The Loving Seasons

by Laura Matthews

  The guest list had included as many unknown names as familiar ones for Anne, but she found no terror in meeting new people, especially surrounded by her close-knit family. Her brother Will had contributed the names of every ramshackle young man in town, but her brother Jack was of a different nature altogether. His only addition to an already overflowing list was a gentleman he had met the previous year and to whom he took an instant liking. As the solemn butler intoned the names of Miss Helena Rogers and Mr. Harold Rogers, Jack murmured, “This is the fellow I mentioned, Anne. I think you’ll like his sister.”

  Helena Rogers, at the age of twenty, had stark white hair, which she made no attempt to disguise in any way. Clear hazel eyes met Anne’s with a peculiar frankness that told her Jack was right: she was going to like Miss Rogers. “I’m so pleased to meet you."

  “And I you. Lord Maplegate has spoken of you often and I’ve longed to meet you.” Her eyes twinkled with merriment. “I didn’t even mind missing the lecture on metaphysics to come tonight!”

  Anne laughed. “I’m flattered.” Her gaze turned to the gentleman who stood beside Miss Rogers. He was obviously considerably older, not much under thirty, Anne guessed, and of a tall, slender build. His straight sandy hair and high cheekbones combined with a firm chin to give him a rather austere appearance, but the same clear hazel eyes, with a similar humorous light, gazed down on her. Anne’s sole thought was, “Oh, Lord!”

  If she missed the introduction entirely, she was sure she must have replied automatically, for he seemed not the least alarmed, asking if there was any chance of securing a dance with her during the evening. “The second cotillion. I’d be honored.”

  With a smile he passed on down the line, shaking hands enthusiastically with Jack, and Anne forced her attention back to the continuing press of newcomers. Lady Bradwell, dressed as elegantly as the marchioness, was accompanied by Emma and Sir Nicholas Dyrham. Emma, resplendent in a crepe lisse gown of Haitian blue whose narrow notched tucker and folds stretched across her bosom in a most beguiling manner squeezed Anne’s hand, whispering, “Everything is perfect, my dear. Especially you. You look stunning.” Emma glanced down the receiving line to where Lord William was impatiently waiting to greet her. “Yesterday your brother insisted on my standing up with him for the first dance, but Aunt Amelia thinks that might not be wise on such an occasion. I would like to, you understand. It’s flattering to have him so attentive.”

  “You should enjoy it while you may,” Anne laughed. “He’s notoriously fickle.”

  “Ah, so I have heard. Sir Nicholas told me his limit is five weeks and I am determined he shall set a new record in devotion. Say, five and a half weeks. I’m not overly ambitious, you see!”

  "If you make it six weeks, we will see him through the major part of the season. Mama would be grateful. Otherwise he’ll probably run off to Newmarket.”

  Emma squared her shoulders in mock determination. “Trust me to do my very best, dear Anne.”

  Lord William wore a wide grin. “You promised me the first dance,” he reminded her.

  “Yes,” she sighed, eyes demurely lowered, “but Aunt Amelia thinks it might be wisest if I didn’t dance with you so early in the evening. There are probably family obligations you should see to”

  “What’s this?” Lord William yelped. “Nonsense! M’mother hasn’t asked me to step out for the first one with even one of my scraggly cousins! Told her I was promised to you for it and she just smiled.”

  “Poor Lady Barnfield! Very well, Lord William. I promise you I had no wish to go back on my word.” Emma raised languid eyes to his triumphant ones. “I’m sure you know what is best.”

  “Certainly I do!” He swelled visibly with pride and smiled down on her with a rather fatuous expression. “I trust you’ll go in to supper with me, too.”

  “Why, thank you, Lord William. How very kind of you.” The line was backing up behind her and she offered him one quick, brilliant smile before hurrying on. Lord William shook out his shirt cuffs self-consciously while his brother, Jack, caught Anne’s eye and shrugged.

  Despite the number of guests still pouring up the stairs, the marchioness decided that the dancing had best begin and Lady Anne was led out for the first set by her father while William eagerly sought Emma. She was surrounded by a bevy of attentive gentlemen, but Lady Bradwell capitulated with good-humored tolerance, commenting to Sir Nicholas, “It will do her no harm to have Lord William doting on her; he is known for his unerring eye for a beauty.”

  “And he’s unlikely to frighten anyone off, since his reputation for picking them is no better known than his reputation for forgetting them,” her escort responded with notable dryness, his eyes, nonetheless, following the couple with interest. Lord William was a reasonably accomplished dancer but next to his partner, who moved with a stately grace, he did not appear to advantage. Sir Nicholas wondered idly if Miss Berryman had purposely chosen her gown for the fascinating way it clung to her.

  Lord and Lady Greenwood arrived when the first set was just concluding. Maggie bit back her chagrin at not seeing Anne in her moment of glory, but she was simply grateful that her husband had accompanied her. Really, for him, they were quite early at the Barnfield festivities. Anne saw them immediately as she and her father left the floor and, after stopping briefly to speak to a distant relative, directed him to them. Adam was so impressed with the emeralds that he determined on the spot to get some for his wife. Having thus mentally provided her with such a splendid gift, he proceeded to forget that she was not as yet provided with a partner…and asked Lady Anne for her hand in the set that was forming. Anne would have liked to pinch him; instead she allowed him to lead her into the dance.

  Catching the astonished expression on the marquess’s countenance, Maggie summoned up a laugh and said, “He means well.”

  "He has a great deal to learn,” Lord Barnfield murmured as he held out his hand. “May I?”

  "There's no need.” Maggie looked about hastily. “I have friends.”

  “So have I,” the marquess retorted with an amused twinkle in his eyes, “but I have no intention of joining them until you’ve stood up with me. If you will?”

  Maggie blushed for her rudeness, but one could not feel uncomfortable long in the marquess’s presence. Here, she decided as he guided her through the steps of the dance while carrying on a reasonable conversation, was a gentleman on whom her husband might well pattern himself. A man of good sense, good humor and yet of the first fashion, and though of the greatest consequence, a kind and considerate man. Of course, he was older, Maggie reminded herself severely, and married to the woman of his choice, with three agreeable children. Still, she could not believe that Lord Barnfield had been anything like her husband as a young man. He might have been like Lord Dunn, she decided judiciously, but not like Greenwood.

  In his own fashion, Adam was trying to please his wife. Margaret had become remote again after that one lighthearted afternoon and he had come to believe, following his own erratic logic, that her friends were influencing her against him. Not Miss Berryman, he thought indulgently. Miss Berryman was far too lively to waste her time denigrating anyone. But perhaps Lady Anne felt he paid her insufficient attention, and it seemed that if he could win her to his side, his wife would come to see that he was not such a bad fellow after all. For one of Adam’s incorrigibly open and whimsical nature, there was just the least bit of discomfort in having a wife who treated one as a rather undistinguished stranger.

  Right off, though, Adam realized it was a mistake to have led Anne out. Her elder brother had expected the honor and regarded him with unnerving astonishment, while his best friend, Captain Midford, glared during the whole of the set. Lady Anne was pleasant, but slightly distracted, as one might expect of a young lady at her comeout ball, and the Marquess of Barnfield had an expression similar to the one he had worn that day at Parkhurst when Adam had very nearly succumbed to the parlor maid. All in all it was a disquieting interval and
he escaped to the card room at the first opportunity.

  Before supper Anne managed to dance with both her brothers, Captain Midford, Lord Langham, Mr. Thresham, Sir Arthur Moresby, Lord Brackenbury . . . and Mr. Rogers. Before the second cotillion she had made time to speak with Miss Helena Rogers, who sat out several of the dances, whether by choice or not, Anne could not be sure. Taking no chances, however, she asked her mother if she would pay particular attention to introducing Miss Rogers to gentlemen, and the marchioness nodded her understanding.

  Coming as Anne did from dancing with a series of gentlemen who flattered her, Mr. Rogers was a refreshing change. He did not compare her gown with Aphrodite’s robes, nor did he find any similarity between her teeth and Lady Hertford’s pearls. When he spoke of the theater it was in serious speculation about the quality of the performances and the merits of the drama. His interests were eclectic: the state of unrest amongst the factory workers, housing in London, the merits of watercolors, the progress of the Brighton Pavilion, the novels of Scott, the deficiencies of Parliament.

  Asked her opinion of Ackermann’s Art Library, Anne had to confess that she had never been there. “I should like to go some time," she hastened to add.

  “You’d enjoy it, I think. Helena cozens me into taking her at least once a month. My sister has real artistic talent. Mostly she works in watercolors, but I’ve been trying to convince her to try oils. Perhaps you’d like to join us the next time we go to Ackermann’s.”

  “Yes, thank you, I would. And I would like to see some of Miss Rogers’s work as well.” Anne had intended to say more, but was separated from him for a while and when they were rejoined he spoke of her brother Jack and how they had met. As the music faded and the murmur of voices rose to replace it, she felt a sense of regret. Mr. Rogers made no effort to acquire her as a supper partner, whether because he assumed she was already spoken for, or because he had no wish to take her in, she could not know. And in fact Lord Dunn was waiting with her mother at the side of the floor to claim her, so she smiled as Mr. Rogers thanked her for the set, and watched him stride purposefully toward his sister.

  In the supper room Dunn surveyed the company and asked, "Shall we sit with the Greenwoods?” He could not have chosen a more appropriate table. In addition to Greenwood and his supper partner Miss Penhall, there were Sir Nicholas Dyrham and Lady Bradwell, Emma and Lord William, Maggie and Mr. Thresham, and Adam’s sister and her husband, Captain Morton. Anne thought it the perfect location and said as much. Every one of the others was well known to her, and if Cynthia Morton was annoyed with her brother for choosing his previous flirt as a supper partner, she didn’t show it.

  Liveried footmen served the sumptuous meal and refilled wineglasses with an almost alarming promptitude. Though she was seated at the opposite end across the table from her brother, Anne knew that his euphoria came only partly from his proximity to Emma. Unthinking, he downed glass after glass of the wine as he parried Sir Nicholas’s waggish thrusts, at the same time attempting to impress Emma with his tales of personal glory in the sporting field. Unfortunately, Sir Nicholas was by far his superior in riding, hunting, shooting, and almost every other endeavor poor William brought forth as evidence of his prowess; in addition, Sir Nicholas was adept at a smiling, nonoffensive mockery.

  “What Lord William means to tell you, Miss Berryman,” the baronet explained after one particularly moving description of a long run after the fox, “is that he was only once dislodged into a gorse cover. Why, I daresay half the field fared a great deal worse! And I assure you it is much more comfortable to land in gorse than in a stream.”

  Lord William was incensed. “I didn’t land in a gorse cover on that run! You’re thinking of the run through Wilton Woods! This was a week later and I had a perfect run.”

  Emma’s lips twitched but she said only, "I can’t imagine how anyone keeps his seat during such a headlong dash.”

  “There’s nothing to it,” Lord William assured her. “Give the horse his head and when he jumps…”

  Since he was illustrating his words with the hand that held his wineglass, there was every reason to expect the accident that followed. Emma’s attention had been momentarily distracted, however, by a footman inquiring if she wished a serving of the veal sweetbreads with mushrooms, and she was not expecting the large quantity of wine that splashed in her face and dribbled down onto her gown. Even a society matron might have been excused for uttering an exclamation in such a situation, and Emma, taken by surprise, let out a decided squeal.

  There followed a certain amount of confusion—Lord William apologizing profusely, Lady Bradwell hastening to her niece’s aid with a large napkin, the footman attempting to dispose of the Sevres bowl of sweetbreads so he could remove Emma’s wine-sprinkled plate. The confusion was not completely understood by those at the far end of the table, as they had not been witnesses to the catastrophe. Greenwood was merely relieved that it was not his wife causing the commotion, and Anne decided that her assistance would only add to the bedlam. Miss Penhall was above regarding the scene at all, while Cynthia Morton shared a rueful glance with her husband. Lord Dunn raised his quizzing glass.

  When Emma had finished mopping her face with her aunt’s napkin, she returned it and, with a quick glance to see that she had Sir Nicholas’s attention, turned to Lord William with a straight face and a sigh. “I believe I would have preferred the gorse cover to the stream.”

  There was a low rumble of laughter from Sir Nicholas and even Lady Bradwell could not contain a gurgle of mirth. “By Jove, you’re a sport!” Lord William declared proudly, beaming on her. And Emma, pleased with her finesse in changing the awkward accident into a jest, smiled happily on the rest of the table. Her composure was greeted by approbation from all save Dunn, who continued to wield his quizzing glass. Impetuously she grasped Lord William’s quizzing glass, which dangled on a long black ribbon, and placed it to her eye. She stared through it at Dunn until he dropped his, and then she declared in a voice loud enough for him to hear, “Someone must pass the word to Lord Dunn that our performance is complete and he may go on with his meal.”

  Maggie gasped at her friend’s temerity, but Anne bit her lip to stifle a smile. Though Dunn nodded coolly to Emma, Anne could see that his jaw was clenched and the hand that held his quizzing glass remained tensely motionless. Torn between an admiration of Emma’s calm and effective action, and a long-standing regard for Dunn, Anne could not resist asking, “Depressing her pretensions, were you, my lord?”

  Dunn forced himself to take a leisurely sip of wine. “Someone should. Obviously I am not the one to curb her impudence.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s impudence, you know. She’s just high-spirited. It was Will’s fault, spilling the wine on her and bringing her to everyone’s attention.”

  “Miss Berryman enjoys being the center of attention.”

  Anne observed him through carefully lowered lashes. “Has she done something to incur your displeasure?” But she distinctly remembered Emma’s confession on the ride back to school from Maggie’s wedding.

  “You are mistaken, Lady Anne. I have only the smallest acquaintance with Miss Berryman. For Lady Bradwell’s sake alone am I concerned about her niece’s behavior, as I would be for any friend presenting an unruly child.”

  "But Emma is charming! Sometimes I wish I had the courage to thumb my nose at all the stuffy conventions. Do you think she puts herself forward? Really, it would be totally out of character for her to blend in with all the insipid debutantes. She was meant to stand out in any assembly, and it would be a great piece of nonsense for her to behave as some of the meeker mouses . . . ah, mice.”

  “A young lady can retain her individuality and yet maintain a proper reserve in company.”

  Anne laughed. “Only because most of them have no wish to be noticed in a crowd.”

  “Miss Berryman would be desolate if she weren’t,” he retorted.

  “Yes, but what of it? It does no harm,
and she is vastly entertaining. Have you noticed that she doesn’t toadeat the aristocracy, or give her attention only to the most attractive men? I’ve seen her accept dances with men so shy they could hardly stammer out the invitation! She has a good heart, Lord Dunn.”

  “Which won’t keep her from getting into mischief, Lady Anne. The trouble with Miss Berryman is that she believes herself possessed of a sophistication which she cannot begin to fulfill in actuality. Because Lady Bradwell is a seasoned matron, and has, I fear, shared more anecdotes with her niece than is wise, Miss Berryman acts as though she has her aunt’s experience . . . and position. If you value your friend’s credit with the ton, it would be wise to caution her that her ‘high spirits’ are no substitute for discretion.”

  Anne could not entirely disagree with his assessment of the situation; had she not worried about much the same problem even before they left school? “Such a homily would not come well from me, I fear. After all, Emma and I are of an age. Besides, I think you exaggerate her failings, and Lady Bradwell is not a lenient chaperon.”

  “Not lenient, but rather trusting. Like so many good-natured people she believes others are of a similar disposition.” Dunn made a languid gesture of dismissal. “I am becoming a bore on this topic. Greenwood and my brother have the same effect on me. I feel like a veritable ancient; at times I am hard pressed to even remember what it was like to be their age! I couldn’t possibly have behaved like those two gudgeons.”

  “But Jack once told me you— “

  “Please.” He lifted an admonitory hand, laughing. “Let me admit to some youthful indiscretions and beg you not to repeat them to me. Nothing is more lowering than having your self-consequence shattered by reminders of your own past.”

  A mischievous smile played about her lips. “Very well, Lord Dunn, but I think in that case you must do a favor for me.”

  His eyes became wary. “I can tell before you ask that it is going to be distasteful. Well, ma’am, what would you have me do?”