At least one footman seemed to understand. ‘I’ll check in the cloakroom,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Gratefully, she hurried after him, trying not to worry about what might be happening upstairs. How many girls had passed through to the Throne Room since she’d left? She knew there was a strict order of precedence. The list was planned based on the lineage of each debutante’s sponsor. Duchesses were received first by His Majesty and then marchionesses and countesses preceded ladies. Primrose’s mother was an Honourable, and so Lady Cora – and Georgina – were ahead of her in the line.
Time was running out.
Georgina felt dizzy and slightly sick. Her heart seemed to be roaring in her ears as she suddenly realised how very reckless she’d been to set off on this wild goose chase. Did she really think she would find a card that no one else had seen fall?
Why on earth had she been so foolish? It was like waking up inside a nightmare. Poor Aunt Cora would be in a terrible state.
Too late, she realised that her impetuous action could very easily spoil the entire evening’s proceedings.
She had no choice but to admit defeat and to race back up the stairs, hoping against hope that something dire hadn’t happened.
‘Excuse me, m’lady?’
Georgina was at the foot of the staircase when she heard a voice behind her.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’
Spinning around, she met a very young footman holding out a pink card. She saw Hermione and Primrose’s names in a copperplate script, and nearly fainted with relief.
‘Thank you,’ she said breathlessly, and without wasting valuable time asking where the footman had found it, she grabbed the card and dashed up the grand staircase again with as much unseemly haste as her long skirts would allow.
Panting, she arrived in the White Drawing Room and saw, to her horror, that all the seats ahead of her were empty. Her Aunt Cora was standing, holding her card and bouquet, looking more anxious and put out than Georgina had ever seen her.
‘I’ve got it!’ Georgina called, waving the card high and then thrusting it at Primrose, before hurrying to her aunt. ‘Am I too late?’
‘Of course you’re too late,’ Lady Cora told her coldly.
No. Georgina was instantly jealous of women who could faint at the drop of a hat. She didn’t want to be here at this moment. She would do anything to escape this ghastly humiliation.
Her aunt said stiffly, ‘We’re on the brink of being struck off the list.’
On the brink?
Was there still a glimmer of hope?
There was certainly no time for apologies, and Georgina very much doubted that her aunt was in any mood to hear an apology if she’d tried to offer one. Without another word, Lady Cora handed her the bouquet and prodded her to move forward towards the doorway where the court usher stood stiffly in full regalia, his steely gaze signalling his severe disapproval.
How long had he been waiting for her?
How long had the King and Queen been kept waiting?
The usher stepped closer and ran a stern eye over Georgina, checking her appearance. She prayed that she didn’t look too flushed, that her headpiece hadn’t slipped sideways, that a curl hadn’t come unpinned.
The usher showed no sign that he approved of her, but he took her train and began to arrange it behind her.
A faint wave of relief washed over her as he completed this task and Lady Cora, at her most regal, handed him her card. ‘Lady Cora Harlow presenting the Honourable Georgina Lenton.’
Turning back to the doorway, the usher presented the card to another powdered footman, who carried it with great ceremony to the Lord Chamberlain.
Through the open doorway, Georgina could just see the Lord Chamberlain looking splendid in a black uniform embroidered with gold leaves as he frowned at the card and then announced in a deep booming baritone: ‘Lady Cora Harlow presenting the Honourable Georgina Lenton.’
So, here it was – happening at last. And now she simply mustn’t put another foot wrong.
Desperately trying to remember everything she’d been taught, Georgina proceeded smoothly forward into the Throne Room that was, predictably, even more magnificent than any of the preceding rooms.
The cavernous space was filled with nobility dressed in glittering uniforms and gowns. The King and Queen were seated on gold chairs on a red-carpeted stage at one distant end. Brilliant chandeliers were reflected in mirrors. Georgina fancied the Queen was smiling, but the King looked rather serious.
She was aware of a buzz of talk in the room and, again, she wondered how long Their Majesties had been kept waiting for her. Somewhere out there in the throng of tiaras and medals were her parents, but she concentrated on the small golden crown woven into the carpet, which marked the spot where she had to come to a halt and to curtsey.
Now, she was grateful for the tedious lessons at the dancing school and all those hours of learning how to keep her back straight as she bent her knee. To her relief she didn’t wobble as she bowed her head in the deepest part of the curtsey, and she remembered to smile at the King as she rose again.
For a moment, she imagined that he was going to speak to her – possibly reprimand her – but she was either mistaken or he changed his mind.
Then it was a matter of taking three careful steps to the right without stepping on her train, before going through the same deep curtsey again for Queen Elizabeth. The Queen looked especially lovely this evening in cream and gold, with a diamond tiara and diamonds at her ears, throat and wrists. She remained smiling warmly throughout.
And suddenly, it was all over and Georgina was walking away, remembering to hold her bouquet low in front of her and to not turn her back on the royal couple.
After all the fuss and bother, it was done in a flash. Already, behind her, the Lord Chamberlain was announcing: ‘The Honourable Hermione Cavendish presenting Miss Primrose Cavendish.’
The fuss and bother resumed, however, just as soon as Georgina was cornered by her mother in the nearby chamber where the champagne supper was held.
There was no kiss or hug. Not a word of congratulations. Her mother, appearing especially elegant in a soft dove-grey gown and rubies, looked as upset as Hermione Cavendish had such a short time earlier. ‘What on earth happened?’
In self-defence, Georgina chose to misunderstand. ‘Happened? What do you mean?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Georgina. You held up the entire presentation. There was such a gap after Lady Sarah Courtbridge presented Lucinda. Everyone’s talking about it. Such a terrible scandal. What happened?’ Her voice was shrill and shaking. ‘Did you faint? Were you ill?’
Georgina shot a quick glance to Lady Cora, hoping for her support, but her aunt remained silent and her usually eloquent face was, for once, hard to read.
So Georgina explained as gently as she could. ‘Primrose lost her card, so I went back to look for it.’
‘You went back?’
‘Poor Primrose was in such a state, Mummy, and her mother was having kittens. I knew the card had to be somewhere downstairs.’
‘So you rushed off without a thought for the embarrassment you’d cause me and your father.’
‘I’m afraid I was thinking of Primrose and her mother’s embarrassment.’
Lady Lenton sniffed. ‘Hermione and Primrose are fine. As far as the court is concerned, they weren’t the ones who held up the proceedings.’ She shot an angry glance at her sister-in-law. ‘Couldn’t you have stopped her, Cora?’
Cora sighed. ‘Not without making an unpleasant scene. And perhaps you should think about that now, Lavinia. We don’t want to attract any more attention.’
Georgina’s mother ignored this and gave an exasperated shake of her head. ‘The Lord Chamberlain’s staff would have made out a new card for the Cavendishes.’
‘Would they? Really?’ Georgina swallowed guiltily. ‘I didn’t think of that. No one mentioned it. I thought Primrose would have to miss out on
being presented.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Her mother gave a helpless roll of her eyes. ‘If you hadn’t been so impetuous, someone might have had a chance to explain. As it is, I’m going to be pestered all night with questions. And heaven knows what scandalous comment will show up in The Times tomorrow morning.’
Oh, help. Georgina hadn’t given a thought to The Times, but she knew there would be a full-page report of the evening at court. Forlornly, she remembered her mother’s great joy last year when the details of Alice’s gown had been lovingly reported. Alice had been described as ‘one of the most beautiful debutantes of the season’.
Instead of pride, Mummy will only feel shame because of me.
But before she could sink to the very depths of despair, her father came up to their group, looking handsome in his full dress uniform and, without hesitation, he gave Georgina a kiss and a loving smile.
‘Well done, my darling,’ he said warmly. ‘My only sadness tonight is that my little companion, George, has become a woman. We’ll probably never see you now, you’ll be so in demand.’
Georgina’s heart swelled with gratitude and love. Her father had called her George from when she was little, mainly, she’d imagined, because she loved to be outdoors, playing with the boys whenever possible. Of course, as she’d grown older, she’d come to realise that her father would have loved a son, so a tomboy daughter was probably the next best thing. For whatever reason, she and her father had always enjoyed a special bond, while Alice had always been her mother’s ‘dream daughter’.
And now Primrose rushed up, her big brown eyes glowing with excitement. ‘Thank you,’ she cried, squeezing Georgina in a breath-robbing hug. ‘You saved my life. Or my head.’ Primrose laughed. ‘You certainly saved my face.’
Georgina’s mother sniffed loudly.
Georgina tried to enjoy the supper. After all, it was very grand and grown up to be surrounded by so many bejewelled duchesses and decorated generals – and in such a beautiful room, with huge mirrors reflecting the enormous flower arrangements that had, apparently, been specially ordered by the Queen and must have taken weeks to create.
There were powdered footmen to serve champagne at long damask-covered tables, and guests were eating delicate sandwiches and daintily filled pastry cases on small white plates decorated with a rim of gold crowns. Georgina might have enjoyed herself if she hadn’t been so aware of the muttering and whispers behind ostrich-feather fans, but she kept her distance from the whisperers. She didn’t want to know what the mothers and sponsors were saying.
To her relief, Aunt Cora eventually approached her with a sympathetic smile. ‘Oh, dear. If I hear your mother try to apologise for you one more time, I think I might scream.’
‘But I thought you were upset with me, too.’
‘Oh, darling, I was: for ten minutes, which was more time than was warranted. I’ve told your mother as much, but I’m afraid she’s intent on making everything worse by fretting so publicly. She’s practically handfeeding the gossip to The Times.’
Georgina’s sense of guilt tightened like a crushing band around her chest.
Her aunt, watching her with concern, said more gently, ‘I was being facetious. Don’t worry about it, my dear.’ She waved a gloved hand at a nearby table. ‘Have you tried one of these delightful fruit jellies?’
The jellies were indeed delicious, but her mother’s anxiety hovered over Georgina like a dark cloud and the pressure didn’t ease until they finally left the palace for Lucinda Courtbridge’s presentation party at the Savoy.
Such a relief it was then to unhook her train at last and to leave it in the hotel cloakroom along with her veil and feathers and posy. Now, while a jazz band played swing tunes like ‘One Day When We Were Young’, Georgina could finally dance – first with her father and with Uncle Teddy, and then with Primrose’s brother James, with her rather dishy cousin Gus Harlow and eventually with a succession of young men she barely knew.
The formalities were over, the band was lively, and the young men looked dashing in their tail coats and white ties. Georgina had fun, swinging to jazz tunes and literally kicking up her heels.
It was well after midnight when her parents eventually took her home. By then, her mother had mellowed at last and all was pretty much back to normal.
Georgina woke when Hettie came in with breakfast on a tray.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said softly. ‘Her Ladyship sent me to wake you.’
Georgina stared at her blankly for a moment and then sat up with a start. ‘Oh, no.’ Already she was flinging the bedclothes aside. ‘What time is it?’
‘Eleven o’clock, Miss Georgina.’
‘My mother must have read The Times. Oh, Hettie, is she in a terrible state?’
Hettie frowned. ‘I’m not sure, Miss.’
‘So you haven’t heard anything about the report in The Times, about last night’s presentation?’
‘No.’
‘There hasn’t been talk in the kitchen?’ Georgina knew that Groves, the butler, always read The Times.
Hettie shook her head. ‘No news about your coming out. I’m afraid they were all buzzing about Germany.’
Georgina still didn’t find this very reassuring. Of course there was news about Germany. It was in the papers every day. But she needed to know her own fate. Ignoring the tray Hettie had set beside her bed, she pulled on her embroidered-silk dressing-gown and thrust her feet into slippers.
‘I’ll have to go and speak to my mother. I can’t eat until I know the worst.’
Leaving a gaping-mouthed maid – she didn’t even bother to wash her face or brush her hair – she hurried out of her room and down the carpeted corridor to her parents’ rooms, where she knocked.
‘Who is it?’ called her mother.
‘It’s just me. Georgina.’
‘Come in, dear.’
Cautiously, Georgina opened the door to find her mother sitting up in bed, propped by pillows, with a pink crocheted bed jacket around her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hand. Her father, wrapped in an emerald satin dressing-gown, was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a copy of The Times.
Her mother looked pale and not exactly happy.
Still clutching the door handle, Georgina wished she’d had the forethought to take a fortifying sip of tea before she’d rushed here. Her knees were shaking, but she tried to sound calm. ‘What does The Times have to say?’ she asked softly.
With a weary sigh, her mother set her teacup in its saucer. ‘There’s not a word,’ she said, her eyes signalling shock.
Georgina almost sagged against the doorframe with relief. ‘That is good news.’
‘It’s astonishing,’ said her mother. ‘It’s such a snub.’
‘But surely you didn’t want them to —’ Georgina began, but her mother interrupted.
‘Georgina, there’s nothing at all about last night’s court.’ She almost knocked her teacup as she flung an arm dramatically wide. ‘The entire newspaper has been taken over by this dreadful business in Europe.’
‘What’s happened now?’
Her father turned to her and waved the paper’s front page. ‘Germany’s invaded Czechoslovakia,’ he said gravely. ‘Last night, while you and Cora were waiting in the forecourt, Adolf Hitler’s troops were marching into Prague.’
5
It was close to dusk when Lucy drove her mum’s car to Sam’s place, but the blazing tropical sun was still bright in the western sky and she needed to adjust the visor to block the glare. Zipping through the familiar suburbs, she passed her old primary school, the sports oval where she’d played junior soccer, and the busy corner on Bayswater Road where she’d come off her bike and broken her collarbone.
She found it strange, after living in a country where every sight was alien or dangerous or challenging, to once again see familiar, predictable landmarks at every turn. A heady luxury, too, to be able to stop at a bottle shop – Lucy felt almost reckless wal
king into a store where she could buy any alcoholic drink that took her fancy. She settled on a sixpack of Sam’s favourite Japanese beer, a chilled bottle of champagne and a good quality red. After all, she would probably end up staying at Sam’s place for the whole weekend.
As she approached his street, knots tightened in her stomach but she told herself they were caused by excitement, not nerves. Just the same, she held her breath as she rounded the corner, only letting it out when she saw Sam’s Volkswagen Golf parked in the driveway.
He was home, waiting for her. She gave a happy sigh and felt her body relax. Everything was okay. Of course it was.
As soon as she pulled up, Sam’s front door opened and there he stood, with his special brand of hot and sexy, and his heartbreaking smile. Lucy’s breath caught in her throat and her skin tingled and tightened.
She had it bad for this guy. It was how she’d been from their first date and she still considered it a miracle that he’d chased her.
Now, too excited to be sedate, she leaped from the car, slammed the door behind her and rushed up the driveway.
Then everything happened just as she’d hoped. She was in Sam’s arms and they were kissing, hugging, their bodies pressing close as they breathlessly stumbled inside. Wrapped in Sam’s arms, Lucy pushed the door closed with her foot, dropped her car keys onto a hall table and they headed straight for Sam’s bed.
‘Hello,’ she whispered, much later, as they lay together in the darkness, spent and languid in the afterglow.
Sam gave a soft chuckle. ‘Yeah . . . hello.’
‘That was some welcome home.’ Lucy pressed a kiss to his warm, bare shoulder. ‘Thank you. I’ve missed you. So much.’
‘Me too.’
Of course they’d talked about missing each other before this, in emails and phone calls while she was away, but now, as Lucy nestled closer, she felt compelled to state the obvious. ‘At last I’m home for good. No more deployments on the horizon.’
When Sam made no comment she held up her left hand. In the soft shimmer of light coming down the hallway from the kitchen, she caught a tiny wink of sparkle from her engagement ring. ‘I’m really looking forward to making proper plans, about where we’re going to live and . . . and everything.’
The Secret Years Page 4
