Louise

by Oliver, Marina

  She turned next to the men she had been driving with, and after what she had discovered about the dancing, noted how many times she had driven out with each. Cedric and Sir Henry drove her out frequently, but only two others had driven her more than once. Sir Henry was old, and Cedric, she was coming to believe, was unreliable. She had witnessed the dreadful result of his new horses misbehaving the previous day, and shivered to think she might have been in the carriage with him, enduring with him all the disapproving stares that had come his way.

  What was the matter with them all? She was pretty and an heiress, and what was more, she did not have to wait for a parent to die before she could inherit, as many heiresses did. She, or rather her husband, would have full control of her fortune as soon as she married. Of course she, via her lawyers, would make sure she had a very substantial settlement for her own use, and she thought she could be sure Great-uncle Joseph would insist on that. So where were all the men she had so confidently predicted would make her offers?

  An insidious thought crept into her head. Was her fortune less than she had thought? She really had little idea of what fortunes some of the other heiresses could expect. She had assumed, because in Yorkshire her family had been considered wealthy, that it would be the same in London. But not every man could expect to win a really wealthy girl, so why did not some of them offer for her? She knew of at least three girls who had already become betrothed, although this was their first Season. And all of them had parents who could be expected to live for decades. Did they have bigger fortunes than her own? How could she discover it? Would Louise know?

  She hated to admit her qualms to Louise, but there was no one else apart from Sir Henry, and she could not bring herself to talk to him about her concerns. The Season would soon be over, time had already flown past, and that mean old Great-uncle had made it plain this would be her only chance. It would be humiliating if she had to return to Yorkshire without a betrothal, and had to accept one of the local squires. They, she knew, would consider her fortune more than they could expect from elsewhere, and quite adequate. None of them ever came to London in search of heiresses.

  It was time for dinner, which they were having at home tonight. Louise was proposing a visit to a musical evening at a house in Grosvenor Square, but there would be time to talk to her before they left the house. When Jenny appeared Matilda said she didn't care what she wore, and meekly changed into one of her old Yorkshire gowns. Then, with a deep sigh, she picked up her lists and went downstairs to the drawing room.

  Louise listened to her, but asked no questions.

  'What can I do?' Matilda demanded, almost in tears.

  'As I am not with you when you drive out, or dance, I cannot give you an answer. Do you mind if I consult Sir Henry on your behalf? He is older than most of your friends, he drives you out frequently, and may have a suggestion.'

  Matilda did mind, but as she could think of no alternative, she reluctantly agreed.

  'Good. Then I will talk to him this evening. I understand from my mother that he is going to be there.'

  *

  Matilda sat in a chair at the back of the room, and heard not a single note of the musical entertainment. Sir Henry was seated closer to the front, but he had turned round and waved to her when she and Louise arrived. The Earl was also there, but not Cedric. Sir Arthur was seated beside the Earl, and next to him Lady Barlow. When the interval was announced and people began moving towards the room where refreshments were laid out, Matilda was surprised to find the Earl at her side. Bewildered, for he had never paid her any special attention, she permitted him to lead her to a small table where Sir Arthur and Lady Barlow were already seated. Glancing round, she saw Louise and Sir Henry at a small table for two. The Earl and Sir Arthur fetched glasses of champagne and small patties of lobster, salmon and chicken, with sweetmeats and ices. Matilda, normally fond of food, could eat nothing. What was Sir Henry saying?

  Bewildered, for she had long given up hope that the Earl might be interested in her, Matilda listened to the three chatting about the music, praising the soprano, complaining that one of the violas had been out of tune, and hoping the rest of the evening's entertainment would prove to be better.

  She kept looking across at Sir Henry, and found him frequently glancing at her. When this happened she dropped her gaze quickly. It was a relief when the interval ended and the Earl escorted her back to her seat.

  'What did he say?' she hissed at Louise.

  'Hush, I can't talk now. Wait until we are back at home.'

  Matilda fumed, but she recognised the need for discretion. If Louise told her now what had been said, others round about would hear, and she was far from certain she wished for that. It must be something dreadful that had turned all her earlier admirers against her, but she could not imagine what it was.

  At last the dreary entertainment ended. She had heard nothing of it. Matilda fretted while they waited for their carriage to be announced, tapping her foot anxiously and trying to judge, from how people spoke to her and Louise, whether they were ignoring her or in some way deliberately slighting her. It was no good. They all seemed to behave politely, smiling at both her and Louise, bidding them friendly farewells when their carriages were announced. They were almost the last to leave, and Matilda's patience was stretched taut.

  'Well, what did he say?' she demanded almost before the carriage door had been closed on them.

  Louise nodded towards the coachman. 'Later, child. Wait until we are home.'

  Matilda turned away. Unaccustomed tears were welling from her eyes, and she sniffed, then brushed the fur of her muff across them. She would not weep. She never wept, unless it was from rage. And she would certainly not weep for any of these London youths who spurned her.

  At last they were in Half Moon Street. Matilda dropped her pelisse and muff onto a chair in the hall, and looked at Louise, who was speaking to the butler.

  'Bring tea to the drawing room, please,' she said.

  Matilda sighed. That would mean more delay, until the servants were out of the room. She went upstairs to the drawing room and flung herself into a chair. Soon she would hear the worst.

  After a tray of tea had been brought and Swayne retreated, Louise poured the tea. Matilda shook her head. She didn't want any more delay.

  'Well?'

  Louise sighed. 'I can only tell you what Sir Henry suspects, Tilda,' she said slowly. 'You must remember that most of the men who have driven you out are young, not very experienced with women, and often callow and more concerned with their own affairs than with anyone else's. It appears, from Sir Henry's own observations, that you talk exclusively about your own affairs, your life in Yorkshire, and what you have been doing here in London.'

  Matilda looked at her in astonishment. 'Is that all? You are saying they are ignoring me because I talk about my home, and what I have been doing here?'

  Louise nodded. 'So it seems. Men, especially young ones, like to talk about themselves, Tilda. I have observed myself that the most popular women are those who listen. Do you ever ask these young men questions about themselves? About their homes? Their horses? What their interests are?'

  'No. I'm not interested! Why should I be?'

  'Then I am afraid you will find these men are not interested in listening to you.'

  'But – but to feign an interest would be dishonest, false!'

  'Either you do that, and much of our social intercourse could be considered false, or you will find yourself increasingly ignored. Have many of your girl friends invited you to visit them recently?'

  'We're all too busy!' She was defensive, for she had wondered occasionally why she was not invited to walk with them. She had assumed they were afraid that the men they met would be more interested in her than in them.

  'I have seen some of them walking together in the Park. Do you ever walk with them?'

  Matilda shook her head. 'I – they don't ask me, now.'

  'Perhaps for the same reason. Now, it's lat
e, go to bed and try to sleep. If you want friends, you need to show you have some interest in them. And surely, when you marry, you will want to be interested in what your husband does?'

  *

  Louise felt sorry for Matilda, but she knew the girl needed to change her attitude if she were to attract offers. Her fortune, while large, was by no means as large as some. A few men, like Cedric Dubarry, might be tempted, and he was the one man besides Sir Henry who drove out with her quite frequently. But he was the sort of man who would leave his wife at home while he roistered in London and spent her money. If he were to be the only man who made her an offer, and Matilda liked him, ought she to interfere? She didn't know whether her grandfather cared, and he didn't know Cedric, but Louise felt responsible for the child. She would make an effort to ride with her, or walk in the Park, and try by example to induce Matilda to change her attitude. All might not be lost. There were other young men she had not yet driven with, and Louise ought to make more of an effort to introduce them to the girl.

  She had delayed organising a ball for Matilda until they knew more people, but now was perhaps the time to hold it. Would those men who had spurned her company come? Louise chuckled. Most of them would, for the free entertainment, the food and drink. The house in Half Moon Street was not big enough for large functions, as Matilda had seen at the start. She would consult her mother about possible halls she could hire. Matilda was still in bed. The poor child had probably not slept that night. She would walk round to Mount Street now. It was a fine, warm day.

  To her surprise she found Sir Arthur in the drawing room, looking very much at home. When she had explained her request, he looked thoughtful, and while Lady Rushton and her mother discussed possibilities, he remained silent. Then he chuckled, and the ladies glanced at him in surprise.

  'Leave it to me, my dear,' he said. 'My nephew has that great ballroom behind his house, and he never uses it. I'll put it to him he'd be doing all of us a favour by opening it up. When do you want this ball?'

  Louise was aghast. 'I can't ask the Earl for that! I hardly know him, and it's nothing to do with him! He'd be mortified if he thought I expected it, and I would never be able to look him in the face again.'

  'He'll do it for me.'

  Louise protested, in vain. Sir Arthur said he must be off, he had patients to visit, and he would try and catch his nephew at White's later that day, when he'd finished his work at the Foreign Office.

  'I can't permit it!' Louise said after he'd gone and she was left with the two ladies.

  'You won't be able to stop him,' Lady Barlow said, and laughed. 'When he once gets a notion into his head nothing will shift it.'

  'And it's true Dubarry House is not used to the full. I was surprised Rupert decided to keep it when his father died. He could have hired it out instead of letting his sister use it, and then only during the Season.'

  Louise went home wondering what she might do. She could not accept such an offer, if it were made, and she did not think the Earl would be persuaded, even by Sir Arthur. And yet, an insidious little thought crept into her head, it might be a way of re-establishing Matilda. Everyone would want to attend, and the men would feel obliged to dance with her. If she could persuade the girl to adjust her behaviour, she might become more acceptable to some man, and receive a good offer. Then Louise's task would be finished and she could go home to Devon. That alone would reconcile her to accepting the use of the Dubarry ballroom.

  *

  The following morning Louise was in the morning room, painting. She had bought materials during her first few days in London, but found little time to indulge in her favourite occupation. Today she found it soothing to paint, from memory, a picture of Rushton Manor. She was so absorbed she started in surprise when Swayne came into the room and coughed.

  'Yes, what is it?'

  He proffered a card on a silver salver. 'The Earl of Newark wishes to speak with you, my lady.'

  Louise gulped. Had Sir Arthur asked him for the use of his ballroom, and was he annoyed? Had he come to tell her it was impossible? She had to see him, there was no avoidance.

  'Show him in, Swayne.'

  She swiftly removed the smock she wore while painting, and tried to tidy her hair. She was wearing one of the first gowns that had been made for her, a simple muslin round gown in pale blue, and the only ornamentation was a simple ruffle round the hem. She wore no jewellery, it only got in the way while she was painting, and she felt naked and unprepared.

  Swayne opened the door and ushered the Earl in. 'His lordship, my lady.'

  'Thank you,' Louise managed. 'Bring some sherry and Madeira, if you please.'

  'None for me, my lady.'

  Swayne withdrew.

  'I did not expect you, my lord.'

  'I am sorry to interrupt you. May I see the painting?'

  He walked across to the easel and studied it for a while. 'You are talented,' he said at last, turning towards her, 'but why do you paint your face too?'

  To Louise's astonishment he took a handkerchief from his pocket, and held her chin in one hand while he carefully wiped her cheek.

  'My lord!' She was hot with embarrassment.

  'Come, let us not be formal. My name is Rupert, and if we are to collaborate in trying to rid you of that appalling female your grandfather foisted on you, surely we do not need to bandy titles around. Do we, Louise?'

  She swallowed and found her voice. 'Are we? To collaborate, I mean? Oh, forgive me, please sit down.'

  He gestured to her and when she sat he took a chair opposite, and smiled in the manner she found so difficult to dismiss from her dreams.

  'Surely the point of giving the chit a large ball is to entice offers?'

  'I – well, I wasn't expecting it to be a large ball.'

  'But to fill my ballroom you need to invite the entire ton.'

  Louise was forced to laugh. 'I trust not! Are you here to say you do not mind lending me your ballroom? My grandfather will, of course, pay all expenses, and his man Littleton will hire servants for the evening. I would not wish to cause you any more inconvenience than is absolutely necessary.'

  'We can discuss those arrangements nearer the time. My uncle said it needed to be fairly soon. Have you a date in mind?'

  Louise shook her head helplessly. 'I haven't dared to think of it.'

  'Since my uncle is involved in this, I had him ask his secretary to look up the dates of the more important balls. He produced three dates when there would be little, if any, competition.'

  He handed her a sheet of paper.

  'How – how very efficient!'

  'He is. Or rather, his secretary is. I don't know how he would remember all his appointments with his patients if Dawson didn't provide a list every morning. But you have just to choose a date and give me a list of the people to be sent invitations. I will organise that.'

  'You are very good.'

  'So that is settled.' He stood up and went across to the window, then turned to face her. ' It wasn't the only reason I came to see you, Louise.'

  She looked puzzled, and he laughed. 'It's difficult for me,' he confessed. 'This is the first time I have asked a woman to marry me. You have the advantage, you have been married. Louise, my dear, could you bring yourself to marry again? I would never try to take Richard's place, but for the first time in my life I am in love. Will you marry me?'

  *

  Chapter 8

  Joseph Hoyland sat behind the large mahogany desk which had once been in his office in Yorkshire. He scanned the first of the papers Mr Littleton handed him, and nodded.

  'The household accounts, they are not as extravagant as I feared, except for London prices.'

  Mr Littleton proffered a sheaf of papers. 'I have the bills and receipts here for you to look at if you wish, sir. That is just a summary.'

  'They don't matter. I know I can trust you. So what is next?'

  He laid down the first sheet on the desk, and Mr Littleton handed over another. 'Miss Hoyl
and's expenses.'

  Joseph looked at them and remained silent for some time, though his eyebrows were raised.

  'I see the child has not stinted herself. She must have a different gown for every day.'

  Mr Littleton permitted himself a faint smile. 'Not quite, sir. I have the details here too.'

  Joseph waved them away. 'Keep them. I trust you. What about my grand-daughter? Where are her expenses?'

  'She would not permit me to have them, sir. Lady Rushton insisted that she must pay for her personal expenses from her own resources.'

  'The foolish child! She's just as stubborn as her mother! I told her I would pay them.'

  'Yes, sir, I reminded her, but Lady Rushton said she had sufficient income, and if she had come to London in any other way would be using her own money, and your paying her living expenses was quite enough.'

  'Does the little fool not realise that if I'd had to engage any other duenna for Matilda it would have cost me far more?'

  'I tried to point that out to her, sir, but she said it was not your money, but Miss Hoyland's, and she had no desire to use the girl's money for her own benefit.'

  'Even though it's for the chit's benefit that she does, and appears to advantage. Oh well, I'll sort it out later. How is it going? Did you hear whether there have been any offers?'