by Amanda Scott
Lord Ramsay had not been included in the invitation to Carlton House, and he had been displeased when Hawk decided he would be wiser to remain at home the first two nights. Having seen his tailor, arranged to have several pairs of boots made for him by Hoby, the fashionable bootmaker located at the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, and having purchased several hats from Lock, the hatter in St. James’s Street who provided hats for such fashionables as Lord Alvanley and Beau Brummell, Ramsay was ready to make his entrance to society. It clearly irked him to be left at home to kick his heels. However, Hawk was adamant, saying that he would make it up to him by taking him to White’s the following day.
Mollie spent the rest of the week shopping with Lady Bridget, for there were still any number of necessary purchases to be made. Besides visiting the shops in Covent Garden, Mayfair, and Oxford Street, they visited the linen drapers, silk mercers, haberdashers, milliners, and corsetiers situated around Leicester Square. Not only were there items to purchase for themselves, but Mollie, after a long conversation with Mrs. Perfect, had decided to redo the ground-floor saloon as well. Thus it was that Lady Gwendolyn Worthing, arriving in town the following Monday, found her sister-in-law sitting on the floor in the midst of a pile of silks and brocades on Tuesday morning.
“Gwen, how perfectly delightful!” Mollie exclaimed, jumping to her feet to greet the smiling, smartly dressed, auburn-haired young woman, whose speaking gray eyes at once proclaimed her to be a member of the Colporter family. “Aunt Biddy and I intended to call later in the day to welcome you to town.”
“We have already been welcomed, I thank you,” said Lady Gwendolyn acidly. Then her eyes twinkled, and her tone changed to a teasing one. “As I understand you were welcomed, immediately upon your arrival last week.”
Mollie chuckled. “I hope she was more charitable toward you than she was toward me. But I know she was. She positively dotes on you, Gwen.”
“I should live to see the day,” Lady Gwendolyn said dryly. “She informed me that she knows to the penny what I laid out—or rather what Worthing laid out—for the new nursery at Pillings, and much as she detests criticizing, she felt it her duty to tell me she thought I had been a trifle extravagant. The inhabitant of said nursery being a mere female had a good deal to do with her sentiments, of course. And not even a Colporter female at that.”
“Well, at least she did not feel it to be her duty to send detailed accounts to your brother for the last four years, telling him precisely what sins you were committing in his absence,” Mollie pointed out.
“Not last year, at any rate. I was safely indisposed. The year before, however, when Worthing and I were at outs over that predatory opera dancer of his, and I let the handsome Lord Featherby squire me about to get even, I received the devil of a scold from Hawk. Two full pages, Mollie. I can tell you, I was glad he was on the Continent and not here at the time.” Lady Gwendolyn smiled ruefully. “I know you didn’t pass the word along to him.”
“No, of course not. Though it might not have been Lady Andrew either, you know. You have other relatives nearly as busy.” Lady Gwendolyn nodded, and Mollie added, “How is young Megan, by the bye? She must be nearly big enough to sit up by herself now.”
“Indeed, she is, and a handful. I cannot tell you how grateful I was when she was old enough to be turned over to Nannie.” Lady Gwendolyn ran a hand over a piece of green brocade. “Do you and Hawk go to Almack’s tomorrow?”
Mollie agreed that they would be attending the first assembly of the Season, and from that point the conversation alternated between social events and upholstery fabrics.
7
EVERYONE WHO WAS ANYONE had arrived in London in time for opening night at Almack’s, and Mollie, having already paid and received a number of morning calls, knew that most of her friends and favorite flirts were in town. Lady Jersey and the Countess de Lieven, wife of the Russian ambassador, had stopped in to see her. And she had met Lord Alvanley driving with the famous Beau Brummell Wednesday afternoon in Hyde Park. They created quite a picture—the one so short, plump, and ugly; the other elegant, slim, and well-favored. Rumor had it that both gentlemen were suffering from financial reverses, but one would never guess it to look at them, as Ramsay, riding beside her on a neat cover hack, had commented.
“Precise to a pin,” he said, adding consciously, “Met them both when Hawk took me to White’s, you know.” Lord Alvanley drew up his rig at a sign from Mollie.
“Good day, Lady Hawk,” said his lordship, adding with his customary lisp, “You look charmingly in that riding dreth, ma’am. Becometh you mighty well.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Brummell agreed, smiling slightly.
“I know better than to accuse either of you of flattery,” Mollie replied with a laugh, “so I shall simply say thank you in a ladylike fashion and bring my brother-in-law to your notice. I fancy you have met Lord Ramsay?”
Both gentlemen having condescended to acknowledge the acquaintance, Ramsay was in excellent spirits when they rode on. But it soon became clear to Mollie that he had had a specific purpose in mind when he had invited her to ride out with him that afternoon.
“I say, Moll,” he said at last after several false starts, “do you think perhaps you might have a word with Hawk on my behalf?”
She looked at him in surprise. She had thought the two brothers were getting on famously with each other. “What could I discuss with him that you cannot?” she asked.
“He don’t choose to discuss the matters I wish to discuss.” He looked at her in frustration. “Dash it, Mollie, the fact of the matter is I think he does not trust me. He’s keeping me on a dashed tight leash, you know—not at all what I expected.”
“He wants you to go carefully, Ramsay, not to make any errors before your good character is known to those who matter. If you do something dreadful, you might be denied tickets to Almack’s. It is even more difficult, after all, for a gentleman to come by them than it is for a lady in her first Season.”
“Much I should care for that,” Ramsay muttered. “Devilish poor place to be stuck every Wednesday night, by what I hear. Cardplaying for chicken stakes with old ladies or being made to do the pretty with insufferably young ones. And nothing to wet a man’s thirst but orgeat and lemonade. And knee breeches! I should much prefer to be denied admission to the place. Hugh Hardwick, that fellow I had the wager with in Gill’s Green, invited me to go along to a bang-up affair tonight at a new gaming place in Cockspur Lane, but Hawk insists upon dragging me to Almack’s. And Friday, when Hugh and a friend of his knew where there was some first-rate entertainment to be had, Hawk took me off to Boodle’s for dinner instead.”
“But you enjoyed that,” she pointed out.
“That don’t signify. It’s all of a piece. I can do nothing on my own. He even refuses to increase my allowance to meet the added expenses of living in town. Says he’ll spring for anything I really need, but that’s a hum. I daresay he’ll prove to be as much of a dashed squeeze-penny as Father was.”
“Impossible,” Mollie said, grinning at him. But when he only glared in response, she relented. “Very well, I shall speak with him. But I cannot promise it will do the least good, you know. You are the one who was telling me not long ago that he is merely exerting his rightful authority.”
Ramsay sighed. “I know he is. But don’t it seem a trifle unfair, Moll, after all those years of living under Father’s thumb, finally to be free to cut a dash in the world, only to find oneself under Hawk’s thumb instead?”
She agreed that it was difficult, but privately she was alarmed by his artless conversation and found herself wondering what sort of larks he might be up to without Hawk’s firm hand on the reins. Nevertheless, at the first opportunity, she broached the matter to her husband.
He had come into her room to visit with her while Mathilde du Bois was putting the finishing touches to her toilette. At last, when the imperious dresser indicated that she had done all she could, Mollie arose f
rom the dressing chair and turned with a grin to her husband.
“Well, what do you think?” Her puff-sleeved, scoop-necked gown of lavender lutestring clung to her exquisite figure in a most alluring fashion. Her hair had been caught up at the back of her head in a cascade of intricate braids and curls, with soft tendrils wisping about her ears and the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were pink with the pleasure of knowing she looked very well indeed.
Hawk smiled back, looking splendid himself in a well-cut black coat and knee breeches, a white silk shirt, and white stockings. His cravat was tied in a simpler style than that affected by the swells, but Mollie thought he looked very handsome.
“Magnificent,” he said in response to her question. “The other ladies will weep with envy when they see you.”
Mollie chuckled, dismissing Mathilde du Bois. But when Hawk held up her sable-trimmed silk cape, she shook her head, deciding it was an excellent time to tell him of Ramsay’s complaints. Hawk heard her out in silence. Then, when she paused, he merely looked down into her eyes as if he would read the very thoughts behind them.
“Well?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow.
His expression did not change. “Defending the young again?”
She opened her mouth to deny the charge, then closed it and turned away, thus missing the flicker of amusement in her husband’s eyes. She thought about what she had nearly said, that he was wrong, both about her reasons and about the way he was handling Ramsay. He did not press her for an answer, and at last she turned back to face him again, a tiny frown creasing her brow.
“I do not think I am automatically defending him, sir,” she said carefully. “I hope you will not always leap to that conclusion if I choose to disagree with you.”
He nodded. “That’s fair enough. Why did the lad not come to me himself?”
“He said you had no wish to discuss the matter,” Mollie replied bluntly.
“He’s right.” The response was even more blunt.
“But don’t you see how frustrating this is for him? He feels as if he cannot move without you at his side, overseeing everything he does.”
“Better frustrated than over his ears in debt or lying on the floor in some gaming hell with his throat slit from ear to ear or killed in an alley by Resurrectionists to be sold to a medical school.”
“For heaven’s sake, Gavin!”
“I’m sorry if your sensibilities are offended by such talk, Mollie, but unlikelier things happen every day in this town. There are not enough bodies to accommodate the need, so the Resurrectionists, for a price, provide them, and a drunken young man weaving his way home from a gaming hell in the small hours of the morning is a prime target.”
“Ramsay does not get drunk!”
“How do you know?”
“I…I don’t.” The tales she had heard of how Oxford students spent their time did not encourage her to pursue a blind defense. “I don’t know what he does when he is away,” she admitted, “but I’ve never seen him in his cups.”
“No, nor have I,” Hawk said. “I scarcely know the lad at all anymore. But I am responsible for him, Mollie.”
She nodded, then looked up at him again. “Is it not unwise to stifle his high spirits, Gavin? Might he not do something foolish out of simple frustration?”
He did not speak immediately. Then, after a small sigh, he said, “I’ll talk to Ramsay, sweetheart, and discuss my position with him. I ought to have done so before now. Perhaps I have been overly protective.”
Mollie was satisfied. She was coming to believe that her husband had developed a strong sense of fairness, and she was certain that even Ramsay could not say she had not done her best for him. This time when Hawk held up her cape, she smiled and allowed him to arrange it around her shoulders before accompanying him down to the main hall, where the others awaited them.
Except for the previous Season, when old Lord Hawkstone’s untimely death had curtailed her activities, Mollie had refused to allow her husband’s absence to interfere with her pleasures and had ruthlessly removed her household to London each spring in order to indulge herself, and Lady Bridget as well, in that whirlwind of social activity known simply as the Season. It occurred to her in the coach on the way to King Street to wonder how great a difference Hawk’s presence would make to her pleasure.
So far he had not interfered with her in any way. She had spent a prodigious amount of his money on herself, on Lady Bridget, and, for that matter, on the ground-floor saloon. Since he had often met them upon their return from a shopping spree, he was not unaware of the vast number of packages that had been borne into his house. Yet he had not said a word in opposition to such expeditions. Ramsay might complain of his clutch-fisted nature. Mollie certainly could not do so.
Nor had he once questioned her comings and goings. If she chanced to mention paying a call upon Lady Cowper or receiving one from the Princess Esterhazy, he expressed an interest in hearing all about it. But if she didn’t mention where she was going or where she had been, Hawk didn’t press her for information.
Now she wondered if his presence alone would affect her popularity. Never before had she lacked a partner at a ball or an assembly. But some of her flirts might be put off by a husband’s proximity, particularly when the husband was a gentleman as large as Hawk and had, moreover, a reputation for being handy with his fists. And if they were not put off, what, then? Hiding a smile, she remembered several gentlemen who were especially audacious. How would Hawk respond to their attentions toward his wife? A tiny thrill of anticipation shot up her spine as several potential scenes leapt to her imagination.
However, as matters transpired that evening, there was no cause for her to bother her head about such things. Not that she was ignored, for she was not. Hawk danced with her once, a country dance, then seemed content just to watch her enjoy herself while he introduced Ramsay to various persons who could be expected to provide the lad with unexceptionable entertainment in the days ahead. Despite his earlier complaints, Ramsay enjoyed himself hugely, and when Mollie caught Hawk’s twinkling eye upon her midway through the evening, just after Ramsay had led a pretty, lively damsel into an energetic round dance, she grinned back at him, knowing he expected her to be pleased by his efforts. He did not ask her to dance with him again, but she frequently saw him watching her while he conversed first with one old acquaintance, then another.
She had had a doubt or two earlier when Hawk had said he would enjoy watching her cut a dash, but it seemed now as if he had meant it. Lady Bridget preferred the cardroom, so Mollie saw little of her, and as time passed, the evening grew more lively. There were a number of scandalized exclamations when the Countess de Lieven and Cupid Palmerston took to the floor in a lively waltz, the first such occasion in the staid assembly room. They were soon joined by Lady Jersey and her partner, however, and then the Princess Esterhazy and hers, and before long many of those who knew the steps, including Mollie and Sir James Smithers, were whirling around the floor, laughing and exchanging comments about the controversial dance. Naturally, there were still many who disapproved, but their comments were kept to a minimum once it was seen that the haughty patronesses had decided to allow waltzing within the hallowed precincts. Indeed, the only sour note all evening, as far as Mollie was concerned, was provided by Lady Andrew, who, coming upon Lord Ramsay unexpectedly, demanded in carrying tones to know what he thought he was doing in town.
“I daresay you were sent down,” she declared, lifting her chin. “Cutting scandalous capers, no doubt.”
“No, ma’am,” Ramsay answered politely. He was carrying two cups of orgeat, one for himself and one for Mollie, having been sent to fetch them by Lord Alvanley, who had given it as his opinion that Lady Hawk was in need of refreshment and a quiet sit-down. Mollie, sitting beside his lordship now, saw Ramsay’s plight and excused herself to go to his assistance.
“Good evening, Beatrix. Is one of those for me, Ramsay? Perhaps her ladyship would like the other?”
“No need to put the boy up to politeness he hasn’t thought for himself, Margaret. I have just been telling him he ought not to be here at all.”
“I told her I wasn’t sent down,” Ramsay said, his tone long-suffering, “but she will have it that if I weren’t here under false pretenses, she’d have been informed of my presence in town.”
“But how can you not have known?” Mollie asked, looking at the older woman in surprise.
“Because no one saw fit to inform me, and because this young man has not got manners enough to pay a proper call,” Lady Andrew declared. “I’ve every intention of telling your brother just what I think of such rag manners, sir. I cannot imagine what he is about to allow you to leave school like this.”
“It was not his decision, but mine,” retorted Ramsay, goaded.
“Stuff and nonsense. As if you would be here if he disapproved.”
That statement being unanswerable, Mollie and Ramsay both felt Lady Andrew had had the last word. They did not allow her to dampen their spirits, however, and greeted Lady Gwendolyn Worthing and her placid husband some moments later with enthusiasm.
Though neither Mollie nor Ramsay could think for a moment that Lady Andrew had not made good her threat to speak to Hawk, he said nothing of such a conversation to either of them. Indeed, in the days ahead, as their social activities increased, he often seemed uninterested in his wife’s and his brother’s whereabouts. As often as not, his pursuits did not march with theirs. He might begin an evening in their company, but later he would take himself off with one crony or another, leaving Mollie to the attentions of her favorite flirt of the moment and Ramsay more and more to his own devices.
Instead of finding herself at ease with the situation, Mollie soon discovered that Hawk’s indifference became irksome, and she began to do what she could to bring him to his senses. She carried a fan and flirted outrageously with all manner of persons at Lady Sefton’s ball. Then, later that same evening, at a rout in Berkeley Square, she singled out the elegant Mr. Brummell for a half hour’s dalliance. He seemed amused by her efforts, and so, unfortunately, by the look of him, did her husband.
