what love is all about, I have never experienced it. Of course, Mama says she loves Papa—and I am sure I love him too, since it is my duty to do so—but I would not wish to marry a man like him. So just what is love, Bella? Do you know?”
“No, for although I read all the best romantic novels just as soon as I can pry them from Lissa’s hands, most of their descriptions of love seem entirely impractical to me. Each heroine forgets all she ever came to hold dear, it seems, merely for the sake of love. I would not wish to be so foolish. But neither will I marry merely for expediency, Tani, and I suspect that is what you mean to do.”
Brittany considered the accusation briefly. “Perhaps you are right. Mama was so worried about having two of us to marry off at the same time, and I have had three Seasons, after all. Surely, if I were going to fall in love, it must have happened by now. Since it has not, I might as well have Tony, for despite his earlier troubles, he has his finances well in hand now—in his excellent steward’s hands, at any rate. Then, too, his impudence amuses me, I like his friends, and he is of a cheerful disposition. I dislike gloomy people.” She grinned at her sister. “Besides, Papa approves.”
“Papa simply believes Ravenwood will keep him on the straight and narrow and that, with three of us to follow, you would be selfish to hold out longer. And Mama is grateful. Well, I am grateful, too. I cannot deny it. And since Amalie doesn’t care a pin one way or another so long as Faringdon can keep his seat on a horse, the only strictures you will have to bear are Lissa’s. She detests him.”
Brittany chuckled. “Only because he disapproves of her. She has only to open her mouth or to wear a new dress, it seems, to incur his displeasure. When she speaks, he tells her that children should be seen but never heard. If she wears gray, he says she is looking insipid. If she changes to pink, he accuses her of disrespect to the queen’s memory. In truth, Bella, where poor Lissa is concerned, Tony can be fusty, and I’ve no doubt that if he were to say such things to me, I’d soon lose my taste for his company.”
Not long after this exchange, a steady stream of callers began, for Wednesday was the day the duchess was “at home,” and although the Season was not yet in full swing, the two eldest unmarried daughters of the Duke of Malmesbury had been in demand since their arrival in town several weeks before, in time for the opening of Parliament. Other members of the beau monde had also begun arriving in London then, as was the custom, in order that gentlemen who were so inclined might attend the sessions while their ladies ordered new dresses and began planning the Season’s balls and parties. But this year the town had remained distressingly thin of company and parties had been few and infrequent. One reason, of course, besides the fact that the weather had remained good for hunting in the Shires, had been the necessity until the previous week or so to observe mourning for the late queen. But now, on the first Wednesday of April, with deep mourning and fox-hunting both finally at an end and Almack’s Assembly Rooms holding its first large subscription ball of the Season that very night, the tempo had begun to quicken.
As she sat in her dressing chair that evening while her maid, Sarah Basehart, put the finishing touches to her coiffure, Brittany remembered her discussion with Arabella and glanced guiltily into the mirror, where she could see reflected the elegant ball dress she would soon don. The cream-colored lace gown hung upon a portable rack near her emerald-green-velvet-draped bed, and she wondered now if his lordship would dare to express disapproval of a gown that was clearly not intended for mourning of any kind.
The Duchess of Malmesbury had not disapproved of the pipings of brilliant gold and violet satin that trimmed the gown, but as Brittany regarded them now, they seemed brighter than they had seemed before, and the flowery pattern of the lace was distressingly elaborate. Worse, certainly, were the individual bright-pink satin roses that decorated each peak of the scalloped hemline and the wreath of matching roses that edged the plunging neckline.
Sarah put careful finishing touches to her mistress’s headdress, which consisted of alternating bands of the gold and violet satin and a wreath of satin roses worn low on the forehead in the prevailing fashion. Then, standing away with a smile of satisfaction, Sarah dusted her hands upon her apron in preparation for helping her mistress don her gown.
“Pinch your cheeks a bit, m’lady,” she said in her gentle voice. “You’ll not be wantin’ to paint them, I’m thinkin’, but they look a bit peaked like.”
Obediently, Brittany did as she had been told, though she knew her color would be all anyone could wish later, in the heat of the assembly rooms. She waited until Sarah had the gown spread open at her feet, then stood and stepped into it, squirming a little as her maid eased the creamy lace up over her flimsy white satin under-dress. The buttons up the back were quickly fastened, and Sarah twitched the skirt into place, then stood back again, releasing a sigh of satisfaction.
“Still the most beautiful,” she said under her breath, “and no doubt the most-sought-after young lady in town.”
Brittany smiled at her. “You forget, Sarah, that since I am now betrothed to Lord Faringdon, I shall no longer be regarded as though I were a side of mutton being offered at auction. ’Twill be a vast improvement, I believe.”
“Aye, perhaps, m’lady,” muttered the maid, “but by what I hear, you be throwing yourself away upon that young saucebox.”
Brittany’s smile vanished, replaced by a stern frown. “You forget yourself.”
Sarah flushed and opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could do so, the bedchamber door flew open and a
young maidservant entered, words tumbling from her lips even as she strove unsuccessfully to catch the heavy door before it banged against the wall.
“Oh, m’lady, Miss Fellows did say t’ come t’ ye right quick and not t’ tell nobody else, but the Lady Alicia be disappeared from the ’ouse altogether, wi’ none t’ say where she canna got to. Miss Fellows did say she be abducted, most like, and just ’er way it be t’ be a-gettin’ up to one o’ ’er starts with all the ’ousehold a-tryin’ t’ get the Lady Arabella, ’er grace, ’n’ yerself off to the ball, ’n’ all.”
Brittany stared in dismay at the chambermaid. “Abducted? Nonsense, Betty, surely Miss Fellows does not think such a thing. No doubt the Lady Alicia is dining out and merely forgot to inform Miss Fellows of her intention to do so.” Even as she spoke, her mind was working rapidly, for while Alicia might not deign to tell her governess if she meant to dine out, she would certainly have told her sisters, and she had mentioned nothing about any plan to leave the house.
Brittany’s first thought was to seek out Arabella, who always seemed able to discover what Alicia was up to, but she dismissed the notion at once. Arabella, calm though she might appear on the surface, was thoroughly taken up by the necessity of presenting a good appearance her first night at Almack’s. Her future depended upon the success of this night, and she dared do nothing that might offend even one of the seven august patronesses of that exclusive establishment, for the slightest mishap might bar her from future appearances there. To be denied tickets of entrance would lead to her social ruin. Even the Lady Caroline Lamb, member of one of the most powerful families of the beau monde, had not succeeded in overcoming her exclusion two Seasons before. Moreover, Caro Lamb had not been barred as a result of her many scandalous misadventures, but for the simple act of having offended Lady Jersey, perhaps the most particular patroness of all. It was doubtful that Caro would ever again be privileged to receive a voucher. So, although it was Arabella who customarily shouldered the responsibility for Alicia’s good behavior, Brittany knew it would be unfair to appeal to her now. Despite her own inexperience in such matters, she would have to deal with this crisis herself.
