A London Season

by Patricia Bray

  Glendale was still frustrated by the time dinner was over. The ladies rose to retire, and as he watched Jane disappear, he realized he was no closer to discerning her feelings than he had been before this night. He had no notion of what to do next. Should he leave matters as they were? Glendale toyed absently with his glass of port, taking no part in the conversation around him.

  “Didn’t think to see you here,” Lord David Cartland said, nudging Glendale to get his attention. The young lord’s face was flushed with the amount of port he had consumed.

  Glendale was in no mood for conversation with drunken lordlings. “Indeed,” he said in his chilliest voice, hoping the young puppy would take the hint.

  But Lord Cartland was too far gone to notice. “I said,” he repeatedly loudly, as if Glendale might be deaf, “Didn’t ’spect to shee—to see you here. After what you said about the girl. Calling her a fortune hunter and all.”

  Cartland’s loud words had attracted the attention of the others. The room grew still. Glendale looked over at Mr. Whitmore, whose set expression indicated that he, too, had heard the remark.

  “You are mistaken,” Glendale said, fixing Cartland with an icy stare.

  “But I was there. I heard—”

  “You are mistaken,” Glendale repeated. “I trust you will not make such a mistake again. It might be taken as a slur against my honor.”

  Drunk as he was, young Cartland did not miss the veiled threat. As Glendale had suspected, the young puppy had no stomach for facing a challenge from an opponent with Glendale’s reputation. “Of course,” Cartland mumbled, “You are right. Don’t know what I heard. It must have been someone else, something else. Or maybe I wasn’t even there…” His voice trailed off into silence.

  Glendale turned his shoulder to Cartland, satisfied that Cartland had been put in his place. And the news of his threat to challenge Cartland would travel swiftly throughout the ton. Knowing that Glendale was prepared to defend Jane’s honor would give society pause. It wasn’t much to do for her, but it was a beginning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The morning after the dinner party, Mr. Whitmore called at Berkeley Square. Through a stroke of good luck, Lady Barton was engaged, leaving Jane to receive Mr. Whitmore. She greeted him warmly, pleased that they would have a chance to talk privately. Well, almost privately. The ever-watchful Sally, busy with some bit of mending, did not really count.

  Jane had seen little of her fiancé since the engagement was announced. In many ways Mr. Whitmore was still a stranger to her, yet they would be wed in less than a month. Jane tried not to dwell on that thought, and instead concentrate on learning all she could about her future husband.

  She rang for refreshments, and listened to Mr. Whitmore’s impressions of last night’s dinner. When the cart arrived, she expertly poured coffee for Mr. Whitmore, and then tea for herself.

  “I must admit, I was surprised to see Lord Glendale in attendance,” Mr. Whitmore said blandly.

  Jane gazed sharply at him, but Mr. Whitmore appeared disinterested. “Yes, well, he is family, and it would have looked odd not to invite him,” she replied.

  “Even after the way he treated you?”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” Jane said firmly. “Lord Glendale has made his apologies, and that is the end of the matter.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Whitmore observed, but to her relief he did not press the matter further. There was a long moment of silence.

  Glendale was a topic best left unexplored. Jane did not want to know what Mr. Whitmore thought of Glendale, or of her own relationship with him. She seized eagerly on another topic to divert his thoughts. “I had a letter from my mother the other day. She and the twins will be arriving shortly, in plenty of time for the wedding.”

  The rest of her brothers and sisters would be staying at home. When Lady Barton and Mr. Whitmore had made the wedding plans, it had been decided that a quiet London wedding would be best. There was no reason for Mr. Whitmore to travel to the wilds of Yorkshire, just so Jane’s family could see her wed. And Lady Barton, while grudgingly willing to give houseroom to her sister and the two oldest boys, would extend her hospitality no farther.

  Lady Barton would have excluded even the twins, but Jane insisted that her brothers would be the ones to walk her down the aisle. Her mother had written that Bobby and Dick were pleased to be coming to London, but not at all agreeable to the notion of dressing in their Sunday best.

  “I trust your family is well?”

  “Yes, all quite well.”

  “Good.” Mr. Whitmore stretched his legs out and leaned back in the chair. “I wrote to your family’s man of business, and instructed him to see that the Manor Hall is put to rights. With luck, everything should be finished by the time your mother is to return home.”

  “You are much too kind,” Jane said. She meant it sincerely, but it seemed that she was always thanking Mr. Whitmore for one thing or another. Her betrothed had redeemed the mortgages on the farmland and Manor Hall, and sent money to Mr. Timerson to settle the rest of their debts. A generous settlement was to be made on her family once they were married. At times she felt weighed down by the burden of gratitude. “It will be wonderful to see the old Manor restored again.”

  “What? Oh yes, I suppose we will see it sometime,” Mr. Whitmore said. “Yorkshire is a long journey, but perhaps we could go for a visit someday.” He frowned thoughtfully as he consulted some mental calendar. “Not this summer, though. Business will be much too busy. And of course winter is no time to travel. But by next summer things may be quieter.”

  Jane’s chest constricted, as the import of his words sank in. Not to see her family for a year or more? Why little Michael would be grown without recognition! Certain that her distress must show on her face, she turned away from Mr. Whitmore and busied herself with the tea tray.

  Jane reminded herself that Mr. Whitmore was a good man. A kind man. It wasn’t his fault that his business affairs left him little time for socializing or visiting. Surely they would be able to work out some kind of compromise. “Whatever you say,” Jane finally replied. “Although if I am absent for too long, my family is liable to come looking for me.”

  Her voice must have betrayed her unhappiness, for Mr. Whitmore reached over and patted her hand. “My dear, you know that they will always be welcome. And you may visit them whenever you please, although I will seldom be free to accompany you.”

  Jane gave him a determinedly bright smile. “I understand,” she said. “Please forgive my moodiness. It is natural that I will miss my family, but then of course I will have you.”

  But Mr. Whitmore would make a poor replacement for her boisterous and loving family. She had already seen for herself how little time her future husband had to spend with her. There was no reason to expect he would change after the marriage. He had even mentioned that his agent was looking into country properties, within a few hours of London. Somewhere quiet, since the City was no place to raise children. Their children. But Jane was beginning to fear that she would be expected to raise them on her own.

  Freddie was late as usual, blast his eyes. Glendale pulled out his pocket watch and flipped the cover open. It must be broken, for it showed only two minutes had passed since the last time he checked. Glendale held the watch up to his ear, but the steady ticking didn’t reassure him. Perhaps the watch had stopped and only just started again.

  Glendale strode across the foyer and threw open the door to the front parlor. The door handle made a satisfying crack as it struck the wall. He leaned in and glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Time itself must have ceased, for the treacherous clock confirmed the testimony of his watch.

  Glendale resumed his pacing. After a brief pause, the young footman James went over and closed the parlor door, careful to stay out of Glendale’s path.

  A knock sounded at the front door. James reached it first, with an impressive show of speed, and opened the door to reveal the long-awaited Lord Frederick.


  Glendale, who had been wearing his cape for the last half hour, brushed by the footman. He would have forgotten his hat and gloves if James hadn’t thrust them into his hands. “You’re late, Freddie,” was his greeting.

  “Nonsense,” Freddie said cheerfully. At Glendale’s scowl he amended his words. “Well, maybe a little, but considering that I brought Priscilla, I think I did quite well. You know how females are. Never satisfied with how they look, so they’re never ready on time.”

  Glendale could name at least one woman who wouldn’t have kept him waiting. But Jane had little in common with the flighty Priscilla.

  Glendale followed Freddie down to the carriage. “I see you still have the grays,” he said, referring to the matched horses that were harnessed to the carriage.

  “Yes, aren’t they something?” Freddie beamed proudly.

  “Indeed.” They were definitely a sight to turn heads. The harness was all gleaming silver and black leather, matching the trim on Freddie’s newest carriage. Silver ribbons were elaborately braided in the horses’ manes and tails. Even the horses’ hooves had been painted black. Glendale hoped that Freddie was paying his stable lads well for all the extra work.

  Freddie paused by the horses’ heads, on the pretext of showing off the matched pair. “Now, before you get in the carriage, tell me that you remember your promise.”

  “What promise?” Glendale asked, with feigned innocence.

  The color mounted in Freddie’s cheeks. “Oh, no, you’re not wiggling out of this. You promised to escort Priscilla tonight.”

  “And you doubt my word?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that I know you,” Freddie replied, with his own peculiar brand of logic. “So I am warning you now. Miss Sedgwick is to be my companion for the evening. After all, a man with my reputation can’t be seen taking his sister around. Makes it look like I’ve nothing better to do.”

  Glendale widened his eyes. “Nothing could be simpler. You will escort Miss Sedgwick, and I will squire your sister. Now may we get in the carriage? Jane will be wondering where we have disappeared to.”

  Freddie looked at him sharply. “Why don’t I trust you?” But he made no further protest and motioned for the groom, who opened the carriage door.

  The excursion to the Opera was Glendale’s idea. Ostensibly, Freddie would be escorting Miss Sedgwick, and Glendale would be Priscilla’s escort. Glendale had convinced his friend to go along with the plan, arguing that their appearing in such a public setting would show the ton that they were all on good terms, and help defuse the gossip.

  It was a good reason. It just wasn’t the only reason. Having Freddie offer the invitation ensured that Jane wouldn’t refuse. But Glendale had no intention of allowing Freddie to monopolize Jane for the evening. When they reached the Opera House, Glendale made his move.

  He allowed Freddie and Jane to proceed them into the box, which Freddie’s mother had lent for the occasion. There were four gilt chairs, arranged in two pairs. Freddie seated Jane in the front, and then sat himself next to her.

  Glendale seated Priscilla and himself. Then he glanced at his companion, as if struck by a sudden thought. “No, this will never do. Miss Pennington, I never realized how charmingly petite you are.”

  Miss Pennington blushed and giggled on cue.

  “And I know how much you were looking forward to seeing this production. Why don’t you change places with Miss Sedgwick? She is so much taller, she will be able to see perfectly well from the back.”

  The couple in front turned to stare at them. The look on Freddie’s face was priceless. Priscilla rose from her seat, and Jane stood up as well. In a trice the ladies had exchanged places. Freddie stood up as well, but Glendale remained seated.

  “I believe you are in my chair,” Freddie said stiffly.

  Glendale leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, effectively blocking Freddie’s path. “Well, actually I am in your mother’s chair. We all are. And wasn’t it kind of her to lend them to us? Now, be a good chap and sit down. Can’t you see they are about to start?”

  Freddie sat down, muttering about treacherous snakes and ungrateful cads.

  “That was a shabby trick you played on Lord Frederick,” Jane said softly.

  “Yes, it was,” Glendale agreed. “I hope you don’t object.” If Jane was upset, he was prepared to exchange places with Freddie. But he hoped she wouldn’t mind the change of escorts.

  “No, I prefer it back here. When one is in the front of the box, you are conscious of the eyes that are upon you. Here it is easier to pretend that no one is looking at you.”

  Well, at least she hadn’t objected to his company. “If you are uncomfortable, we can leave. I—that is, Freddie—invited you because I remembered how much you enjoyed your earlier visit.”

  “It was very kind of Lord Frederick to invite me,” Jane replied, giving an ironic stress to Lord Frederick’s name. “I hate to impose on Lady Barton, and Mr. Whitmore has scant time for socializing these days.” An expression of sadness passed over her face, so fleeting that a lesser observer might have missed it.

  Her expression confirmed his feeling that Jane was not happy in her engagement. But the music had started, and there was no chance to pursue his suspicions. Glendale could hardly conduct a private conversation with Jane in the raised voices that were necessary to be heard over the operatic arias.

  Jane gave her full attention to the unfolding drama, seeming absorbed by Mozart’s tale of star-crossed lovers. Glendale had winced when he realized that the company was performing The Magic Flute. Such romantic fare was hardly appropriate, given their situation.

  Glendale crossed his legs, swinging one foot back and forth. Nothing was turning out as he had hoped. There had been no chance for private conversation with Miss Sedgwick. During the interval between acts, their box had rapidly filled with acquaintances curious to behold the sight of Jane and Glendale on such apparent good terms.

  And now the second half had begun. And he was no further towards his goal than he had been two hours earlier. On stage, the stout diva who played the Princess was singing her lungs out, proclaiming her love for Tamino. But Tamino, sworn to silence, did not respond. Glendale glanced over at Jane, to see what she thought of the hapless lovers.

  A single tear rolled down her creamy white cheek. And then it was joined by another. Clearly Jane could feel all too well the anguish of the lovers. She fumbled for her reticule. Glendale reached into his coat and withdrew a linen handkerchief.

  “Let me,” he said, leaning over towards her. With infinite tenderness he wiped her swollen eyes. His gentleness proved her undoing. Jane turned her face towards him.

  “It’s so unfair,” she said, her voice thick with tears. He could not tell whether she meant the plot of the opera, her own situation, or life itself. He suspected that she herself was not sure what she meant. “Why can’t people just be happy?” With those words she broke down into tears.

  Glendale gathered Jane to his chest, her tears wilting his cravat. “There now,” he said, stroking her dark hair. “Everything will be all right.”

  “How can it be? I’ve ruined everything,” Jane sobbed.

  Her words were loud enough to catch the attention of the pair in front. Freddie’s back went rigid, but like a true gentleman he continued to look straight ahead. Priscilla, however, gave in to her youthful curiosity and turned around to stare at Jane. With a firm hand, Freddie reached over and grasped his sister’s chin, turning her gaze back to the stage where it belonged.

  It was time that they settled this. Glendale reached forward and tapped Frederick on the shoulder. When Freddie turned around, Glendale informed him, “Miss Sedgwick is not feeling well. I am taking her home.”

  Freddie nodded. “Take my carriage. Prissy and I can take a hackney.”

  “Thank you,” Glendale said, grateful for his friend’s understanding. Freddie might make a fuss over trifles, but he was completely reliab
le in a crunch.

  Glendale bundled Jane into her cloak and escorted her down the stairs and out into the street. She had stopped crying, but said little until they were inside the carriage.

  “Thank you,” Jane said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Jane slid over to the far end of the bench, placing as much distance as she could between them. Glendale moved over next to her, and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Jane stiffened, but did not pull away. She fit perfectly against him, her head leaning against his shoulders as if she belonged there, by his side.

  “We can not go on like this. You can not keep pretending that everything is fine,” he stated.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Jane said hesitantly.

  He could see that she was still upset. A gentleman wouldn’t press her in her condition, but time was running out. And he might never have a better opportunity than now.

  “You know what I mean,” Glendale retorted. “You’re not the type to fall to pieces over a silly romantic opera. Not unless something else is bothering you. Why can’t you admit that you’ve made a mistake? You were never meant to marry Mr. Whitmore.”

  “Mr. Whitmore is a good man.”

  “Yes, but do you love him?” There was no answer. Jane would not look at him. How dare she try to pretend, to him of all people? Glendale tightened his arm around her, angrily demanding, “Do you love him?”

  “No!” Jane shouted. Then she repeated in a softer voice, “No, I do not.”

  Glendale felt as if a giant weight had been removed from his soul. He had told himself that she did not love, could not love, the middle-aged Cit, but it was a relief to hear it from her own lips.