A London Season

by Patricia Bray

  With that he strode away, abandoning Miss Sedgwick to her own devices. It was bad manners, but nothing compared to what he really wanted to do to her. Once again he had been deceived by a female, and he could feel the rage pounding in his chest.

  He headed for the door, intent on putting as much space between himself and that callous vixen as he could. But before he reached the door, he spotted Lord Frederick talking with several of his friends. Glendale changed direction and headed over to them.

  “I’ll expect your cheque in the morning,” Glendale said bluntly.

  “Cheque?”

  “The hundred pounds,” Glendale elaborated. “It has been four weeks now, and Miss Sedgwick is the epitome of a society lady. Avaricious, grasping, deceitful, and intent only on trapping some helpless fellow into matrimony. A remarkable transformation indeed.”

  Freddie glanced over at Lord David Cartland and Mr. Helprin, who were taking this in with interest. “Glendale, you can’t mean what you are saying.”

  “On the contrary,” Glendale replied, heedless of the eager audience. “You can count yourself lucky that she didn’t set her cap at you instead.” With that he turned on his heel and left the Elliots’ town house.

  Walking outside to his carriage, Glendale reflected bitterly on the unfaithfulness of the female sex. To think that he had once again been taken in by a pretty face and engaging manner. You would think he would have learned his lesson years ago, after that fiasco with Miss Julia Hanscombe. But no. Like a callow youth he had allowed himself to be blinded by Miss Sedgwick’s seemingly artless charm and winning ways.

  He had to give her credit though. An actress of her caliber should be treading the boards of Drury Lane. Mentally he reviewed the events of the past month, seeing everything now through a different light. How she must have laughed at him as she played the part of the naive country lass.

  Her only miscalculation was in revealing her hand too soon. She must have decided to break the connection, once she realized that she had no hope of engaging his affections. It was fortunate for him that she had done so before his heart was involved.

  Never again. From now on he would confine his attentions to those women who were honest about bartering their favors. Rapping on the coach roof, he directed the coachman to Violetta Archer’s residence. He had been neglecting her for these last weeks, but it was time now to make amends. At least there he could be sure of his welcome.

  But when he arrived, he found the welcome was not what he had envisioned. It took several minutes for a maid to answer his knock.

  “Oh, milord, we didn’t expect you,” the maid said anxiously. She held the door, as if undecided whether or not to let him in. Glendale brushed by her and entered the hall. The maid darted past him to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll just tell Mrs. Archer that you’re here,” she said.

  Something was amiss. At this hour of the evening, Violetta was normally to be found downstairs in her salon. Even if she was upstairs, it was out of character for her not to rush to greet him. Glendale’s gaze swept the hall, pausing briefly as he noted the presence of a gentleman’s hat and gloves on the hall table. An ebony walking stick was propped next to them.

  The maid blanched as she followed his gaze. “I’ll tell Mrs. Archer you’ve come, milord,” she repeated desperately.

  “No need,” Glendale said. “I appear to have made a mistake.”

  He let himself out, and returned to his carriage. “I’ve changed my mind, Barnes,” he said to the curious coachman. “Take me home.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Barnes said, without a trace of expression.

  In the library of his town house, Glendale poured himself a snifter of brandy, then settled himself in a chair by the fire. A single candle branch provided the only illumination, but the darkness suited his mood.

  Placing the glass on the table, he reached up and untied his cravat. Then he took a sip of brandy, cradling the glass in his hands as he thought of the wrongs that had been done to him.

  Jane and Violetta. Before this evening he would have sworn that they were as different as two women could be, yet they had both betrayed him. Violetta had cause at least. After his shocking neglect, it was no wonder that she had sought another protector. Violetta had probably assumed that it was only a matter of time before he cast her over.

  And Jane. He would have taken an oath that she didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. His heart felt heavy, and he told himself it was anger at her treachery. But it didn’t feel like anger. It felt like sadness. He had liked the girl. Glendale laughed mirthlessly as he realized that earlier this evening he had been worried about her. Worried that something might be wrong, and wondering how he could help.

  But she hadn’t needed his help. Hadn’t wanted it. He was just a tool to be used, then discarded, in her matrimonial quest. No doubt a mere Viscount was too lowly for her ambitions. Well, he wished her luck. Let her make some other poor sod miserable. He was happy to be well out of her clutches.

  Jane checked the impulse to run after Matthew. She knew she had made a botch of her explanation. When faced with his presence, her carefully rehearsed speeches had been forgotten. Instead her desperation had gotten the better of her, and she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Had she really told him she had no time to waste with him? She cringed at the memory of the anger on his face. What must he be thinking of her now? Belatedly Jane realized that she had taken her anger at her circumstances out on Matthew.

  She could try to explain, but to what purpose? He would never understand unless she laid bare the whole of her plight. And she had too much pride to do that. She wanted more from Glendale than his friendship, or worse yet, his pity. But Matthew had made it clear that he had no intention of offering more.

  So be it then. Without the distraction of his attentions, she could turn her thoughts to her purpose. Rising from the chair, Jane searched the room, looking for a likely prospect. Spotting Mr. Joyce in conversation with Miss Grimes, whom she knew slightly, Jane made her way over towards them.

  “Miss Sedgwick, how thrilling to see you,” Miss Grimes said. From the enthusiasm of her greeting, Jane could only conclude that Mr. Joyce had been boring Miss Grimes to tears. “And of course, you know Mr. Joyce.”

  “Your servant, Miss Sedgwick,” said Mr. Joyce, turning his torso to face her, the high points of his collar making it impossible for him to turn his head.

  “Are you here on your own?” Miss Grimes enquired.

  “No, Lady Barton accompanied me,” Jane replied, wondering at the odd question.

  Miss Grimes plied her ivory fan languidly. In her third season she was the epitome of elegant sophistication, and Jane began to feel uncertain of herself in a way that she had not felt since the night of her ball.

  “Of course. I just wondered, since Lord Glendale left so suddenly.” Miss Grimes gave Jane a look of such pure sympathy that it had to be contrived.

  Jane didn’t bother replying to the barb. Something was going on. Normally she had to simply make an appearance at a ball or rout to find herself surrounded by admirers. It was the reason why Glendale had led her away to a secluded spot for their tête-à-tête. Jane had hated the attention, yet now that it was gone, she missed it. She suddenly felt alone and vulnerable.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Mr. Joyce said abruptly, and with a jerky bow he was gone.

  Miss Grimes chattered on about her successes, and Jane listened with half an ear as she tried to figure out what was different this evening. The space around her and Miss Grimes widened imperceptibly, until they stood isolated among the chattering throng. Looking at the faces around them, Jane imagined that they were looking at her, talking about her.

  Nonsense. Her nerves were merely overset after the scene with Glendale. Jane pressed one hand to her throbbing temples. The heat and noisy crowd was suddenly too much to bear.

  “Pray excuse me, Miss Grimes. I see my aunt signalling for me,” Jane lied.

  Miss Grimes arched her ey
ebrows in polite disbelief. “Of course,” she replied, turning her gaze significantly to where Lady Barton stood chattering with several older ladies. Lady Barton’s back was to them, so there was no way she could have been signalling.

  Jane made a hasty retreat. Her head was beginning to pound in earnest. She went over to where Lady Barton was standing, hoping to convince her aunt to leave early.

  The ladies tittered, and Jane found time to wonder what it was that they found so amusing. She arrived in time to hear Mrs. Dunne say, “And I heard Lord Cartland say that it was all a silly wager. Glendale had no more interest in her than a flea.”

  Jane stopped a few paces away, rooted to the spot. A wager?

  “And was it true that he called her a fortune hunter?” another lady asked.

  “I heard that he called her a grasping harpy,” replied another.

  “It must all be a mistake,” Mrs. Elliot said. “After all, Letitia, she is your niece. I can’t imagine that she would forget herself so.”

  Her niece. Jane realized that they were talking about her. What had Glendale said?

  The ladies looked at Lady Barton, and Jane waited for her aunt to defend her.

  “Well, I always knew that girl would be trouble,” Lady Barton said with a heavy sigh. “But Lord Barton insisted that I do my duty and sponsor her. Why he even put up the dowry so she could make a respectable match. I told Barton that she would come to no good, but he wouldn’t listen.” Lady Barton paused while her friends made commiserating noises. “Cornelia’s as unruly as her mother. I offered to find my niece a decent match, but she had her eyes set higher. Well, she looks a pretty fool now that Glendale’s discovered her ruse.”

  Jane’s spirits plummeted, and she longed for the floor to open up and swallow her. But there was no such luck. One of the ladies surrounding her aunt spotted Jane, and nudged her companion with her fan, pointing in Jane’s direction.

  In that moment she hated them all. She hated her aunt, London, and the whole of society. She even hated Matthew for his careless comments that had destroyed her peace.

  Her hatred gave her the strength to raise her chin and approach her aunt. “Lady Barton,” Jane said, touching her aunt’s sleeve to get her attention.

  Lady Barton whirled, startled by Jane’s sudden appearance. A dull mottled flush spread over her face as Lady Barton realized that Jane had heard her last remarks.

  “I have a headache, and would like to retire,” Jane said firmly. “That is, if you are agreeable, dear aunt?”

  Lady Barton glanced at Jane, and evidently decided not to risk a public confrontation. “Of course,” Lady Barton said.

  Jane swept out of the room, glancing back only once to ensure that Lady Barton was following her. They waited in arctic silence as the footman helped them into their capes, and then waited for their carriage to arrive.

  Once they were in the privacy of the carriage, Lady Barton made one attempt to break the silence.

  “Your behavior this evening was most exceptionable,” Lady Barton said. “Going off into a corner for a coze with Lord Glendale, and then dragging me out of there without a by-your-leave. I don’t wonder what people will say.”

  How dare her aunt attempt to lecture her? The hypocrisy sickened Jane. “On the contrary, I know exactly what they will say. After all, I heard you and your friends dissecting my character quite thoroughly.”

  “You impertinent—”

  “Enough.” Jane said, weary of the whole evening. “If you and the faithless Glendale are any example of town manners, then I am grateful to have been raised in the country.”

  “How dare you take that tone with me?” Lady Barton blustered.

  “I will speak to you any way I please,” Jane shot back. “I have had enough of your hypocritical lectures. If you wish me to be polite, then I suggest you remain silent.”

  Of course Lady Barton ignored Jane’s wishes, and continued to lecture her niece on her lack of breeding for the rest of the drive home. Jane paid no attention, letting her aunt’s words wash over her like an angry sea.

  She had room in her mind for only one thought. Matthew had betrayed her. He had interpreted her words as a slight, and then taken a swift revenge. It didn’t matter what he had actually said. Whether he had called her a fortune hunter, or a harpy, or an ill-mannered chit, the effect was all the same. She was ruined. He had given the ton a juicy scandal, and in a few days there wouldn’t be a soul in society who hadn’t heard the news.

  Jane had seen how quickly society could turn on a favorite. Her fickle admirers would disappear like the mist. In a single evening she had gone from being Miss Sedgwick the Incomparable, to Miss Sedgwick the fortune hunter. In one stroke Glendale had destroyed her chance to make an eligible alliance, and her family’s last hope for security. She hoped his revenge brought him no satisfaction.

  Chapter Ten

  “Lady Barton and Miss Sedgwick,” intoned the liveried footman as he ushered them into Mrs. Hatcher’s salon. The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at the newcomers.

  “Is she the one?” screeched the elderly Lady Archer, who was widely known in society for both her deafness and her lack of tact. Jane pretended not to have heard, plastering a tranquil expression on her face as she greeted Mrs. Hatcher, and then took a seat as far away from Lady Archer as possible.

  But Lady Archer was hard to ignore. “You say Glendale paid her a hundred pounds? Whatever for?” Lady Archer demanded. Mrs. Willoughby, Lady Archer’s much-tried daughter, tried to silence her mother, but to no avail.

  Jane’s seat placed her near the Simpson sisters who giggled nervously, and then began babbling about their recent shopping expedition. They made no attempt to include Jane in the conversation, for which she was grateful. Was it possible for one’s face to freeze into a permanent insincere smile? Jane suspected that she was likely to find out.

  It was her own fault, of course. Lady Barton had taken gleeful pleasure in warning her that it would be like this. But Jane had insisted on accompanying her aunt as Lady Barton made her round of calls. Jane had been unwilling to give up without a fight. She had cherished the hope that matters were not as grim as they had first appeared on that awful night. But that hope was quickly dashed. Wherever Jane went, she found herself the recipient of sly glances and the subject of whispered conversations. Some ladies didn’t even bother to whisper, as witness the unfortunate Lady Archer.

  Jane glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. To her horror only five minutes had passed since they entered. It would be at least another twenty before they could take their leave. And it was no use counting on Lady Barton to rescue her. On the contrary, her aunt was enjoying her role in this drama.

  Jane now realized how much her aunt had resented Jane’s earlier successes. After all, hadn’t she heard Lady Barton telling her friends that she had never wanted to sponsor Jane in the first place? Her invitation to Jane had been prompted by Lord Barton’s threat to invite the entire family to come live with them. No wonder Lady Barton had been furious when Jane refused her first offer.

  But now everything was turning out as Lady Barton had hoped. Jane had been rejected by polite society, and no one could lay the fault at her aunt’s door. In a strange way, Lady Barton had finally achieved her revenge on her beautiful sister Alice.

  But even Lady Barton didn’t realize how complete her victory was. When he made her an outcast, Lord Glendale had done more than destroy Jane’s happiness. He had robbed her of the chance to save her family from the ruin that now threatened. Bitterness filled her heart at the thought of the treacherous Lord Glendale. How could she have put her trust in such a man?

  It was mortifying to realize how thoroughly he had duped her. She had believed his honeyed lies. She had thought him a friend, someone who cared for her. She had lived with the hope that one day he might see her as something more than a friend.

  Even after her humiliation at the ball, Jane had still believed in him. After the first shock wo
re off, she convinced herself that it was all a misunderstanding. Surely Glendale couldn’t have said those callous words. Jane had waited anxiously for Glendale to call.

  But Glendale hadn’t called. Actually no one had called, but it was Glendale’s absence that had destroyed her faith. Never before had he failed to call on her after seeing her at a gathering. His failure to do so was confirmation of his guilt. To think, all the time she had called him friend, he had been playing with her. Laughing at her. Leading her on until he tired of the game, and destroyed her reputation with a few well-chosen phrases.

  Jane could think of no reason for his actions. She had done Lord Glendale no wrong. Perhaps it was not malice that prompted his actions, but boredom. His attentions might have been caused by the overpowering ennui that was said to be the bane of the nobility’s existence. Glendale may have seen her as a diversion. She had amused him for a time, and when she ceased to be amusing, he dismissed her.

  Neither explanation satisfied her, but it didn’t really matter. Now she had to deal with the consequences of Glendale’s actions. It was the ultimate unfairness that his reputation should remain spotless. Glendale was the deceiver and betrayer, yet no stain fell upon his honor. Only Jane, his innocent dupe, would suffer.

  Jane endured the rest of their half hour at Mrs. Hatcher’s with grim determination. She refused to let these society tabbies think that they had cowed her. During the carriage ride home Lady Barton made several attempts at conversation, but Jane refused to be drawn. As soon as they reached the town house, Jane escaped to the privacy of her own room.

  The problem of her future was now pressing. And Jane had seen for herself that there was little chance that society would let her back in its good graces. At least not for some time to come. And time was the one thing she didn’t have.

  It was less than a week since she had sent the twins back to Yorkshire, but it seemed like a lifetime to Jane. A week ago she had been confident that she could solve their problems by making an advantageous marriage. Several of her suitors had hinted that they were willing to make an offer. All she’d needed to do was make her choice.