A London Season

by Anthea Bell

  Elinor was a little startled by the vision that this wish conjured up of herself remaining with the Yoxfords, a kind of honorary maiden aunt, until little Maria was ready to leave the schoolroom for the ballroom some fifteen years hence. Swept away from Cheltenham in such haste, and with so much happening ever since, she had hardly given a thought to her own future at such time as Persephone had made the brilliant marriage for which she was surely destined—whether it were to Lord Conington, as Isabella hoped, or to some other desirable marital prize. The notion that Isabella would like to see her a fixture in the family ought, she told herself, to be most gratifying, especially when she compared her life here with the bleak years in Cheltenham. She really could not imagine why it made her feel so low, and upbraided herself for rank ingratitude.

  Isabella now moved on, leaving Elinor standing in one of the little alcoves which lined the ballroom. From this vantage point she could see Persephone surrounded by a number of young people, including Conington, while Charlotte stood shyly by just outside the group, for she was not very well acquainted with many of them. And yet, thought Elinor with a small pang of anxiety on Charlotte’s behalf, she seemed quite happy merely to be standing there looking at his lordship. She was not the only one to have noticed this circumstance, but was not close enough to hear the remark hissed into his sister’s ear by Mr. Royden, as he passed her in search of the nearest source of champagne, “My dear Charlotte, I certainly told you to make a push to attract some eligible gentleman, but do aim for one within your reach! It is of no use your standing there making sheep’s eyes at Conington, who is hardly likely to have any eyes for you! You are wasting your time!” With which kindly observation, he went on his way.

  Charlotte gasped as if he had struck her in the face, turned very red, and fled to one of the alcoves on the far side of the room. Elinor, watching, and wondering what Grenville had said to distress her, was about to cross the floor and offer comfort, when she saw that Conington too had noticed Charlotte’s sudden departure, and was detaching himself from the group with a word of apology in order to follow her. Elinor therefore desisted.

  Mr. Royden could have said nothing better calculated to destroy his sister’s innocent pleasure in her evening. She had not meant to stand and stare with her heart in her eyes, and was miserably aware of her foolishness. She knew very well that Conington was not for her—indeed, she had been telling herself so already this evening! But she did wish Grenville had not seen her feelings so easily, and had not been quite so cross! She was struggling to repress tears of mortification when a voice behind her said tentatively, “Miss Royden, I have not yet had a chance to speak to you, and can only hope you still have a dance for me—but Charlotte, what is wrong?” exclaimed Conington, seeing her woebegone face as she turned towards him.

  “Oh! Oh—it’s nothing,” said Charlotte, unsteadily. “I—so stupid of me—only something Grenville said, and I’m sure he did not mean it unkindly!” She turned away again, putting her bravest efforts into blinking back her tears.

  Conington let her be for a moment, and then said gently, “I can see you are upset, Miss Royden—sit down for a moment on this sofa! I am sure he did not mean it unkindly too, whatever it was! I dare say your brother still thinks of you as a child at times, and forgets you are now a grown woman.”

  “Yes, just so!” said Charlotte thankfully.

  “We elder brothers, you know,” he added easily, settling himself beside her, “are notoriously unable to appreciate our sisters at their truth worth—or so I am reliably informed by mine!”

  “You have three sisters, have you not, sir?” inquired Charlotte, remembering an earlier conversation, and glad to have this casual subject raised.

  “Yes, three, the eldest of whom, Eliza, is soon to emerge from the schoolroom, and I have it on her own authority that she is destined to take London by storm! She is tolerably good-looking, I suppose. I hope you may meet her some day soon, for I know she would like you, and I believe you would like her. She only says such things jokingly, you understand!”

  “I am sure of that!” exclaimed the warm-hearted Charlotte. “How much I should like to know her, to be sure!” His lordship, whose interest in Miss Royden of late had been more for herself and less for her sympathetic ear than either she or her brother could guess, looked at her with what he was glad was not a fraternal eye, and thought what an attractive picture she made, gowned in pale blue, with the flush of tears now fading from her face. She could not, of course, hold a candle to the lovely Persephone, but despite that Conington was rapidly coming to a decision which might startle some—though not his own family, he knew, when once they were better acquainted with Charlotte! (It was to cause the lady’s brother great surprise and gratification, but Mr. Royden’s feelings entered very little into Lord Conington’s mind.) The question he had almost made up his mind to ask her was not, however, one to be put when she had so recently been in a state of distress, so he now merely requested the supper dance.

  A much prettier flush tinged Charlotte’s cheeks; however, she could not help saying a little dubiously, “Oh ... but, Persephone?”

  “Persephone is going in to supper with her cousin Charles,” said Conington, not at all as if he minded. (Charley, summoned by his parents from Cambridge expressly to make himself useful in such ways, had accepted this cousinly duty with a fairly good grace.) He gently insisted that it was Charlotte’s company he wished for at supper, where they might share a table with Persephone and Charley, engaged her for two more dances as well, and encouragingly swept her off to be introduced to a friend of his who, he said, desired to make her acquaintance. Charlotte was transported to the seventh heaven, and she would have been more than human if a small feeling of triumph had not crept into her mind, to the effect that that would show Grenville!

  Unable to hear any of what was said, Elinor had yet watched this little scene with some pleasure from her own alcove on the other side of the room. She had noticed that for the last few weeks, while Lord Conington was still attentive to Persephone, her obvious indifference to his suit was causing him to press it less ardently than before; indeed, she had thought she saw signs that his fancy was turning towards the sympathetic Charlotte. Suppose he really did transfer his affections to her? She would make him an excellent wife, kind and cheerful, with a good deal of common sense, and while of course she was not an heiress like Persephone, there was nothing to blush for in her birth or breeding. The one drawback there, thought Elinor, was in the character of her brother, and no one but herself seemed aware of that!

  As if summoned pat by her thinking of him, Mr. Royden himself spoke close to her, causing her to start. “How charmingly Miss Grafton looks tonight! At this rate she will be married and off your hands before you know it!”

  “I certainly expect her to receive many eligible offers,” said Elinor evenly, “but I see no signs as yet that she is thinking of marriage, Mr. Royden.”

  “Still Mr. Royden, Elinor? Ah, your punctilious formality!” sighed that gentleman. His voice, just a little slurred, bore witness to the success of his expedition in search of a copious supply of wine. “Must I remind you again that we were used to be on more intimate terms? Believe me, young Miss Persephone there doesn’t insist on treating me so coldly!”

  “So I have observed.”

  “And you don’t like it, eh? Perhaps you remember the days when you were not so cold? I wonder ... if I put myself out to be very agreeable to the young lady, don’t you think I might succeed in—er—breaching those virginal defences?”

  Elinor turned to stare at him in horror. “You would never dare!”

  “No, for marriage would serve my turn a good deal better!” Mr. Royden agreed. This remark had but just come into his head, as a means of alarming Elinor, and he was delighted to see that at last he had alarmed and discomfited her. Her shocked reaction was all he could have hoped for.

  “Marriage?” she exclaimed, her mind in a perfect whirl. “I thought—you sai
d—I thought you were determined upon a carefree bachelor existence, and it was poor Charlotte who must marry for money to suit you!”

  “Who knows, might one not lead an equally carefree matrimonial existence?” inquired Mr. Royden, quite surprised, himself, by the good sense of what he was saying. Why, there might be something in the notion after all—he must put his mind to it more seriously some time! “And perhaps, on further acquaintance with the charming Persephone, my ideas have changed. Yes,” said Mr. Royden, his eyes following Miss Grafton about the dance floor, “upon mature consideration, I do believe that, all circumstances such as fortune, face and figure being agreeable to me, I might bring myself to contemplate matrimony after all!”

  “She wouldn’t have you!”

  “No? Admittedly, her heart is elsewhere at the moment.” (Oh, thought Elinor, he is indeed deep in her confidence.) “But it’s a silly, girlish little heart; you must know as well as I do that it will change.”

  “I am not so sure,” said Elinor, and found, rather to her own surprise, that she meant what she said. The unexpected strength of Persephone’s attachment to the mysterious young man in Bath surely contributed to her present discontent. Not that that was much in evidence at the moment; she was behaving very prettily, smiling at one couple after another as she and Conington moved through the figures of a country dance. “In any case,” she added, thankfully grasping at an indubitable fact, “Sir Edmund would never consent.”

  “You mean I am not a brilliant enough match? Perhaps so ... but then, if he were presented with a good enough reason to compel him to countenance such a marriage...”

  He was smiling at Elinor in the most unpleasant manner—she was tolerably certain that Persephone had never yet been allowed to see that expression on his face—and she stared back at him, absolutely transfixed. She supposed he could only mean that a successful seduction of Persephone would force Sir Edmund’s hand, which might be true! Especially if he could so worm himself into the heiress’s confidence in the role of friend (as he seemed to be in a fair way to doing) that in the end she would not be entirely unwilling to see him as something more. Did not Elinor herself know how very persuasive and charming Mr. Royden could be when he liked?

  “And why should I utterly despair,” he continued, ironically echoing her thoughts, “of being loved for myself alone? Look at Conington there—the poor fellow has no notion how to handle her! A great willingness to listen to chatter about music is the thing, and a sympathetic ear for her troubles, surrounded as she is by domestic tyrants—I am sorry to have had to present you in that light, my dear, but I saw nothing else for it.”

  So that accounted for the withdrawal of Persephone’s confidence! But he had not quite finished.

  “You had much better let me join the hunt, you know,” he added, “for if Persephone herself should observe you doing your utmost to ward me off—as you have been doing then your efforts are likely to have just the opposite effect of that which you intend, don’t you think?”

  At least she saw her way clear now! “Mr. Royden,” said Elinor, in the low voice enjoined upon her by their circumstances of semi-privacy, “you seem to believe that because of the past, I shall be prevented from telling Persephone what I know of you. I am afraid it is no such thing! If I saw you threatening her peace of mind, I should not hesitate for an instant.”

  He looked at her consideringly. “Perhaps you wouldn’t. But if you did tell her what you know of me, as you so delicately put it, wouldn’t it seem plain that you were impelled to do so by jealousy?”

  “Jealousy?” Anger flared in Miss Radley’s eyes. “You can’t possibly suppose I have the least feeling left for you, Grenville!”

  “Very likely not,” he agreed. “But would Persephone believe that, in the face of my—my frank and manly regrets for an impulsive, youthful episode now long past?”

  “Try it if you dare!” she flashed at him.

  “You know, you have changed, Elinor!” he remarked. “You were used to be such a spiritless, romantical creature, but I fancy a little temper suits you! You really are in great good looks tonight! How interesting it would be to try if your vaunted indifference to me is as complete as you say ... but alas, I can’t spare the time now. I see this dance is coming to an end, and as I believe my own name is down on Miss Grafton’s carnet de bal for the next, I must make haste to claim my prize. The waltz is so exhilarating a dance, is it not?” And with this parting shot he left, very well pleased with the conversation and the effect it had plainly had upon Miss Radley.

  There was a small couch at the back of the little alcove, and Elinor sank on to it thankfully, feeling her legs too weak to support her. She knew she must return to the main part of the ballroom and mingle with the guests before long, since so much responsibility for the smooth running of this evening’s arrangements rested upon her, and she had already stood apart for some time. But if she was to regain her composure at all, she needed a few moments to herself. It would not do to refine too much on what Mr. Royden had said. Not now, not this evening; she would put her mind to it later. She had carefully taken a number of deep breaths, and was rising to her feet, when Sir Edmund appeared in the opening of the alcove.

  “Away from the dancing, Cousin Elinor?” he inquired pleasantly. “Can I persuade you on to the floor with me? You need not tell me that chaperons don’t dance, for Isabella is here to take that part for a change, and in any case we are in your own home. I’ve had no chance to find you in this crush until now, but here you are at last. How charmingly you are looking tonight!”

  In strict point of fact, this was true. Elinor was very becomingly gowned in pale apricot silk with a slightly darker stripe in it, and heavy trimmings of apricot satin rouleaux at the hem. Unlike most of the ladies present, who sported a remarkable collection of evening headgear decked out with quantities of ribbons and laces, feathers and flowers, she wore nothing in her hair but two pretty Glauvina pins and a delicate spray of artificial flowers, apricot-coloured like her dress. However, her cousin’s mild compliment echoed Mr. Royden’s words too nearly for her comfort, and somewhat to Sir Edmund’s surprise she said with involuntary forcefulness, “Oh, pray don’t!” and buried her face in her hands as she sat down again.

  “Why, what is the matter?” he asked gently. “Are you feeling unwell? It is certainly becoming hot in here—let me find you a glass of wine.”

  “No, no. I am quite all right,” said Elinor, quickly recovering herself, but Sir Edmund had already procured two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and pressed one firmly into her hand. He seated himself beside her and watched the dancers moving through the waltz, as he waited until she should be more composed.

  “Ah, there’s Persephone, with Royden,” he remarked. “Was it not Royden you were talking to just now, when I at last caught sight of you here?”

  “Yes,” said Elinor, sipping her wine. She had thought her tone perfectly neutral, but Sir Edmund said at once, “Don’t you like him? I thought you knew the family so well—and Miss Royden seems a most pleasant, unaffected sort of girl.”

  “Oh, she is!” Elinor agreed warmly.

  “But you don’t like him,” persisted Sir Edmund, thoughtfully. She wished he were not so acute. “He is certainly becoming rather particular in his attentions to Persephone, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and I—I don’t think he would do for her.”

  “From what little I know of him and his circumstances, I agree with you. I should expect her to make a far better match than that. However, surely you are going too fast? Didn’t you believe she was still wearing the willow for this unknown young fellow in Bath?”

  “Yes, although I think that if he tried, Mr. Royden could make himself very agreeable,” said Elinor guardedly.

  “Agreeable enough to oust her old flame from her memory? But I thought that you positively wished someone else to take her fancy!”

  Elinor smiled faintly. “Well, yes, but not-oh, I dare say nothing will come
of it,” she said, forcing a light tone. And indeed, she realized, she did feel a certain lightening of her spirits. It must be the pleasant, equable company of Sir Edmund that made her recent conversation with Mr. Royden seem so improbable. Could they really have been saying such things to each other? Did she really think he intended to attempt the seduction of her charge? No, ridiculously melodramatic! She gave a little chuckle.

  “That sounds better!” said the uncomfortably perceptive Sir Edmund. “Are you sure you are feeling quite the thing? You’ve been looking tired, you know, these last few days.”

  “Have I?” She was both touched and alarmed by his quickness of observation. It would never do, she thought, sternly upbraiding herself in very much the same manner as Charlotte Royden earlier that evening, to let her heart show so easily in her face: certainly not her whole heart, which she feared might be all to plainly visible when she looked at him. She therefore glanced away.

  “Yes, you have. I fancy Isabella persuaded you to undertake all the work of this evening’s arrangements. You mustn’t let her impose on you, you know—she’s the kindest creature in the world, but bone idle.”

  “Oh no! I mean, that’s not it!” said Elinor quickly, realizing too late that she was confessing, with these words, to the existence of another and unacknowledged trouble.

  “Then that child is plaguing you,” he said, looking none too fondly at his ward whirling past them.

  She could not help smiling. “Cousin Edmund, as I have told you before, you brought me here especially so that she might have somebody to plague!”

  “Did I?”

  She found his direct glance rather disconcerting, and said hastily, to gloss it over, “Anyway, I have enjoyed myself planning this ball. I do assure you that I am glad to be of use.”