by Carola Dunn
“It’s the boys! We are taken care of, but they may starve for want of those few pennies.”
“How much do they make? Not more than a few rupees a week between the lot of them, I wager. I’ll be glad to give that much for you to hand over to them. I’ve got plenty.”
Mr. Trevelyan’s voice came as a shock to everyone. “I beg your pardon for interfering, ladies,’’ he said, dropping his pose of indifference, “but I must point out the advantages of having the boys earn their money. Surely it is preferable that they should learn to work rather than living on charity?”
“To be sure, but I don’t care to have people thinking my sisters have to work for their living when I’m rich as the Begum of Oudh.”
“Then turn over the entire proceeds of the enterprise to your street hawkers, or better, put some in a fund for them against illness and other emergencies.”
Aunt Zenobia seemed inclined to argue. “But—” she began.
‘‘It is time we were on our way,” he added quickly, silencing her. “I am happy to have made your acquaintance, ladies.”
Alison found herself ruthlessly removed from the bosom of her family.
“Heavens,” she sighed as Mr. Trevelyan handed her up into the tilbury. She leaned back against the green leather seat. “To think I imagined all our troubles were over when Aunt Zenobia appeared like a fairy godmother. Thank you so much, sir, for your suggestions. I was afraid you would be shocked when you found out about the boys.”
“To tell the truth,” he admitted sheepishly, “I quite expected to discover your aunt running a gang of thieves and pickpockets.”
“Aunt Cleo?” Alison gaped at him, then collapsed in whoops. “You cannot be serious!” she gasped through her laughter.
“Alas, I am. It is partly your fault, for you used the word gang. Mostly it is because I am a member of the Select Committee investigating crime in the city. We have uncovered a number of what are called ‘flashhouses,’ run by people who live quite respectable lives to all outward appearances.”
What was a flash-house? she wondered. Obviously something utterly disreputable—she had better not ask.
“Select Committee?” she queried instead.
“A parliamentary body set up for a specific purpose.”
“That would explain it. I was puzzled once or twice when you spoke of having to be at the House. It seemed an odd way to say ‘at home’. You are a Member of Parliament?”
“I am, Miss Alison.’’
“Lord Fane sits in the House of Lords. He did not mention any committees, though.”
“Alas, I am a mere commoner, though naturally some of our committee members are peers. Lord Fane called on you?”
“Yes, twice, and the second time we were at home. He is prodigious agreeable and gentlemanly. You were quite right, I did not need to say anything, only to listen demurely.”
“Now that I find quite impossible to imagine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I need not warn you to say nothing to him of Bubble and Squeak, and what was the other name?”
“Tarry Joe. His mother thinks his father was a sailor. No, I fear Lord Fane would not understand. Indeed, Lady Emma made me promise not to mention my aunts to him.”
“By the way, I believe I have solved the riddle of your aunts’ names.” Mr. Trevelyan looked pleased with himself. “Miss Di is Dido, is she not? I guessed when she objected to being called Diana. Zenobia gave me a clue, and Cleo is Cleopatra, I take it? Polly had me puzzled, since that is usually a nickname for Mary, until I thought of Hippolyta, the Amazon. All tragic queens from classical history or myth.”
Alison was impressed. ‘That is much cleverer than guessing the origin of the dogs’ names. My grandfather was a classical scholar with a taste for the tragical. You need not think he discriminated against females, for my papa was called Hector after the prince of Troy slain by Achilles.”
“A classical scholar? That is unusual for a. . .” He paused in confusion.
“For a Cit?”
“I beg your pardon. I ought not to have said such a thing.” Mr. Trevelyan was annoyed. Alison suspected he prided himself on his tact.
“But you did not say the word. I did.” She smiled forgivingly. “And it is the truth, whether stated or not. Unfortunately he was a better classicist than merchant, and since my father died young it was left to Aunt Zenobia to recoup the family fortunes. I am prodigious grateful to her, of course, but I do hope she will not continue to throw the rest of my aunts into high fidgets!”
“At least they are safe for the next few weeks, so you can enjoy your Season without worry.”
Alison doubted that anything could prevent her enjoying the Season. Lord Fane’s visit—which had lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour—had set the seal on her expectations of having a wonderful time.
One slight shadow on her pleasure did not materialize: Aunt Zenobia failed to arrive with a trunk full of Indian fabrics. A note from Aunt Di next day informed her that Mrs. Winkle had been with great difficulty persuaded that Lady Emma knew best what a young lady ought to wear. She had gone off to Cheltenham with Mrs. Colonel Bowditch, leaving everyone guiltily breathing easier for her absence. Alison was able to look forward with unalloyed anticipation to her first formal dinner party.
To her disappointment, Lord Fane had not been invited to this event. Lady Emma was tempted, since four—the two of them plus Philip and Robert—was an awkward number and she wanted to ask Bella, whose husband was out of town. Another gentleman would be useful. However, she decided that an intimate party of six might seem so particular as to make his lordship take fright.
Her seating arrangements were still on her mind when Mr. Ralph Osborne called on the morning of the dinner party.
He was diffident. “I do not mean to intrude on your ladyship,” he said, on being shown into the drawing-room. “I promised to keep an eye on Miss Alison, and since Mrs. Winkle left Town today, I thought I had best introduce myself.”
Alison wanted to protest that she did not need an eye kept on her, especially by the man her aunt wanted her to marry. Lady Emma spoke first.
“But I remember you well, Mr. Osborne. Will you not be seated? I was grateful for your assistance in solving one or two little differences of opinion with Mrs. Winkle.”
He grinned, and Alison, had to admit that he was handsome, in an exotic way, with his blond hair and tanned face. His tall, broad-shouldered form had towered over them until he sat down. It was almost a pity that he was so old, and untitled, and unexciting.
‘‘Mrs. Winkle’s notions are sometimes. . .original, shall we say, but she is a thoroughly good-hearted, generous woman. I owe my success in India entirely to her husband.”
Lady Emma asked him one or two questions about India. Alison, having head the answers from her aunt before she came to Mayfair, concentrated on a tricky bit of needlework. Her attention was swiftly brought back to the conversation when, surprised and annoyed, she heard her chaperon issue an invitation to dine with them that evening.
“It will only be a small party of friends,” Lady Emma went on. “I beg your pardon for the short notice.”
“I am honoured, my lady, and I shall be delighted to accept. I must be off now. I shall see you this evening, Miss Alison.” He smiled at her in an odiously fatherly way and departed.
Alison’s astonished gaze brought a tinge of pink to Lady Emma’s cheeks.
“He is amazingly gentlemanlike,” she said, sounding defensive, “and his anecdotes are both interesting and amusing. Our dinner party needs a counterbalance to Robert’s poetic attitude. Bella is not so high in the instep that she will object.”
‘‘But I object,’’ said Alison crossly. ‘‘It is bad enough knowing that Aunt Zenobia wishes me to marry him without falling over him at every turn. Keep an eye on me, indeed!”
“It is kind in him to take a personal interest.” Lady Emma was equally put out. “He might be satisfied with merely paying our bills.”
“Paying our bills?”
“Yes, I send them all to him. Remember he is Mrs. Winkle’s man of business.”
“Aunt Zenobia told me they were to be sent to her. How humiliating to have Mr. Osborne informed of every set of buttons or pair of stockings I purchase!”
“If I do not feel humiliated, there is no need for you to do so,” Lady Emma snapped. “As long as you do not purchase a diamond tiara, I would wager he will look only at the totals, not at every item. He appears to be a gentleman of considerable sensitivity and discretion. Pray do not stir up a tempest in a teapot.”
Alison apologized, knowing she had been unreasonable. It was not that she had taken Mr. Osborne in dislike, precisely. Perhaps she was afraid that his proprietorial air might discourage Lord Fane, but after all, they were not likely to meet.
She greeted Mr. Osborne in her usual friendly manner when he arrived that evening, but it was Mr. Trevelyan she was truly glad to see. In the course of their visit to Great Ormond Street, he had climbed from the status of an agreeable acquaintance to that of friend. It was hard to believe she had found him forbidding at first. She wanted to talk to him about meeting Lady Emma’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Edgehill, on whom they had called a few hours earlier and who had been amazingly kind.
Lady Emma had warned her that, in such a small company, conversation must be general. On her best behaviour, she therefore found it impossible to speak privately with Mr. Trevelyan before or during dinner.
The gentlemen did not sit long over the port afterwards. When they joined the ladies in the drawing-room, the Honourable Robert Gilchrist took the place beside Alison on the sofa before she could invite Mr. Trevelyan to join her.
“I have finished my sonnet,” he declared in throbbing tones. “I shall read it to you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said uncertainly, looking to Lady Emma for guidance.
‘‘You may read it to all of us, Robert,’’ his sister ordered.
He did not appear at all abashed, but stood up, struck a pose and cleared his throat. Relishing the audience, he declaimed,
“Her eyes are like the summer skies,
Albeit stars do dwell therein.”
“Very pretty,” applauded Lady Fairfield.
“Don’t interrupt, Bella,” he admonished his eldest sister.
“Her curls are midnight. In both lies
A magic that makes my head spin.”
Alison giggled, and clapped a hand to her mouth. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
“What do you find so amusing?” he demanded sulkily.
“Not your verse,” she tried to appease him, “which is very clever. You must blame my wretched imagination. I had a vision of your head twirling around like a spinning top. Pray do read on, sir.”
The unfeeling laughter of his sisters and Mr. Trevelyan did nothing to diminish Mr. Gilchrist’s indignation. Alison saw Ralph Osborne’s lips twitch and was grateful to him for not adding fuel to the flames. It was Lady Fairfield who came to the rescue.
“I believe I shall try out your spinet, Emma,” she announced, appearing unconscious of the unfortunate coincidence of the instrument’s name with Alison’s spinning-top flight of fancy, “if you have any simple music. I have not played this age. Come, Robert, you shall turn the pages for me.”
Still sulky, he obeyed, and Mr. Trevelyan moved to take his seat.
“I thought you would be in raptures to have a sonnet dedicated to you,” he said teasingly to Alison under cover of a laborious sonatina.
“It is flattering, and the poem began very prettily. It was wicked of me to hurt his feelings so, but I did not mean to.”
“Wickeder of the rest of us to laugh. Do not take it to heart. I have the impression that you have been bursting to tell me something ever since I arrived.’’
“Proper young ladies do not burst,” she admonished. “Yes, I want to tell you about going to see Lord and Lady Edgehill. Their house is so very grand that I was quite nervous, especially as Lady Emma told me they do not approve of her acting as a chaperon. But they were not at all high in the instep. In fact, they were excessively obliging. Only think, when we were about to leave, Lady Edgehill asked Lady Emma what date she wanted their ballroom for my come-out ball!”
“And did she set a date?” he asked with polite interest.
“Oh, do not be so impassive! You are teasing me again,” she said as he laughed. “I never expected to have my very own ball. Is it not splendid? You will come, will you not?”
‘‘If I am invited.’’
“You are odious this evening. Lady Emma would sooner forget to invite he own brother than you.”
“Then may I hope to stand up with you for a waltz?’’
“I did not mean to fish for that,” she said uncertainly.
“If I had thought it of you, I’d not have asked.”
“Then thank you, sir, I shall look forward to it.”
Lady Fairfield left shortly thereafter, exhausted, she claimed, by her musical efforts. She enlisted her brother, over his objections, to escort her home. Mr. Osborne, who had been conversing quietly with his hostess, took this as a signal to depart, and Mr. Trevelyan went with him, offering to drive him home. Lady Emma yawned delicately.
“You have had a busy day. I expect you are as ready to retire as I am.”
Alison did not feel in the least sleepy, but she acquiesced. As they made their way upstairs, she said, “I am sorry to have offended Mr. Gilchrist.”
“Do not let it trouble you, my dear. I know you did not mean to laugh at that inauspicious moment. Tomorrow I shall teach you how to turn a misplaced laugh into a cough, for there is no denying that gentlemen have a way of making one laugh unintentionally. It will not do to offend a gentleman of more consequence than my little brother.”
“Oh no!” Alison’s eyes were round with horror.
‘‘In the meantime,’’ Lady Emma soothed her, “if you have cured Robert of his imagined tendre for you, we shall go on much more comfortably.”
“It was poor thanks for his writing a poem about me. I daresay such a compliment will never come my way again. You do not suppose he will persuade Lady Edgehill not to let me have my ball in their house?”
“He will not try, and if he did Mama would not pay the least heed. You may sleep tranquil.” She yawned again and disappeared into her chamber.
Alison was sure she was too excited to sleep at all. She was to have a proper come-out ball, and Mr. Trevelyan had already reserved a waltz. It only remained for Lord Fane to request another for her happiness to be complete. She felt for his card, dog-eared now, beneath her pillow.
Carter came in to see if she needed anything, and snuffed her candle. She was asleep within minutes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Are you sure you are quite warm enough, Miss Larkin?”
Alison had a delicious feeling that if she said no, Lord Fane would strip off his greatcoat and wrap it round her. He was the very soul of chivalry. However, though a blustery wind tossed the bare branches of the elm trees in the Park, she was not at all cold.
“Thanks to your forethought in providing this rug, my lord, I am perfectly comfortable.”
“You must not be nervous if my horses are a little restive today. They do not care for this wind.”
“I have perfect confidence in your driving, sir.”
“I am known as something of a whip,” he agreed with a modest air. “Of course, I would not subject a lady to the indignity and danger of riding in a sporting rig, such as that high-perch phaeton you will see over there.” He indicated a nearby vehicle. “Ah, it is Kilmore. A rackety fellow, I fear.”
Alison wisely decided not to say that the high-perch phaeton looked as if it would be great fun to ride in. Lady Emma had told her that Lord Fane was a high stickler, so if he said that such a carriage was unsuitable for a lady he must be right. She wondered who the female was sitting up so high beside the rackety Kilmore. Not a lady, presumably. She hastily a
verted her gaze, but not before Kilmore had noticed her interest and raised his dark eyebrows with an amused smile.
She was slightly embarrassed—and very much intrigued.
Lord Fane had an extensive acquaintance among the ton, and a large proportion of them seemed to have braved the wind to drive or ride in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. He was constantly greeting people. Several times he drew up his carriage to speak to more particular friends, to whom he introduced Alison.
He presented her as Lady Emma Grant’s protégée, and everyone seemed to accept that as sufficient credentials. There was one elderly lady who went off muttering, “Larkin? Larkin?” to herself, but if his lordship heard he did not mention it. Like the rest, he apparently assumed that Lady Emma would never dream of chaperoning a young lady without an impeccable family tree.
Alison was well aware that if the gossipmongers ever discovered her humble background she would be ostracized. But for the moment, reassured that she was accepted, she was enjoying herself immensely.
“I believe I am the envy of every buck in sight,” said Lord Fane, with what Alison considered justifiable satisfaction, as he turned his horse towards the gate. “I trust you will give me the pleasure of your company driving in the Park again in the near future?”
“Thank you, my lord, you are very kind.”
“I must be grateful to Trevelyan for making us acquainted, thus enabling me to steal a march upon those rivals who will swarm about you as soon as you are properly presented to Society. Speaking of which, I received an invitation to your ball this morning. Dare I beg you to reserve two dances for me, before your card is quite filled up?”
“Oh yes, sir, that will be delightful.”
“You are unengaged for the supper dance, perhaps?”
Breathless, Alison nodded. This was an honour indeed!
“Then I insist that you write me down for it.” His lordship chuckled to show that his insistence was a joke and not unpardonable rudeness.
A few minutes later he helped her down from the carriage in Park Street and escorted her to the front door. Refusing an invitation to step in, he took his leave.
