by Gayle Buck
“No, Lucinda, of course it is not wrong,” said Miss Blythe gently. She rose and went to the bellpull. “Shall I ring for tea? I believe it to be almost time in any event.”
“Yes, do. And when Church comes in, I shall tell him that we are no longer home to callers. Does that suit you, Tibby?”
“Perfectly,” said Miss Blythe. “Such a visit as we have just sustained begs time for recovery.”
Lucinda laughed. “Just so!”
Lucinda and Miss Blythe spent what remained of the afternoon in a quiet fashion. They took dinner at home as had been their usual custom since coming to London. They planned to attend the theater that evening, however, and went upstairs an hour beforehand to dress.
Chapter Seven
As promised, some of the gowns that Lucinda had commissioned were delivered. One was a lavishly trimmed evening gown for Miss Blythe. The severely cut cream silk gown bestowed elegance upon its wearer, and she smoothed its skirt with both trepidation and pleasure. Never in her life had she owned such a beautiful garment.
During the shopping trip, Miss Blythe’s humble conscience had continued to prick her, and she had objected again to purchases that Lucinda had insisted upon making for her. “Lucinda, pray do not! With the excessive salary that you are giving me as your companion, I am well able to purchase my own stockings and gloves!”
“Tibby, is it not true that a companion’s wardrobe and her food and her lodging are generally considered to be part of her salary?” asked Lucinda.
“Of course, but that has nothing to do with this!” exclaimed Miss Blythe.
“It has everything to do with it. I would be the most monstrous mistress alive if I did not provide the expected considerations of your position,” said Lucinda firmly.
“Oh, my dear!” Miss Blythe had said, caught between laughter and tears. In the end, she had acquiesced because she had seen that there was nothing she could say that would persuade Lucinda from pouring such bounty upon her person. Therefore she had shrugged and allowed herself to accept without guilt all the benefits of her new station in life. Very much the realist, Miss Blythe knew that there would inevitably come a day when this fantastic turn in her existence would be done. Then she would recall it all as a pleasant memory. She might as well live it to the hilt while she may.
Something of this running through her mind, Miss Blythe went to her jewel box and took out the pearl drops and strand of pearls that she had treasured through the years, but had never had an opportunity to wear. A governess did not adorn herself or otherwise bring attention to her person. But tonight she was not a governess. Miss Blythe fixed the drops in her ears and clasped the pearls about her throat, her fingers a little clumsy from their trembling.
Lucinda had lent a maid to Miss Blythe as her dresser. Now the woman persuaded Miss Blythe to be allowed to arrange her hair. The result was a less restrained style that softened Miss Blythe’s features and, to her astonishment, caused her to appear ten years younger. “I scarcely recognize myself,” she murmured, made uncertain by the incredible change wrought in her appearance this night.
“You look a proper treat, ma’am,” said the maid admiringly.
Miss Blythe drew herself up in front of the cheval glass. A smile touched her lips. “Thank you.” Taking up a cloak and folding it over her arm, she returned downstairs, holding herself proudly.
When Miss Blythe entered the drawing room, Lucinda was already before her. “Forgive me, Lucinda. I did not mean to keep you waiting.”
Lucinda turned and instantly applauded her companion’s appearance. “Oh, Tibby! You look positively magnificent. It becomes you so very well.”
Miss Blythe flushed slightly. “You are too kind, Lucinda. But I can scarcely hold a candle to you.”
Lucinda glanced almost indifferently into the gilt mirror above the mantel. She was wearing a sea green gown with an overskirt of silver gauze. Diamonds glinted at her ears and collared her throat. Her hair was arranged in a cascade of dark curls that enhanced the brilliancy of her eyes. “I am well enough.”
“My dear!” Miss Blythe was astounded at Lucinda’s lack of vanity. “You are lovelier even than you were as a girl. You have gained a maturity, a presence, an air that is unmistakable. I would not be at all surprised if every gentleman in the theater does not stare in admiration.”
“What pleasant rot you speak, Tibby,” said Lucinda easily. “When I know very well that it will be the two of us appearing together that will stop hearts and stir up comment.”
“Now it is you who is speaking rot,” said Miss Blythe. She allowed a footman to place her cloak about her shoulders. Her gray eyes sparkled behind her spectacles. “I feel every bit the same trepidation that I did as a young girl when I was to go to my first party. It is quite a treat to be able to attend the theater.”
Lucinda hugged her companion. “My dearest Tibby. You shall go to the theater as often as you wish and attend as many parties as you can possibly bear!”
Lucinda and Miss Blythe left the town house and stepped up into Lucinda’s private carriage to travel to the theater. Their destination was not a great distance from Mays House, but nevertheless the ride took several minutes due to the traffic. The streets were crowded with other vehicles, both of the fashionable and the more humble sort. The noise of clattering wheels and horse’s hooves and raucous voices filled the damp night air. The metropolis never truly slept.
Lucinda had rented a box for the Season, and she and Miss Blythe settled themselves happily into their chairs. They had arrived a few minutes before the rise of the curtain, and a number of acquaintances chose to recognize their presence with a civil bow or nod or wave, which Lucinda and Miss Blythe returned. Several well-dressed gentlemen in the pit, whose custom it was to ogle the attractive women present, raised their eyeglasses to stare at Lady Mays and her companion.
Miss Blythe thought the gentlemen’s behavior to be outrageous, but not worthy of notice. Instead, she gazed about her with appreciation. “How nice this is, to be sure.”
“Yes, isn’t it? I have always enjoyed the theater. I know that you will recall that I adored our studies in Shakespeare,” said Lucinda.
“Of course I do, my dear. And this is quite one of my own favorites,” said Miss Blythe. “How delicious!”
“Oh, the curtain is about to be raised!” exclaimed Lucinda, leaning forward in anticipation.
Lucinda and Miss Blythe scarcely exchanged a word once the play began. Both sat enthralled at the performance of one of Shakespeare’s most popular tragedies. They drew a collective breath when the curtain fell for intermission, and they blinked, reluctant to be brought back to their surroundings.
However, the ladies had little choice when there fell a knock on the door of the box, which was followed by a regular stream of visitors. Ladies came in to renew their acquaintance with Lady Mays and her companion, or to introduce various gentlemen who had persuaded them to perform the office.
It was the general consensus that Lady Mays was still a beauty of astonishing degree. Her gown, her jewels, the style of her wavy hair, were all remarked upon. Lucinda received the compliments graciously, knowing how little it all actually meant, but willing to play the game as long as it suited her.
Mrs. Grisham brought her daughter to be introduced to Lady Mays and Miss Blythe. She was an ambitious mother, and she was shrewd enough to know that an invitation to any address as prestigious as Mays House could not but help her daughter’s consequence.
The girl was a pretty minx who was obviously more interested in fixing the interest of any gentleman that came within her range than in meeting two unattached ladies. Miss Amanda Grisham was shocked when she met Lady Mays. It had never occurred to her that a widow could be either young or beautiful. As she responded to Lucinda’s greeting, there was an instant antagonism in her expressive eyes. Lucinda was a good deal astonished to realize that the girl saw her as some sort of rival.
Lady Mays’s companion, Miss Blythe, was thought to
look very well also. Mrs. Grisham was particularly impressed. “Such an elegant, respectable creature. She is obviously of good birth. You would do well to pattern yourself after her, Amanda,” said Mrs. Grisham to her daughter as they left the box.
“Yes, Mama,” said her obedient daughter, casting a languishing glance at a young gentleman just then passing them. He turned his head, startled.
It was not at all surprising that a number of gentlemen seized the opportunity to make themselves known to the beautiful widow. Many relied upon ladies of their acquaintance to perform the necessary introductions. However, it was already becoming common knowledge that Mr. Stassart was Lady Mays’s cousin, and Ferdie found himself in the pleasant position of being importuned for his good offices. He allowed himself to be persuaded when the anxious gentlemen began to offer him small considerations that were of value to him. Several of his outstanding vowels were retired upon his promise to secure for the grateful bucks special entree into Lady Mays’s presence.
Thus it was that Ferdie came into the box with three gentlemen in tow. A large smile lit his pale countenance. “Cousin! I bid you a fair evening.” He bowed low over Lucinda’s outstretched hand.
Lucinda smiled, her eyes twinkling across his pomaded locks at Miss Blythe’s arctic expression. “Hello, Ferdie. Have you come to discuss your impressions of the play with Miss Blythe and myself?”
Mr. Stassart belatedly acknowledged the older woman. “Miss Blythe, your obedient servant.” He started to turn immediately back to his cousin.
“Civil of you to say so, Mr. Stassart,” said Miss Blythe primly.
One of the gentlemen, who appeared considerably older than his companions, gave a rumbling laugh. Ferdie flung a flickering, annoyed smile in Miss Blythe’s direction before he addressed his cousin. “Alas, I am not a learned fellow, so I shall not bore on about the merits or drawbacks of tonight’s performance. I am come, however, to pay homage to the loveliest lady of my acquaintance.” He regained possession of Lucinda’s hand and folded it between his own. Dropping on one knee, he uttered, “Dear cousin, but smile upon me and I shall be satisfied!”
“Very nice, Ferdie,” said Lucinda admiringly. When his grip slackened with surprise, she managed to free her hand. “I do believe that you could rival tonight’s leading man. I had no notion that you had such a turn for the dramatic. Had you, Tibby?”
“I have always been of the opinion that Mr. Stassart exhibited a rare flare for playacting,” said Miss Blythe blandly.
At a snort of appreciative laughter from the same amused gentleman, Mr. Stassart’s fine nostrils flared. With smiling viciousness, he snapped, “Gentlemen, my cousin’s former governess.”
“And my very good friend,” said Lucinda quietly. She was still smiling, but winter edged her voice. “Pray introduce us to your companions, Ferdie.”
Mr. Stassart realized that his cousin had been angered, and he silently cursed the Blythe biddy. However, nothing of his inner outrage was betrayed in his manners. “Lord Levine and the Honorable Albert Pepperidge, who are particular friends of mine,” he said.
The two gentlemen came forward, eager to pay their compliments to Lady Mays. She introduced them at once to Miss Blythe, and they reluctantly but politely greeted her chaperone.
Ferdie gestured to the third gentleman, a measure of annoyance entering his eyes. It had been this gentleman who had derived amusement at his expense. “And this is—”
The gentleman, who had stood back watching the vying byplay with a lift of amusement to his mobile mouth, stepped forward and smoothly presented himself. “I am Marcus Weatherby, Lady Mays. Miss Blythe, your servant. What your cousin is too nice to reveal, Lady Mays, is that I attached myself to his coat-tails when I overheard that he was coming to your box. I have used him abominably, for we are the merest acquaintances.”
Mr. Stassart was emboldened by this confession to give voice to his hidden resentment. “Quite. I have never been on more than nodding terms with you, Weatherby.”
Lucinda acknowledged Mr. Weatherby’s bow with a cool smile, then turned back to her cousin. “But how well you have handled an awkward situation, Ferdie,” said Lucinda, smiling at him. She really did not understand why she should set herself to soothe his feathers, but that it was advantageous to do so was immediately obvious.
Mr. Stassart was mollified, even unbending enough toward Mr. Weatherby to volunteer the information that the gentleman had just recently sold his commission in the army and that previously the gentleman had spent some years in India. “Weatherby is considerably older than I or Lord Levine or Albert here,” he finished.
Mr. Weatherby smilingly agreed to it and sat himself down beside Miss Blythe. He bent his head toward the lady, the silver in his dark hair glinting in the candlelight.
Lucinda cast a swift thoughtful glance in the gentleman’s direction. Mr. Weatherby was almost certainly all of forty years of age. He was an attractive man, well set up despite his obvious handicap. His left sleeve was empty and was neatly pinned up to the shoulder. His entire demeanor and dress proclaimed him to be a gentleman of quiet means. There was nothing of the fop or dandy about his person. He was as unlike her cousin and those others as a raven was to a songbird, she thought.
She wondered why Mr. Weatherby had chosen to thrust himself into her notice, for he did not in the least act like a man who was anxious to pay court to a lady that he admired. He had quite willingly left the field open to those with whom he had entered the box.
Lucinda’s attention was reclaimed by Lord Levine, who offered his assessment of that evening’s entertainment. “Dashed dull play, what?” he asked with a superior air. Mr. Pepperidge was quick to interject his own opinion. Lucinda smilingly allowed the two gentlemen to vie for her favor, all the while wondering what Mr. Weatherby could possibly be saying that was keeping her chaperone so riveted.
Mr. Stassart and his friends stayed a few minutes more. They left eventually, casting somewhat jealous eyes over Mr. Weatherby, for he had not yet been given a gracious cachet by Lady Mays. But they consoled themselves with the reflection that he had been relegated to talking to Miss Blythe while they had monopolized Lady Mays’s attention. In any event, his age and his infirmity surely put him outside the interest of any lady. So the trio left in fairly high spirits, convinced that they had acquitted themselves well.
Mr. Weatherby looked up when the door closed and inquired, “Are those prosing pups gone at last?”
Miss Blythe chuckled while Lucinda actually laughed. “For shame, Mr. Weatherby! One must protest such incivility, however appropriate the sentiment.”
“I say what I think, my lady. I am not one of your London exquisites who mouths pretty flatteries. Paugh!”
“Then what are you, Mr. Weatherby?” asked Lucinda, curious to hear what he might say.
Mr. Weatherby smiled. “I am a nabob, an old soldier, a thistle in the wind, my lady!”
“Lucinda, Mr. Weatherby has been recounting to me the most interesting tales of his travels. Only fancy, he has actually been to Greece,” said Miss Blythe. “Oh, how I should like to tour the country of Homer and the Iliad!”
“It is a hot, dirty place, but nevertheless there is much of interest. But I would recommend that your travels wait until this civil war with the Turks is quite settled,” said Mr. Weatherby. He rose from his chair. “I see that the curtain is about to rise. I shall take leave of you now, my lady, Miss Blythe. Your servant.”
When he had gone, Lucinda turned to Miss Blythe. “Well! I believe that to be the most intriguing gentleman that I have yet met in London.”
“Is he, my dear? I own, I found Mr. Weatherby to be a fascinating conversationalist. But do you not think that the gentleman is a trifle old for you?” said Miss Blythe.
“Oh, I have no notions in that direction, I assure you,” said Lucinda. “However, I do like his odd manners, and he seems to irritate my cousin. Is that reason enough to invite Mr. Weatherby to our supper and ball, do you think?”
“Really, Lucinda!” said Miss Blythe, her lips twitching. Though she shared her ladyship’s sentiments, she would not say so. She had never liked Mr. Stassart above half, but it would be most improper in her to encourage such flippancy. She determinedly turned her attention to the performance on the stage.
Chapter Eight
Lucinda and Miss Blythe left the theater. It was a very damp night. While the ladies waited for the carriage to come up to the curb, they hugged their cloaks close about them against the cold. The sky had been overcast all day, and dark had fallen early. The ladies, both pleasantly tired, reflected on the evening.
“It was a wonderful performance. I am so glad that we came,” said Miss Blythe.
“Oh, yes! And it was not only the play, Tibby. The evening progressed in a satisfactory fashion otherwise, don’t you think?” asked Lucinda. “I anticipate that we shall see any number of new invitations on the morrow. Why, we are becoming quite popular!”
“Yes, indeed. Everyone was most gracious,” said Miss Blythe.
Suddenly the dense, threatening clouds opened up. Rain and sleet swept down, surprising all that were leaving the theater. Cries and curses alike were startled out of the theatergoers, and there was a dash for shelter.
The carriage had drawn up at that moment, and Lucinda and Miss Blythe scrambled up into it with unladylike haste. The door was slammed shut. The carriage dipped as the driver climbed back up on top. Lucinda and Miss Blythe pulled a rug over their knees and put their feet on the hot brick. Rain and sleet drummed on the carriage roof.
Water dripped from Lucinda’s nose, and she brushed it away, laughing. “We must look like two drowned rats! What an end to a perfect evening. That will teach us to get so puffed up in our own estimation.”
Miss Blythe sneezed. She apologized, ending with, “It is a most salutary lesson, indeed!”
