Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  Years earlier, she had been presented at court and whilst she had attracted two proposals of marriage from noblemen, she had returned home to marry William Carruthers, whom she loved. The union had been much against her parents’ wishes, but Cynthia was not a woman to be diverted from her own desires. Now, as she regarded Annabel, she wondered if the lovely young girl possessed that same rebellious spirit. At the moment the serene face in front of her seemed happy to comply, though the sharp-eyed Lady Cynthia was sure she detected sadness in those violet eyes. She wondered if the girl was hiding an unhappy love affair that the mother was unwilling to speak about. Or perhaps it had been a secret liaison of which the mother was not even aware.

  Just before Easter, Lady Cynthia had sent word that the ‘summons’, as she called it, for Annabel to be presented had arrived.

  We have three weeks to prepare, she wrote to Sarah, but that is the usual time given. If you and your daughter could come to London and stay with us at our town house, we will begin at once . . .

  The following weeks passed by in a flurry of planning for the big event and, much to Annabel’s disappointment, she was only able to visit her grandparents once more before being swept off to London.

  ‘Once it’s all over,’ she promised them, ‘I’ll be able to spend more time with you.’

  ‘But what if you meet a handsome young duke who sweeps you off your feet?’

  Annabel had laughed. ‘Gramps, do you really think that’s likely? They look for a bride amongst their own class.’

  ‘Love can do strange things,’ Martha murmured. ‘And you are a beautiful and lovable girl.’

  ‘Oh Gran!’ Annabel laughed, ‘You say the nicest things, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.’

  Seven

  ‘Now, we must have a full court dress especially made for you. For young women the bodice is cut low, with short sleeves and a train falling from the shoulders. Of course, it must be white and you should wear long white gloves and two white plumes in your hair with a veil. I’ll take you to my own dressmaker. She knows all the dress regulations.’

  ‘Regulations?’ Annabel laughed. ‘Are there rules as to what you can wear?’

  ‘Very strict rules, my dear,’ Cynthia said seriously. ‘Just as there are definite rules about how you should conduct yourself and how the presentation takes place.’ Then she smiled and waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry. By the time I have finished with you, you’ll be perfect – every inch most suitable to captivate, at the very least, an earl.’

  Annabel chuckled inwardly. She wanted to make some flippant, comical remark about ensnaring a duke, no less, but she realized that the whole process of ‘coming out’ was a serious business to Lady Cynthia. She had no wish to offend the lady, who was being so kind to her, so she bit back the retort and composed her face into sober, dutiful lines.

  On the May afternoon when Annabel was to be presented, she was sitting in a queue of carriages on The Mall with Lady Cynthia beside her. ‘Now, can you remember everything I’ve told you?’ Cynthia asked, seeming far more agitated than Annabel. The girl herself was serenely composed. Perhaps this was because she viewed the whole thing as rather a lark and not to be taken too seriously. The idea that she was to be paraded in some kind of marriage market amused rather than angered her. But at least, she thought ruefully, it’s taking my mind off Gilbert. He had been a bitter disappointment to her. So she tried to listen attentively as Cynthia went through the procedure with her yet again.

  ‘Once we get to the palace,’ Cynthia said, fanning her face vigorously, ‘and goodness knows when that’s going to be – oh, do go away!’ She broke off to wave angrily at the curious faces peering in through all the carriage windows to see the debutantes in their finery. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes. You’ll wait in an antechamber with all the other girls. And I warn you, it can be dreadfully hot . . .’ On and on she went until Annabel found herself not listening. Instead, she was fascinated by the crowds of people in The Mall, who were determined to be part of this special day.

  Lady Cynthia had not exaggerated her warnings of the stuffiness of the room in which they had to wait.

  ‘You’d think they’d at least give us a drink,’ one girl, pressed up against Annabel, muttered. ‘And my flowers are wilting already.’

  Each girl carried a bouquet, a fan and a lace handkerchief. Annabel’s posy was a small, neat arrangement, but the girl beside her had a large bouquet that she was finding difficult to manage. Annabel opened her mouth to offer to help, but at that moment she was called forward. Picking up her train and carrying it over her left arm, as Cynthia had instructed, she walked with her head held high and a slight smile on her lips out of the room, and she dropped her train to be spread out behind her by an official. Annabel was fortunate to be one of the first to be called shortly after three o’clock.

  ‘Please remove your right glove,’ the man murmured. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward into the drawing room and moved towards Queen Victoria. As she curtsied, her name was announced and she kissed the small wrinkled hand now resting in her own. She glanced up and met the eyes of the Queen and, suddenly, she understood the importance of the moment. To be received by the monarch in such glittering surroundings was indeed an honour. Annabel smiled as she rose and moved backwards with several more curtsies until she reached the door of the anteroom. So much preparation and practice had gone into what was over in a brief moment, and yet Annabel would not have missed it for the world.

  ‘And now,’ Cynthia said as their carriage headed back to her Mayfair town house, ‘the Season starts in earnest. I have several invitations for you already, but tonight, we will dine quietly at home – we’ve both had enough excitement for one day. Tomorrow night, however, we will be attending your first three balls.’

  ‘Three?’ Annabel exclaimed. ‘In one night? How do we manage that?’

  Cynthia chuckled. ‘It’s usual to attend a dinner party and then go on to a ball. If there is more than one being held, the etiquette is to go from ball to ball, having spent about half an hour or so at each one and end up at the most prestigious. You’ll see how it’s done. And then,’ Cynthia was not finished, ‘the following day we are invited to a garden party in the late afternoon and then on Saturday night, I am hosting a dinner for you at home. I have already sent out the invitations.’

  ‘Is there anything special I should know? I mean – regarding etiquette at all these events.’ It was beginning to sound rather daunting.

  Cynthia’s laugh was infectious. ‘My dear, for a little country mouse, you are doing remarkably well. I am very proud of you. Don’t worry, I will be close at hand and keeping an eye on you. But you do realize, don’t you,’ her expression sobered, ‘that your parents wish you to meet a suitable young man with a view to making a good marriage?’

  ‘Oh, but –’ Annabel began and then lapsed into silence. Gil was gone and she doubted he would come back. For whatever reason he had chosen not to say a proper ‘goodbye’ to her and for that she would never forgive him. He’d been a coward, unable to face her to end their romance, and, instead, had slunk away without a word. Annabel lifted her head with a new determination to put him out of her mind. He was not worth her tears. Whilst she wasn’t yet ready to entertain thoughts of marriage, she told herself, a little fun and flirtation during the Season wouldn’t hurt.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, we are invited to breakfast at Lady Pilkington’s; she lives close by. It will be a small, informal event and will introduce you nicely to what, my dear, is going to be a whirl of parties, balls and functions, so mind you get a good night’s sleep whenever you can.’

  Annabel was far too excited and when morning came, she felt she had hardly slept at all. But she had a strong constitution and no one would have guessed from the sparkle in her magnificent eyes that she lacked sleep as Cynthia led her into the room and introduced her to their hostess. Annabel followed Cynthia closely and copied whatever her mentor did, helping herself to eggs and muffins. Th
ere were several dishes laid out that Annabel didn’t recognize, but there was one she did; pigeon set in jelly. Her grandmother made a similar dish and for a moment an acute feeling of homesickness overwhelmed her.

  ‘Don’t eat too much, my dear,’ Cynthia whispered. ‘We are due at Lady Mortimer’s for luncheon.’

  A few men were present at breakfast, but older, whiskered gentlemen, who were obviously not on Cynthia’s list of possible suitors. Later, however, at the more formal luncheon timed for two o’clock, there were younger gentlemen present.

  ‘Luncheons can be either a formal occasion – a sit-down meal served by their servants – or a buffet,’ Cynthia explained. ‘I think Lady Mortimer’s will be the former. It usually is, but there still might not be many gentlemen present. They’re often engaged in business or other duties.’

  And yet, on arriving for luncheon, Cynthia seemed to be looking around the room for someone and when she didn’t see whoever it was, she made a moue and murmured, ‘I trust he will be at the ball tonight.’

  ‘Who?’ Annabel ventured to ask.

  Cynthia waved her hand vaguely as if the absence of a particular man was of no consequence, ‘Oh, just one of the young men I want to introduce you to. It doesn’t matter.’

  But Annabel had the distinct feeling that it mattered very much.

  Eight

  ‘Annabel, may I present James Lyndon, the Earl of Fairfield?’

  The young man standing before her was undeniably handsome with brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall and slim, his head held proudly, his back straight, and he looked splendid in his smart uniform. He took the hand she extended to him and bowed over it. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Constantine. May I be permitted to claim a dance with you?’

  After an afternoon of resting and a light dinner – just the two of them – Cynthia and Annabel had travelled to first one ball and then on to this one in a carriage, which had pulled up outside the grand, four-storey house overlooking St James’s Park. Every window in the house blazed with light and the sound of music and laughter drifted down to them from a terrace at second-floor level. Annabel’s dance card was almost full already, but at Cynthia’s insistence, she had deliberately left a few lines unfilled. ‘Just in case a young man comes along with whom you ought to dance.’

  Receiving a slight nod of approval from her chaperone, Annabel inclined her head and began to write his name on her card.

  ‘Perhaps I might claim the supper dance?’

  Annabel’s eyes widened. She believed that the supper dance, where the partners stayed together throughout the meal, was regarded as something special. It meant that the young man had serious intentions.

  ‘I – I think we may be going on to another ball,’ Annabel stammered, for the moment unsure of what was the correct thing to do. Smoothly, Cynthia stepped in as Annabel glanced at her for guidance.

  ‘Perhaps Lord Fairfield is heading in the same direction.’ She raised her well-shaped eyebrows and James Lyndon asked, ‘To Lady Fortesque’s?’ Cynthia nodded and they smiled at each other before she turned to Annabel and advised, ‘One dance here with his lordship and then he may claim the dance just before the buffet is served at Lady Fortesque’s.’

  James Lyndon proved to be an excellent dancer. He held her fingers lightly and guided her through the steps and when the music began for the next dance – a waltz – he put his arm around her waist and whirled her away before the gentleman, who should have been her partner for this dance, could claim her.

  ‘We must take leave of our hostess,’ Cynthia said, when the dance came to an end. ‘It’s time we were moving on.’ She turned to James Lyndon. ‘My lord, you may travel with us, if you so wish.’

  James gave a little bow. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

  He was courtesy personified, Annabel thought, and found herself charmed not only by his handsome looks but also by his manners and his attentiveness to them both.

  Lady Fortesque’s ball was a far grander one than the first two they had attended that evening, but their hostess was charming and effervescent, seeming not to stand on ceremony. She was an older woman, in her late fifties, Annabel surmised, and no doubt the benefit of age allowed her to break the rules of strict etiquette if she so wished. She greeted both Cynthia and James with outstretched arms. ‘My dears, how wonderful to see you both, and James, I was so very sorry to hear of your brother’s untimely death. I haven’t seen you since then, have I? Losing both your father and brother within two years must have put a great strain on all your family. And particularly on you, my dear boy, since you can’t have expected ever to inherit the title and all the responsibilities that go with it. Will you be leaving the Army to run your estate now?’

  James bowed low over the woman’s hand and murmured a greeting, adding, ‘Nothing has been decided yet, but I hope not. I love the Army life and I have a good bailiff to manage the estate. And, of course, my mother and my sister are always on hand.’

  ‘Of course, and if you are blessed with good tenants, an estate almost runs itself.’ Then she turned her attention to Annabel. ‘And this must be your protégée, Cynthia. My dear, you are most welcome.’ To Annabel’s surprise Lady Fortesque kissed her on both cheeks and then linked her arm through hers. ‘Now, let us see what eligible young men I can introduce you to.’

  But it seemed that James Lyndon had other ideas about her meeting and dancing with other young men. When Lady Fortesque had finished parading her around the room and was called away to greet other guests arriving, she found the earl at her elbow.

  ‘May I sign your card?’ he murmured in her ear and when she handed it to him, he wrote his name across all the dances so that there were no spaces left for anyone else. Annabel looked around for Cynthia, but she was engaged in conversation with Lord Fortesque and Annabel didn’t like to interrupt.

  Oh well, she thought, what harm can it do, just this once, and he was being very kind to her. And besides, she smiled to herself, he was the best-looking man in the room and she was the object of envious glances from other debutantes, who were also engaged in the rounds of parties and balls hoping to ensnare an eligible bachelor.

  He guided her through the supper buffet and was courteous and attentive, as if there was no one else in the room who mattered. At the end of the evening when the carriages began to line up outside the door, James Lyndon bent over her hand, his lips brushing her fingers. ‘May I be permitted to call on you tomorrow?’

  Before Annabel had time to form a reply, Cynthia, hovering close by, said, ‘We should be honoured, my lord.’

  In the carriage on the way back home, Annabel noticed a small smile of satisfaction on her chaperone’s lips.

  The Earl of Fairfield was attentive and persistent. He was a guest at Cynthia’s dinner held on the Saturday following Annabel’s presentation at court and had been placed next to her.

  ‘Do you ride?’ he asked suddenly as the third of eight courses was being served.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Annabel replied enthusiastically. ‘But I don’t suppose there’s much chance in the city.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. A favourite rendezvous during the Season is Hyde Park. You can ride on Rotten Row, or drive in a carriage or just take a stroll, meet with friends, and, no doubt, many a ball or luncheon or dinner is arranged. But it starts early. May I call for you on Monday morning?’

  ‘But I haven’t got a mount.’

  James chuckled. ‘Leave that to me. One does have connections being in the Army.’

  Annabel would never have thought that Hyde Park could be so busy at nine o’clock on a Monday morning. Young women paraded in their finery, meeting and talking with young gentlemen, but still under the watchful eyes of a chaperone. This morning, however, Cynthia was not with her.

  ‘I have the most dreadful headache, my dear, and if I am to be well enough to attend the party tonight, I must rest. My maid can come with you, for propriety’s sake. Mind you ride up and down so that she can see you.’ But
once on horseback, Annabel forgot Cynthia’s warning. It was wonderful to be out of doors and in the saddle once more.

  ‘I wish we could gallop,’ she said, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun.

  James laughed, the sun glinting on his brown hair. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid. We would likely trample someone.’ His expression sobered as he looked at her seriously. ‘But I would love to gallop with you in the countryside, see the wind blowing through your lovely hair and your fine eyes sparkling with excitement.’

  Annabel was lost for words; she didn’t know how to respond to his compliments so she merely smiled and urged her horse to go as fast as was both respectable and safe.

  From that morning, James Lyndon, Earl of Fairfield, was a frequent visitor at Cynthia’s home. Even Sir William, on the rare occasions when he joined them at a dinner engagement or a sporting occasion, made the young man welcome.

  ‘I’m not one for parties and balls,’ Sir William said to Annabel, explaining his absence from such events, ‘but I do like my sport and of course an invitation to dine is not to be sniffed at.’

  Annabel grew very fond of Sir William during the time she stayed in London. She had met him once before when he had paid a brief visit to the Constantines’ home to visit her father. Several years older than his vivacious wife, he was a kindly, benevolent man who, rumour had it, was a great orator in the House of Commons. And so it was that the four of them – Sir William and his wife, Annabel and the Earl of Fairfield – were seen constantly together. They attended the annual cricket match between Eton and Harrow, where the Carruthers boys – pupils at Eton – were playing. Ascot and the Henley Regatta were two events that Sir William never missed, but even when he was absent – Sir William could not be persuaded to go to the theatre or the opera – James Lyndon seemed always to be present.