Regency Society Revisited

by Susanne Marie Knight

  Mrs. Piedmont took Serenity's unwilling hands to further her request. “Please, my dear. I know I can count on you to hasten Cupid's arrows."

  Serenity managed to keep her comment hidden, waiting until Mrs. Piedmont was out of the townhouse. Then, she let loose. “Maggie, have you ever seen such a woman? What nerve. A perfect end to a dreadful day!"

  "T'wasn't so awful for me, Miss Serry. I rather liked dressing up."

  Smiling at Maggie, Serenity stood to shake the lassitude from her limbs and looked forward to relaxing in a hot tub.

  The butler entered one more time to announce the latest visitor.

  Was it—?

  "Colonel Jenkins,” Beasley intoned, admitting the military man.

  Oh, darn. She quickly put on her company face. “Colonel Jenkins, how nice to see you again. May I introduce Mrs. Morley?"

  Her maid's sudden gasp took Serenity by surprise.

  "I'm afraid I must go upstairs. So sorry! Pray forgive me,” Maggie's voice positively quaked.

  Stunned at Maggie's speedy departure, Serenity awkwardly shrugged her shoulders. “I do apologize, but I fear it's not the thing for me to entertain by myself, Colonel Jenkins. Conventions being what they are...."

  Maybe he'd take the hint and leave. Whatever was wrong with Maggie? Serenity couldn't wait to know.

  "I have an idea, Mrs. Steele. Wanted to ask you out for a tool about the park anyway. Why don't we go now?” Colonel Jenkins glanced around at her crowded floral displays. “Enjoyed our conversation yesterday. Lots more we can talk about. Can't let the others steal a march on me."

  She couldn't think of a polite way to excuse herself, so she reluctantly agreed. “I'll just go get my pelisse."

  Dashing upstairs to her room, she stopped short when Maggie wasn't waiting for her. Serenity questioned the housemaid, the footman, and Beasley, but no one knew Maggie's whereabouts.

  How strange! Serenity had to place her curiosity on hold, and joined Colonel Jenkins for a turn about Hyde Park.

  * * * *

  Nicholas had hoped to find Serry Steele at his parent's mansion. Instead, in addition to the regular household, he spotted the oldest Wycliffe sibling resting in the Blue Velvet Drawing Room. Lady Amaryllis Sedgwick was so much at ease that her unslippered toes, precariously perched on a dainty table, curled and uncurled in tempo with the crackling fire. Amaryllis also had Zeena and Lady Rotterham for company.

  Sir Cecil Sedgwick was in a far corner, engrossed in the morning edition of The Times. He raised his bushy eyebrows at Nicholas's entrance and muttered, “How y'do, Brockton?” Then he returned his attention to the newspaper without waiting for the reply.

  Knowing his sister's husband as well as he did, Nicholas surmised that today's Times featured an article on some form of agriculture.

  Amaryllis uncurled her toes and jumped up to give him a hearty kiss. She resembled him more than his other sisters did. Her grey eyes sparkled and her hair was decidedly darker than Georgiana's or Zeena's blonde locks. No, the adjective “ethereal” could hardly apply to Amaryllis. Damn chit also viewed him with less awe than the others—being privileged to see in his nankeens, so many years ago. Still, she was a good sort.

  "Nicky, you old devil. You are still handsomer than Hades himself! Sit down and tell me what you have been up to. Whom have you seduced lately?"

  Nicholas eased himself into a sofa and wondered why Amaryllis's outrageous remark drew only a mild “tsk” from his normally strict mother. He glanced over at her, disregarding Zeena's giggles. The Marchioness paid him no heed and sat with an odd smile on her face, staring at the fireplace.

  Realizing she had not greeted him, he ignored Amaryllis. “Mother, are you feeling quite the thing?"

  Lady Rotterham continued to sit as if she were alone. Zeena had another bout of the giggles.

  "Mother,” he repeated, leaning toward her and raising his hand to attract her gaze. “I asked if you are all right?"

  Amaryllis and Zeena bit their lower lips to contain their merriment. What the deuce was going on?

  His mother finally focused her eyes, and in an abstracted manner, welcomed him. “Glad to see you,” she said. Her eyes glazed over again.

  Nicholas shot a questioning look at his elder sister, but she just shrugged her shoulders. It was only when Rawlins came into the room bearing more bouquets, that the Marchioness finally became animated. Though Nicholas regaled his family with choice bits of town gossip, his mother stood up, completely disregarding him. She flapped her arms to flag down Rawlins.

  "No, no! That will never do. Rawlins, you know how the Marquess loathes flowers. Though why he does I shall never understand. So beautiful and fragile ... and fragrant."

  While everyone, except for Sedgwick, watched her with their mouths slightly ajar, she ceased her talking and was momentarily lost in contemplation. “Come, Rawlins. Let us relocate these tributes. I will not have His Lordship inconvenienced in his own home."

  Changing the subject, she turned to Nicholas and said, “So glad you offered to house Amaryllis and the dear children, Nicholas. It will not do to get Edward upset. Too much noise. Until dinner, my loves."

  Lady Rotterham waved a fluttering handkerchief and left the room with the bewildered butler.

  Nicholas slowly faced his sisters. They looked equally amazed at their mother's behavior. “Now, what was that all about?"

  His mother's cavalier treatment of him shook him to his boots. He was genuinely concerned. And for her to say he willingly offered his townhouse to Amaryllis so that six hellions could run amuck! Well, it was outside of enough.

  Zeena's lips trembled but she looked to her sister to speak. He turned his attention to Amaryllis.

  "No you don't, Zeena my dear. I have only just arrived. You tell Nicky what you told me."

  At Nicholas's insistence, Zeena lowered her head and mumbled, “I cannot be sure, of course. But I think Mama and Papa ... well, you know ... um, I think they were, er, together last night."

  Amaryllis roared her laughter. Sedgwick looked up and smiled at his wife. “Good seeing you have a wonderful time, dear.” He went back to his paper.

  Nicholas stared at Zeena, unmindful of her rising pink color. “What?” he uttered weakly.

  "Oh, you know, Nicky! They enjoyed a night of connubial bliss. This is famous. I almost regret that we will be staying at Hanover Square. I hate to miss this fun with the lovebirds,” Amaryllis chortled.

  He threw her a disgusted look. “It grieves me not if you stay here instead, Lady Sedgwick. Do satisfy your common urges for the ridiculous."

  Amaryllis sat next to him. “I see I must soothe your ruffled feathers. Do give over, brother dear. You are as prickly as a hedgehog in heat."

  Though scandalized that his youngest sister was exposed to this racy banter, Nicholas sat back on the cushions to express defeat. He was also a bit disconcerted at Amaryllis's words. They reminded him of Serenity's phrase for him: a rutting buck.

  "I believe you have the gender wrong, Ammie,” he amicably joked, exchanging an appreciative wink with Amaryllis.

  Zeena watched them quiz each other. She studied Nicholas as if seeing him for the first time. What was the girl thinking? She frowned at him.

  Standing up majestically, she smoothed down the thin material of her gown, saying dramatically, “I, for one, do not think everything is so rosy. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.” She loftily left the room.

  He shook his head and ran his hand through his thick hair. “What is the matter with her? A minute ago she was giggling as befits a ten-year-old. The next minute, she could give Lady Castlereagh a lesson in haughtiness. Women!"

  Amaryllis's mirthful countenance gave way to a thoughtful one. “I am not sure but I will wager next quarter's allowance that the chit is in love."

  After he made a rude noise, she continued, “You don't know women half as well as you think you do, Nicky. The girl is troubled. She has a faraway look in her eyes that bespea
ks an April and May connection."

  They sat quietly. Amaryllis also must have been pursuing her own private thoughts. Whom could Zeena have formed a tendre for? She had only been on the town a short while. He hoped the man was eligible.

  "My feminine intuition tells me that our dear Georgie also has the same problem,” his sister added.

  Nicholas's raised eyebrows did not stop her observations. “Yes, do you know she was not in her beloved children's company but fifteen minutes when she snapped at the girls and scolded baby Vincent?"

  On hearing this, Nicholas agreed that this was not like his sister Georgiana. He was overwhelmed learning some of the intimate concerns of his family. They always seemed so stalwart to him. So staid. So predictable.

  "So who the deuce is Georgiana hankering after?” After two years of widowhood, the poor girl did deserve a chance at happiness.

  "Don't ask me, I just arrived, remember? And, by the way, it seems to me that you are also a trifle out of sorts. Have you an unrequited love, too?"

  Brockton stood and raked his gaze over his sister's pleasantly plump form. “Madam, you go too far."

  He abruptly left. He would be damned if he had to listen to his sister's wild speculations.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Serenity had a problem—a big problem. When she returned from the drive with Colonel Jenkins yesterday, she immediately had searched for Maggie. And Maggie told her, reluctantly, that Maggie's seducer had been Jenkins.

  Damn! Serenity whirled around her bedroom, trying to figure out what to do. How could she have misjudged the man? Sure, he was a bit pompous, but that wasn't a crime. However, what he had done to Maggie and her unborn child was reprehensible.

  Poor Maggie. It must have been seven shades of a shock to see him again. Even her freckles seemed to fade into her pale face.

  Serenity gave orders to Beasley that if Colonel Jenkins came calling, she'd never be at home. Ever. Under no circumstance was he to be admitted.

  No problem there. A man without morals was not worth knowing, anyway.

  But unfortunately, she'd already agreed to attend an opera with him—tonight. How was she going to get out of it?

  She stood by her window, facing the tree-lined street. Well, she just wouldn't go. She'd have to lie. Send a note saying she was ill, or something. That should take care of the weasel.

  * * * *

  Serenity relaxed in the back sitting room of her house—the Green Sitting Room, it was formally called. Everything was decorated in varying shades of green. She spotted emerald green and olive green and yellow green. Also mint green and pine green ... and she couldn't leave out viridian.

  Ghastly! She picked this room to sit in because the front drawing room's furniture was so ... so outrageous. But which was worse? A difficult choice.

  She sighed and concentrated on her reading—some background material about the war. Sometimes research could be boring.

  Beasley unexpectedly entered and announced, “Lady Zeena Wycliffe."

  Zeena came in, opened her mouth, then closed it. “Serry!” she exclaimed, glancing around the room. “Serry, how can you bear it?” She shuddered.

  Serenity laughed. “It's either sit in here or in the room where the mummy is."

  At Zeena's widened eyes, Serenity explained, “Not a real mummy. Just the coffin."

  "The what?!"

  "The sarcophagus.” Serenity had forgotten that Zeena never saw the drawing room.

  The girl's face seemed to pick up the color of the room, so Serenity suggested, “Let's sit in the dining room. It's not so bad in there."

  They relocated into the small room. Serenity noticed her friend's dark-smudged eyes. Unhappy eyes. What had happened? “So, tell me, what's new?"

  Zeena mangled her embroidered handkerchief. “I have been thinking about what you told me. You know, at the Lyndons’ ball. I still cannot figure out what Sir Rodney has against Nicholas. You did say he called my brother a libertine."

  He also called Brockton something else, but Serenity didn't have the heart to tell Zeena.

  After Serenity nodded, Zeena continued. “I looked up ‘libertine.’ In a dictionary ... of the vulgar tongue.” She blushed, then recited, “Rake, debaucher, rakehell, profligate, scapegrace."

  Tears started to form. “Oh, Serry. I knew Nicholas was a rake. At least, everyone said so. But I thought that just meant he was ... um, successful with women. I did not think he would ever hurt anybody."

  As Zeena sobbed, Serenity put her arm around the girl. “We don't know that for sure, honey. Maybe Sir Rodney is mistaken. Maybe his definition of ‘libertine’ isn't the same as ours. You have to find out more before you condemn your brother."

  Why was she defending Nicholas Wycliffe? Well, he did mean a lot to his sister. He deserved a hearing....

  Zeena wiped her eyes. “You are right! I need more information, and tonight is the perfect time to get it. We are all going out tonight. Not Georgie, though. Baby Vincent is sick. But Mama, Nicholas, Amaryllis, Sir Cecil, and I. Imagine, Nicholas consented to escort us."

  She frowned, as if puzzling over her brother's odd behavior. “You must come with us too, Serry. Give you a chance to meet Amaryllis. You will like her. Also, Sir Rodney told me that he plans to be there. So it will be perfect. Do say you will join us."

  Zeena happy was like a warm, summer day. How could Serenity say no? “All right. Where are we going?"

  "Near here. The Covent Garden Theatre is presenting The Beggar's Opera. It is Mama's favorite. We shall pick you up at six o'clock.” She stood and gave Serenity a kiss. “Thank you, Serry."

  After Zeena left, Serenity suddenly straightened in her chair. An opera? Oh no! She had agreed to go to an opera with Colonel Jenkins. But she hadn't bothered to find out which one. Just her luck. She said a small prayer. Maybe she wouldn't run into him tonight.

  * * * *

  In the plush, red and gold viewing box on the side of the theater, Serenity observed her surroundings. The interior of the Covent Garden Theatre was as grand as the exterior. Her first glance of the building reminded her of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art. No platform of steps, but classical in structure. Four fluted Doric columns graced the portico, and inside, an impressive staircase swept up to the second floor.

  But the noise! The vocal audience obviously didn't think much of whispering, which made conversations among friends difficult. Lady Amaryllis Sedgwick tried to point out the notables in the crowd but the roar echoing from wall to wall made concentration impossible. Once the opera began, the throng would quiet down—Serenity hoped.

  She liked Amaryllis. Definitely down-to-earth. The woman's volatile grey eyes matched her brother's, and she gave him a run for his money. Even called him ‘Nicky'—bursting his self-complacent bubble! He seemed to take it in stride, though. Maybe he wasn't as starchy as he appeared.

  Serenity took care not to sit next to him, however. She didn't want him to touch her. Her senses were overloaded already; no need to add to their burden. Although he'd been politely formal to her in the Rotterham carriage, she could sense an amused twinkle in his eyes. No doubt he planned to make some trouble.

  Amaryllis's husband, Sir Cecil, sat next to Serenity. He leaned over to speak. “Don't get much better than this, Mrs. Steele. Behavior-wise. The Gods,” he gestured to the people in the pit, “will decide whether tonight's performance is fair or foul. And react accordingly. Expect booing, hissing, joking, and even showers of orange-peels. Not the thing to spend the evening at the theater. Rabble! Noise not conducive to the soul."

  He patted his round stomach. Was that where he thought his soul was?

  From behind, Brockton poked his head through the space separating Sir Cecil from her. “Now, Sedgwick, don't spoil it for Mrs. Steele. She comes from the country, you know. Blanchland, I believe?” He turned to Serenity for conformation.

  He was too close; she could feel his masculine, musky scent drift over to her. The scent made her sway momentarily. S
he nodded her assent.

  "Then you have not seen a spectacle like this before. I must warn you, Mrs. Steele. Not all the action occurs on the stage.” His voice vibrated in her ear.

  What did Brockton mean? She looked at him for more information, and followed his line of vision. In a box tiered above and to the right of them, sat a Regency dandy fondling his companion—openly.

  Serenity flushed and immediately thought of twentieth century outdoor movie theaters. Her mother had told her how teenagers used to “make-out” in a car, using the vehicle as a mobile bedroom. It seemed that nineteenth century theater boxes served the same function.

  "Oh.” She gulped. Why was it that Brockton agitated her in such a strange, incomprehensible way?

  He chuckled, and she flushed again.

  Cecil, thankfully, didn't seem to notice anything amiss. “Eh, I say, Brockton, you'll get a crick in your neck that way. Demmed uncomfortable position. Tell you what. Let's switch places. Sure you would rather sit next to this young lady rather than y'sister. Suppose I'll have to listen to m'wife's patter now!"

  After the men changed positions, Brockton leaned toward Serenity, and whispered, “Sometimes Sedgwick can be deuced sharp.” Then he sat back.

  What did he mean by that? Before she could come up with an answer, the lights in the theater dimmed. Choruses of “Shhh” ran through the spectators. The red velvet curtains slowly gathered up, revealing a magnificently detailed backdrop. The singing started.

  She relaxed against the cushions. Brockton's nearness didn't disturb her—much. However, he had the irritating habit of leaning over to offer comments.

  "Madame Bolton plays an inspired ‘Polly’ in The Beggar's Opera. That is Charles Incledon on her right and Kitty Stephens beside him—Kitty's debut, you know."

  Brockton neglected to mention a buxom singer, whose angelic face seemed fixed in his direction. From the stage, the woman pursed her lips, as if blowing him a kiss.

  "And who is the woman looking at you?” Serenity wanted to embarrass him.

  "Who? At me?” Brockton leveled his eye-glass over the players. “Must be mistaken, m'dear."