Miss Pennington bowed, and said, “I believe we have met, and apologize for not remembering.”
Lucretia bridled. “Oh, you are forgiven. It is the curse of those of us so modest and shy, never to be noticed. You have no idea how lucky you are, Catherine! Come Lucasta, let us not be dawdling in front of the books forever, it is quite unfair to the others here.”
Lucretia drew her protesting sister aside: Lucasta wanted to look at a book she had been dying to read, if only Lucretia wouldn’t maul her about. Whispering fiercely, the sisters walked down an aisle, leaving Kitty looking in worry at Miss Pennington’s pursed mouth and stiff posture, wondering how she’d managed to step wrong.
But hard on that thought Miss Pennington smiled, saying in a friendly tone, “Pray give Miss Amelia my regards, Lady Catherine, and tell her that my sister is quite counting upon her company at her own come-out three days hence...”
SIXTEEN
And so several days sped by, each with its walks, rides, and parties. Twice Lady Chadwick entertained. Once she invited the Bouldestons, and the favor was returned. Kitty found herself involved in a constant round of select concerts, soirees, dinners, and impromptu dances as well as balls. She began to notice that though occasionally she saw Lucretia at the larger parties, the Bouldestons rarely seemed to count among the guests at the smaller affairs.
Rain set in. On the fourth morning after three very wet days, the young ladies were longing to get out. Kitty had been invited by Miss Melissa Atherton, sister of Lord Badgerwood, to join a party of friends bent on hunting for bargains at the Pantheon Bazaar.
Clarissa had long known Melissa, whose house lay directly across the street. It was not the sort of outing she sought, but she had been gratified by the way Kitty turned to her with hope widening her expressive eyes, clearly wanting her to accept the invitation as well. But Clarissa had been engaged to visit the British Museum with her betrothed.
Clarissa would have preferred the relative space and air of the park, but was not going to get it while in his company, for Lord Wilburfolde was convinced by his mother that the source of all illness lurked outdoors. Clarissa longed to lose herself in the verdure just coming into bloom.
She had agreed Lord Wilburfolde’s proposed outing in a spirit of anger, of self-punishment, partly for not having yet answered that officious letter of his mother’s, but also for permitting her mind to stray to Kitty’s brother after Kitty received letters from home. Speculation, she had discovered too late, hurts just as much as hope.
The hurt was still there, but the anger had cooled, leaving her aware that no one had put her into this position but herself. By night she worried at mad schemes—throwing him over, weathering the storm of comment and shame—by day she would brace herself, thinking, I cannot expose my family to the inevitable talk. Surely marriage will not be so very terrible. The Wilburfoldes are a respected family in our parish... But an hour in his company never failed to give her a headache, because every word he spoke, every action, was a reminder of what life with Lady Wilburfolde would be like.
A good woman would liberate him from his mother’s control, a strong woman. Clarissa knew herself to be neither, but even if she had been, should one liberate someone who gives every appearance of contentment within his cage?
At the end of a long day, the young ladies met again in the front parlor. Kitty was sharing her finds with Amelia and Eliza.
Clarissa, taking off her bonnet, said, “Did you find anything of interest?”
“Only some fresh ribbons, some new feathers, and these pearl rosettes that look quite real, don’t you think? I thought I might put them on my old traveling bonnet, which I cannot bear to part with, but which I know looks sadly shabby. I was very careful with my purchases, which is boring, I know. The fun came in watching Miss Atherton, who bought all manner of things.”
“Melissa will buy anything if she is convinced it is a bargain,” Clarissa said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “I expect most of her purchases will be judged hideous once she got them home, and will be given straight to the maids.”
Kitty laughed. “I hope they might find a use for strings of red beads, and Egyptian scarabs.” Her manner altered to polite concern. “Did you find the Museum interesting?”
Clarissa dropped her hands, lest her headache be noticed, exclaimed upon, and unwanted nostrums offered. She knew the cause.
So what to say? She had found it interesting, or would have, had not Edmund considered it necessary to read aloud to her the cards labeling each exhibit, as if she could not read them herself, after which he would inform her what his mother would expect her to think. Lady Wilburfolde had opinions on everything, quite remarkable for a woman who kept to her room most days, never opening a window. The sights had reawakened the desire to board a ship for distant vistas, but all Clarissa said was, “Very instructive.”
The next morning, accompanied by Amelia, they went out for a ride, Kitty taking Lady Chadwick’s well-mannered hack. The ground was still too muddy for walking, but everywhere they encountered other riders, and a variety of carriages. Everyone in town had been taken by the same wish for the fresh air—or for the sight of others in want of air.
When they reached the park, Clarissa experienced a strong impulse to gallop. She knew it for a wish to escape to the countryside. As it was, they scarcely went ten feet before encountering acquaintances who all seemed to have something to say to Kitty, Amelia, or both.
From the opposite direction came a dashing curricle drawn by a magnificent pair of matched bays. Clarissa recognized the equipage—and there was Cousin Philip driving, with the elegant young Colonel Lord Petersham riding beside him.
Kitty had begun by noticing the fine horses, then the phaeton. Her attention was drawn to the driver who handled the high-bred horses with such apparent ease, and she experienced a rush of interest, a flurry of heartbeats when she recognized Mr. Devereaux’s broad-shouldered silhouette in the many-caped driving coat.
Looked at from the safety of a distance, he really was as handsome as everyone said. She could not look away, she had to take in every detail of the beaver worn at the correct angle on his dark hair, the way it somehow emphasized the strength of the bones in his face, the smooth gloves so assured on the reins, and the hint of a flawlessly fitted riding coat within the greatcoat when he lifted his arm to check a start from the leader. When her gaze lifted again, it was to encounter his own, and she quickly looked down at her own hand on the reins, embarrassed at the hot tide of color she could not prevent flooding her face.
She hoped her bonnet hid it. He was handsome, that was true, but her foremost emotion now was a sharp bond of sympathy with all the females said to be languishing over him.
She did not wish to be one of them.
Amelia, however, was more forthright. Not that she desired to marry Mr. Devereaux. He was too intimidating for that, besides being nearly ten years older than she was—an eternity—but she knew how important he was in the social world, and so she beckoned to him imperiously with her whip. She knew he would not snub her, being family; her objective was to not only to be seen talking to him, but to secure an introduction to Lord Petersham, who was rarely known to show interest in debutantes.
The curricle was obligingly pulled up, the introductions made. Amelia then exerted every nerve to keep the gentleman in conversation.
While that was going on, Mr. Devereaux asked after the family, and when Clarissa had given a slight, polite reply, he said, “I trust you still find amusement in town, Lady Catherine?”
Kitty glanced at Amelia, who was just now affecting fashionable ennui, which accorded oddly with her flushed face and triumphant glances. She hid the impulse to laugh, and said, “I do indeed, sir.”
“... and tomorrow we are to make our debut at Almack’s,” Amelia was saying with a languishing sigh. “Everyone says it is the greatest bore.”
“Then you are greatly to be pitied,” Lord Petersham murmured so dulcetly that Ameli
a was not aware of satire. Besides, she had caught sight of that odious Lucasta Bouldeston, whom she already detested, and so she went on to illustrate just how bored she expected to be.
When she paused for breath, Mr. Devereaux said, “You will be making your debut there as well, Lady Catherine?”
“Yes,” Kitty said.
“I trust you will not find it too boring.”
“How could anyone find dancing—” Kitty began, then remembered that Lucretia had called Almack’s The Marriage Mart. What bachelor who has been pursued for years would want to go there if he did not deem it his duty?
Kitty broke off in confusion and Amelia, who had been impatiently waiting to take over the conversation again, began a castigation of the poor refreshments to be expected at Almack’s, ending with what she hoped was the assurance of town-bronze, “Oh, Lady Kitty, he is never seen there.”
Mr. Devereaux bowed to Amelia. “I am only there when I may be assured a dance with three charming young ladies.”
Kitty merely nodded, accepting the words as polite nothings, but Amelia was more forthright. “Then you may be certain I shall save a dance for you, sir.”
The horses were restive; the gentlemen excused themselves with polite tips of their hats, and the two parties separated.
“Mama must have prevailed upon him,” Amelia said triumphantly. “Capital! If he does appear and dance with us, then it will make Lucasta look no-how—” She caught a look of embarrassment in Clarissa’s face before she glanced away, and recollected herself. “Well. I apologize, Lady Kitty, for I know she is a friend of yours. If she would not say such horrid things—no, Clarissa, I will be silent.”
o0o
“Oh, my dear Clarissa,” Mrs. Latchmore said as their coach jostled in the long line toward the plain Palladian-style front of Almack’s. “It is a pity our dear Lord Wilburfolde was claimed by relations this very night. You are so good to be dedicating yourself to your sister and guest when you must wish to be at his side.”
Clarissa was puzzled to know how to answer that, and the other two were looking at their hands as if their futures lay written on their gloves. She was saved by another jolt, and the rattle of the door.
“You could alight here,” Thomas the footman declared. “The flagway is swept.”
Before Mrs. Latchmore could protest about their gowns, Clarissa said, “We are capable of walking another ten feet. It is a fine night.”
Amelia was as eager as Kitty to see the inside of the famous assembly at last, and was far more forthright about being first to walk inside, once they had left their wraps. She raised her fan and plied it nervously as she scanned the knots of early arrivals for anyone she might know.
Kitty looked around more slowly, and when Clarissa whispered, “Are you impressed?” Kitty glanced into her face, detected the hint of satire, and smothered a smile behind her hand.
“I thought it would be grander,” she admitted.
“It is not termed the Marriage Mart for the excellence of the architecture,” Clarissa observed dryly as Mrs. Latchmore fussed and fretted about the best place to sit.
Kitty’s scrutiny shifted to the crowd, which seemed so far to comprise young ladies in light-colored gowns, dotted here and there by a blue coat.
‘The Marriage Mart.’ It was a vulgar notion, but not inapt because of the quick, darted looks, the sudden smiles and trilling laughs, voices in sharp tones, or languishing, raised slightly to catch and hold the attention. Kitty could not prevent her mind from offering the comparison of peaches and apples and pears on display for sale. She knew that such a thought was as vulgar as the appellation, and further, here she was adding to their number, her own gaze having swept the room in expectation of partners.
But that is to dance, she thought. She loved dancing, loved the easy talk. She had formed the notion of finding a wealthy gentleman when she first accepted Clarissa’s invitation to come to London, knowing that marriage was the business of young ladies, especially if one wished to help one’s brother. Nor were those of her sex to be faulted for doing what they must to catch the attention of eligible gentlemen.
But the reality was so very daunting. She could not bring herself to make up to some fellow in whom she held no genuine interest, in hopes of one day spending his money. The idea seemed... horrid.
Kitty took her seat, lost in reverie as she considered all that had been hidden hitherto. She loved her brothers, and must expect to live with them always. Of course if Carlisle were to marry Lucretia, that would change things, but surely, as a marchioness, Lucretia would have something better to occupy her time than require Kitty to listen to her singing, or even her brag. And Tarval Hall, say what you like about its shabbiness, was large. Kitty could find plenty to do in her own rooms, and they might only meet at mealtimes.
Her thoughts splintered when the musicians made noises preparatory to starting up, and Lady Sefton approached to perform the introduction that would permit Amelia and Kitty to dance.
Kitty was so self-conscious that all her attention was reserved for her curtsy as she regarded the fine stockings before her, below satin knee breeches and a gala coat. Her gaze flicked upward to meet a humorous pair of brown eyes.
Lady Sefton, having done her duty, turned her attention to Lady Chadwick, leaving Kitty staring incomprehensibly.
Clarissa had begun to understand her friend fairly well by now, and so she said gently, “Kitty, this is a trifle awkward, but I think you will understand, and forbear. Perhaps you were unaware that Lord Arden is one of your maternal relations? And here is Mr. Fleming, who is also a kind of family connection, I believe?”
“Very distant,” Mr. Fleming said with a bow. “But I’ve run tame at Carlisle Hall since we were boys, as we are also neighbors.”
“I hope you will forgive me for begging Lady Sefton to introduce us,” Lord Arden said. “I cry craven, hiding behind a lady, but you have to know it was entirely motivated by pure feelings. Well, that and a wish to pass myself off as respectable.”
Kitty smiled at Lord Arden’s sally, causing his expression of polite inquiry warm to an answering smile, and she wondered if gentlemen might feel on display, too? For what would one feel like if a young lady turned down his offer to dance—to marry?
Was that why Clarissa accepted Lord Wilburfolde? To spare his feelings?
“Now that our bona fides are established, may I have the honor, Cousin?” Lord Arden asked.
Kitty happily accepted, Mr. Fleming asked Clarissa, who bowed acquiescence, and they joined the line forming for the Cotillion.
“Who is Amelia’s partner?” Kitty said to Clarissa.
“Henry Brocklehurst, a friend to the Seftons.”
Amelia was farther down the line, next to a young lady who was dressed in a light muslin gown, simple in form, but stylish, edged with Grecian motifs.
The dance claimed them, and Lord Arden said, “I am relieved to see you smile, I have to confess, Cousin. When I took courage in hand to approach you, I perceived a formidable countenance.”
“I?” Kitty couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I was merely thinking.”
“May one inquire the topic?”
“‘The Marriage Mart.’ I was wondering if gentlemen think about coming here to look over the display in a quest for wives.”
Lord Arden glanced at her in surprise, then they were separated by the movement of the dance. He saw her catch her lower lip between her teeth, and when they came together again for the hands across, she said, “I beg your pardon. That was assuredly indelicate. I’ve only had the company of brothers, you see, and I know very well that what they say about us, when among themselves, can be different than what they say to us.”
Lord Arden, who had sisters, could not help but laugh. “And is it not the same for ladies?”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “Though perhaps not quite the same?”
Her glance was full of fun, her smile both sweet and mischievous. Lord Arden had come as a result of a wager, for t
he older generation had fired the younger generation’s interest by their vehement declaration: The Carlisle family does not acknowledge the Decourceys.
Of course anyone with spirit must take that as a challenge, and besides, the rumor that had flown about that one of the mysterious Decourceys was actually in town had been accompanied by the assurance that she was a diamond just as her mother had been. And so, in a spirit of fun he’d accepted Fleming’s wager and begged Lady Sefton for the introduction.
By the end of the dance they had come to such a high degree of friendly understanding that he went away to extol her charms as he collected his winnings.
The ladies having sat down again, Kitty caught the high, restless laughter of the very young lady in the daring gown, and asked, “Who is that, pray?”
Mrs. Latchmore sniffed. “That would be Lady Caroline Ponsonby, part of the Devonshire House ménage. The duchess brought that horrid style back from Paris, but no unmarried girl ought to wear such a thing here.”
“Except that one is,” Amelia pointed out, quite reasonably, Kitty thought.
Mrs. Latchmore observed in an angry undertone that if Miss Pert had any more to offer on such a topic, she could speak it in Brook Street, and they would depart at once.
Providentially, the shy young Sir Oliver Standish approached Amelia just then. And as the baronet had not only recently inherited his title but a vast fortune, Mrs. Latchmore’s manner altered remarkably.
A stir went through the company, heads turning sharply enough for feathers in headdresses to twitch and bob. Kitty leaned out to see what attracted the eye. In the center of a party of gentlemen was the now-recognizable figure of Mr. Brummel, not very tall, his hair rather more sandy than brown, but his evening dress was faultless. Equally faultless, and a hand taller, was Mr. Philip Devereaux. Kitty looked away so that she would not be caught staring twice.
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