Holly felt a childlike delight as she surveyed the marvellous packages. It really was like having all her Christmases at once. She wished only that her sisters were there to partake of the fun and bicker over gloves.
“Well!” said Lady Louisa, as she looked over this newly-arrived treasure trove. “I do believe we have outdone ourselves. I don’t rightly know where to begin.”
Neither did Holly.
“Oh dear,” she said, as something else occurred to her, and she sat down on the sofa.
“Why, whatever is the matter?”
Holly shook her head, overcome with guilt. “I think shall quite bleed him. I have never ordered so many fripperies in my life.”
Lady Louisa laughed, and handed Holly a package, which she automatically untied, lifting the blue paper lid to peer inside.
The box held a pair of pale grey silk damask slippers, which Lady Louisa had told her were an absolute necessity for any sort of dinner or ball. They had come very dear, at forty five shillings, she recalled.
Holly had refused to feel the least remorse when she’d ordered them. Now, the remorse seemed to have defeated her at last, and it was entirely without mercy.
Her benefactress regarded her with obvious amusement. “You are fretting over nothing. I assure you, the duke can comfortably afford another fifty such outings at the very least. This is only to be expected, my dear. If he wishes to have a wife appropriately attired, he must be prepared to put up the blunt.”
Lady Louisa paused and adjusted her coiffure. “But if he does object – well, he’ll come about with some convincing. He wouldn’t like it if you were to wear your country clothes in town, would he? That would reflect poorly on him. Gentlemen, in my experience, never understand the things that are most obvious, and they never know what it is they want or what is good for them. The man with whom you have chosen to unite your fortune is no different, I assure you.”
“Well, he did give me the pin money.”
“Quite.”
Lady Louisa handed her another box, which Holly accepted, rising to her feet. It was a Chantilly lace shawl. She ran an admiring finger over it. There was no sending it back now, after all. So fretting would not do any good.
On further consideration, Holly thought that if she were to be in the basket for garnering some enjoyment out of her new status, she may as well go all out.
“And now, I do believe you are ready to make your mark on the world,” Lady Louisa said, sounding supremely satisfied.
*
Lady Louisa’s townhouse was not so much pretty, as truly splendid. It was situated on no less a street than Park Lane, furnished with good taste of the utmost discretion and frequently visited by persons of the greatest prominence.
Holly would never have imagined that she could be admitted into such August company.
She was grateful that the tutelage had paid off and that she was no longer glaringly ignorant of polite forms – she was also learned to recognise when these forms might be suspended and how.
On Lady Louisa’s very first evening of being officially At Home, Mrs Drummond-Burrell paid a call, wearing a marvellous visiting dress and a turban of pale blue and peach.
Holly was astonished to learn that the prim, fearsome woman considered the fast Lady Louisa a friend, and more than a little intimidated at having to take refreshments with such an important person.
“Clementina, allow me to present my guest, Her Grace of Strathavon,” Louisa said in her customary cheerful tones. “She has been so good as to come and visit with me, to keep a lonely old woman company.” Her teasing smile belied the statement.
“Lady Strathavon? I do believe I have had occasion to meet His Grace your husband just the other night,” the lady said with a formal nod, while peering at Holly with the obvious intention of assessing her. “He partnered me at whist at Lady Merrihall’s card party.”
“Lady Strathavon is only just arrived with me from the country. A dreadful place, but even more so in winter,” Lady Louisa said. “I don’t know what my doctor was thinking, sending me into exile like that: it is enough to land a person in Bedlam. But how fortunate that you came to call, Clementina, for I had meant to write you about procuring vouchers for the Little Season. Now, would you care for a cigar?”
To Holly’s shock, Lady Louisa produced an enamelled purple box and offered it to the stern Patroness with a conspiratorial wink.
Mrs Drummond-Burrell gave Holly a cool, assessing look, and nodded, before accepting the box and steering the conversation to the previous Season’s gossip.
Holy blinked in disbelief. It appeared Lady Louisa’s simple request and Strathavon’s name were enough to pass muster under the careful eyes of the esteemed Patroness. Less than three days later, the vouchers arrived and Holly was most excessively jittery. Almack’s, after all, was not some domestic card party: it was the sanctum of what was most fashionable in polite society. And it was the place where reputations were made… or broken.
Being presented as Lady Strathavon to her friend’s callers was one thing, but to launch herself upon society under the name was something else entirely.
She was only grateful that her family were still scattered between York and Millforte, and were unlikely to see first-hand the possible disasters that would follow Holly’s first grand outing.
But she found that this fear wasn’t holding her back so much as making her more eager still to prove herself. She wondered who it was that she was trying to prove herself to. And did that even matter?
Just as Lady Louisa had gleefully predicted, the new Duchess of Strathavon made a veritable hit with her first appearance in Lady Louisa’s box at the opera.
After this official introduction, Holly was received into society with much admiration and enthusiasm. The friendship between Lady Strathavon and Lady Louisa Somerville was considered a distinct curiosity and much discussed among the beau monde.
The Lady Louisa, after all, was a woman of some colourful reputation and Lady Strathavon was a veritable unknown, sprung among them like a snowdrop overnight.
No one could properly recall a Miss Holly Millforte from the Season – and yet how could so charming a creature have passed unnoticed?
Her Grace single-handedly commanded the society journals for a full week after her appearance at the opera. The public was mystified, for they still knew nearly nothing of her, and they were charmed by the sparkle that seemed to cling to everything she did.
Gentlemen fell as slaves to her dark eyes and even the daringly fashionable cut of her gowns could not be condemned.
The poets of the company instantly claimed that she was like some fairy wight, come to join them for a winter’s revels. Though usually such nonsense would have been waved away, many took a liking to this fanciful notion: it was a welcome distraction from the fading summer.
But the biggest mystery of all was what the two women could possibly have found in common to make them such fast friends.
Holly entered into all the entertainments of the Little Season with a great avidity, as though she had done so every year of her life. In fact, she had completely surprised herself at this unexpected proficiency.
In the course of her unnerving first night at the opera, Holly met a number of important personages, including the scandalous Lady Oxford, the young Lady Castlereagh, and the ever-popular John Tremaine, the Earl of Avonbury. Holly spotted Avonbury watching her as they made their way to Lady Louisa’s box. She had recognised the man vaguely as a chum of her husband’s, though she wasn’t at all sure what to make of him.
Avonbury, it turned out, was the duke’s cousin and surprisingly charming withal, if somewhat silly a creature. Lady Louisa informed her that he was an unparalleled, if somewhat excessive, arbiter of mode, and a shameless flirt.
The earl came to speak to Holly in the interval.
Returning his perfectly-executed bow with a nod, Holly watched the man with a curiosity which she could not mask completely. “You are a friend of S
trathavon’s?” she asked warily, once introduction had been made.
Avonbury fixed her with his most devastating smile.
“The very best of friends. And cousins. Why, we were at Eton together and then up at Cambridge. He played the hero when I had a run in with some shifty types one night. I was too foxed to do much but gape. It won’t have made a whit of difference, as I had pockets to let, but it was most splendid none the less,” the earl enthused. “He planted the ruffian a veritable facer!”
Having grown up with several brothers, Holly was very familiar with that specific bit of cant. She relaxed instantly, knowing the fellow to be a good sort. It made a pleasant change from the prattle of the debutantes with whom she had played whist the night before.
The earl seemed to catch himself at her laugh, and flushed a little. “Forgive me! I own that was not what one ought to have said…”
“Not at all! I am very difficult to scandalise, and I know rather worse words than that, courtesy of my brothers.”
“Ah. Thank you. That’s a very refreshing thing to hear from a lady.”
He stayed another ten minutes before making his excuses, and Holly decided that if the rest of Strathavon’s friends were anything like the earl, she might not mind meeting them in the least.
Holly did not know what to make of her sudden fame, or of the swains that brought her glasses of ratafia at balls and dedicated poetry to her when meeting her in the park.
“Why, it is only to be expected,” said Lady Louisa, when Holly finally ventured to ask. She was unabashedly enjoying the success of her ingénue. “You have charmed them. As I am certain you would have done during your Season, had you only ventured to engage society in the proper way. The gentlemen are besotted, and the ladies in awe of your splendid wardrobe.”
“My wardrobe? But it is –” She glanced down at her daring neckline and frowned.
“It is exactly right. You forget once again that the manners and dress which would not be condoned in a debutante are considered lively and original when exhibited by the wife of one of the wealthiest peers of the realm.”
At first, Holly had expected that Lady Louisa’s polish would peel away at any moment, and Holly would be recognised as the plain country squire’s daughter than she was. And yet, with every step she took into this gilded world, she found herself drawn deeper and deeper into the witty exchanges, concerts, glittering balls, galas and elaborate dinners.
She was even more surprised when ladies and gentlemen came to call upon her too, and when she was invited to drive out in the park, or join poetry readings in the evenings.
The Season, she decided, was much more enjoyable when one wasn’t an anxious debutante. Or maybe it was that the Autumn Season was much quieter than the Spring. Since many of the ton had retired to Bath or to their estates, or else departed on prolonged hunting parties, the Little Season was much less intimidating.
To Holly’s mind, this gave it an undeniable superiority. Everything seemed to move at a more leisurely pace as the nights lengthened towards midwinter.
And yet even this quieter London was a place of endless marvels such as Holly could not even have begun to imagine. The circulating library was a wonder in its own right, and then there were the milliners, the seamstresses, and the events which took up nearly every evening.
She wondered how her mama could bear to sit at home with her studies. Her father only ever came up to London to spend time at Boodle’s, where he discussed the hunt and horses with like-minded country gentlemen over a glass of port, before returning home to work on his latest epigraph.
Could they have somehow missed this enchanted world?
Another person who did not seem to be taking advantage of town life was the Duke of Strathavon. Holly had wondered what would happen when she inevitably ran into him, at a card party, or at the park.
She was both relieved and disappointed to discover that any such accident would be put indefinitely on hold: His Grace had quit town just before she’d made her fresh debut, and no one had seen him since.
If Lady Louisa’s intelligence was correct, it seemed that he had been on the point of going back to Pontridge a week before Holly had even joined the Season, and had gone at last. She wondered what he would think when he arrived at Pontridge Abbey to find her gone. And where was he presently?
Would he come storming back to London, to carry her away with him? Surely he would never be so appallingly gauche. And yet, the idea was not without some merit, she mused, remembering his broad shoulders.
*
Strathavon sensed that something was decidedly not right the moment he left his horse with a groom and proceed into the house. He had been occupied with a tour of his estates, and this was to be his final stop.
Pontridge was not as the duke remembered it – the place was immaculately clean, and he could find no trace of the ruin it had been when he had gone from it. And yet there was something about it that was undeniably grim. Forbidding, almost.
It was a very stark contrast to the warmth that had flooded out of its doors when Holly had taken charge.
For a very long time, he had wanted nothing more than to see it set to rights: the derelict relic it had become had been nothing less than an affront to the memory of his family.
It was plain that he had got his wish – Strathavon suspected that the house had not been in such a fine condition even in his mother’s day. Holly really had outdone herself. Yet it felt chill and empty as a tomb.
Which begged the question: where exactly had his duchess gone?
The duke posed this question to the very next maid who happened his way.
“You Grace,” she squeaked, with a hasty curtsey. “We had no notion to expect you.”
“Yes, yes – my visit is unplanned.” He did his best not to sound impatient. “Tell me, where can I find Lady Strathavon?”
The maid blinked at him. “Why, in town, Your Grace.”
In town! What the deuce could she be doing there?
“Is that so? Well, no matter. Have Mrs Tomkins come up to my study, right away.”
With that, the duke swept out, leaving the bewildered woman staring after him. What a fool he must seem, unable to keep track of his own wife. But what had happened to make Holly bolt? Had she bolted? Had she thought better of the whole thing?
He hoped that his housekeeper would be better able to shed some light on the matter. When the illustrious Mrs Tomkins did appear, it was with great dignity. Strathavon found himself looking at her twice to make sure that she was not Queen Charlotte in disguise.
“Your Grace,” the housekeeper greeted, with an icy wariness to which she had never subjected him before.
“Hello, Tomkins. You are looking well, if I may say so. The house also. But I seem to have misplaced my wife. You wouldn’t know where she has gone, would you?”
The duke could not quite believe it when the woman had the audacity to sniff and stare down her nose at him, seeming to swell with outrage.
“Her Grace has removed to town, leaving the house in my care now that it has been set to rights.” Her tone seemed to challenge him to press the matter.
Tomkins had been at the house for a great many years and she had never been anything short of loyal. Strathavon wondered what Holly could have done to instigate such a complete mutiny in a matter of months. Surely, ordering a set of new curtains could not have done all this.
“I see. And you wouldn’t happen to know what caused this hasty removal?”
She did, evidently. She seemed to swell even more, to the point where he had to wonder if her sheer outrage would cause her to lose contact with the floor.
“I sense that there is something you wish to say to me, Tomkins,” he remarked dryly.
“Indeed there is, Your Grace. Only good manners forbid me from telling you what I really think of the way you left that poor girl here all by herself. Why, just the sight of her trying not to look miserable as she bravely waded through all the dust! With not a sou
l for company. It was nothing short of thoughtless. It is only right that she should have gone to town with her friend.”
He was reminded of the many times this same woman had caught him out in the middle of some mischief as a boy, and just barely supressed the urge to hide his ears from being boxed.
Then, his ears pricked up. Friend? What friend? Had his wife run off with some young country squire? The very idea caused a spark of anger to course through his veins. “You have always been very good at not saying what you think, Tomkins, and this time is no exception. And what friend might it be, who was so good as to accompany Lady Strathavon?”
“It was that fine lady staying over at Woodley Court. Lady Louisa Somerville, her name is. Very impeccably dressed and mannered.”
Strathavon didn’t know what to make of that. Where would his wife have found Lady Louisa Somerville? And what did the old dame want with Holly?
Further questioning revealed only that Holly had repaired the house, and left in a swirling wake of pour prendage conge visiting cards. Which meant that Her Grace meant to be away from the country for some length of time. But what was she about?
He was also left with a very clear sense that his housekeeper was of the opinion that he had been a deplorable beast to his lady and that he would be very fortunate not to find live eels in his soup that night.
Deciding that it was best to remove any such temptation out of Mrs Tomkins’s way, he called for his horse and set off back to town, stopping at The King’s Arms for his supper, where he rang for a waiter and summoned some ale and a light repast.
*
When her first invitation to a ball arrived on a silver salver, Holly was overtaken by a whirlwind of emotion. Would she take? Would she be a complete disaster? It would be her first ball as a duchess and a ball, after all, was very important.
The invitation was printed on tasteful cream paper, and written in a rich dark ink. Lady Castlereagh, who had decided to remain in town until the roads became more tolerable, was to host this grand event to formally launch the Little Season.
Holly examined the card in a daze as she tried to picture every eventuality of attending. Lady Louisa, who had received her own invitation with a lot less interest, regarded her with an expression of saintly patience and just a hint of amusement.
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