by Nicole Byrd
“I wonder when they came into town?” Gemma muttered. “He has not answered my note.”
“Perhaps they only arrived today, and he has not yet had the time to read all his correspondence,” Louisa assured her. “I’m sure he takes a box for the season, so it is really no surprise to see them here. Oh, I shall write to Lady Gabriel at once. I do hope she will agree to introduce me at a few gatherings.”
Louisa twisted her hands, but Gemma felt as if her stomach was being wrung even more painfully. Her need was more urgent than her friend’s, though Gemma did not begrudge Louisa her wish to succeed in Society.
“I think I shall take a stroll along the corridor,” Louisa decided.
“You’re not going to their box?” Gemma felt a stab of apprehension. If Louisa made them angry . . .
Louisa wavered. “Perhaps not, that might look too forward. But if they decide to take a stroll before the next performance begins, I might meet them in the corridor and exchange a few words. . . . Why don’t you come with me?”
Gemma still felt unsettled “No, I wish him to read my letter first—my situation is so complicated to explain.”
“Very well,” Louisa agreed.
“Shall I come with you, Miss Louisa?” Miss Pomshack inquired.
Louisa glanced back at her companion and shook her head. “No, thank you. I shan’t be long.”
Taking a deep breath, she stood and made her way out of the box.
Gemma looked back toward the box where her brother and his wife sat. They seemed totally absorbed in each other and showed no inclination to leave their box; she did not think that Louisa was going to be able to manage an “accidental” meeting. And the thought of interrupting the two made Gemma bite her lip with nervous qualms. She hoped that Louisa would not be too precipitant.
Outside in the corridor, which was now filled with people coming and going, Louisa paused. Would it be this simple? Why not? It would be silly not to take advantage of such an opportunity if one should offer itself. She strolled past the box where she now knew that Lord Gabriel sat, and at the end of the hallway came back again.
But after she had retraced her route at least three times, and there was still no sign of the couple leaving their box, she was ready to give up. Perhaps after all, she would not be able to manage an easy greeting.
Louisa bit her lip and wondered if she were on good enough terms to pay a visit to their box to renew their acquaintance. Surely, it would be all right? But as she approached the box entrance again, she felt a quiver of unease. It had always been her habit to jump into action, but sometimes that had had unfortunate results. No, perhaps this time it was better to be circumspect. She would write a note to Lady Gabriel first thing tomorrow, or she could leave her calling card at their house and hope that the other lady would return the visit. There was no reason for Psyche not to wish to see her, Louisa assured herself. At least Louisa had not offended Lady Gabriel last year, as she had, totally by accident, angered Lady Jersey.
Sighing at the loss of this seemingly golden moment, Louisa turned back for their own box. Then she hesitated at the sight of familiar faces. She knew those two young women just ahead. Perhaps Lady Luck was, after all, going to smile upon her tonight, and she could renew an acquaintance.
She walked forward and paused to dip a bow. “Miss Hargrave, Miss Simpson, how nice to see you again.”
She had timed her curtsy perfectly, and she knew it was graceful. Her voice had just the right mixture of surprise and polite pleasure. But instead of the prompt greeting she had expected, the two ladies glanced at her with blank faces.
Oh, dear lord, they were not going to just walk past her?
Louisa kept a smile on her face with enormous effort as the first young lady drew up the lorgnette that dangled from her wrist and stared at Louisa as if she were some toad who had crawled out from beneath a rock.
“We met last year when I was staying with my aunt, the former Mrs. Marianne Hughes,” Louisa went on. “She has married since then, and . . .” But her words trailed off, and her throat felt dry. The two women looked completely uninterested. Had they really both—both!—forgotten her?
“Ah, no doubt,” Miss Hargrave said, her tone somewhat vague. “I’m afraid my memory is shockingly remiss. Of course, the Season is always so crowded with events and new faces—with so many people coming to London from the provinces, it can be hard to recall. You came from, was it Liverpool, mayhap?”
“Bath,” Louisa corrected, knowing that her cheeks felt aflame and hoping her face was not as deeply red as the curtains inside the theater. “My family has resided in Bath for many years now. But I have taken a house in London for this year’s Season.”
“How pleasant for you,” the first lady answered, her tone still distant and her gaze now fixed beyond Louisa, as if searching for more congenial company. “If you are here for the Season, we shall no doubt meet you again at Almack’s.”
Louisa felt as if her tongue had thickened. Almack’s, where the cream of Society gathered, those happy enough, deemed worthy enough, to be granted vouchers. What could she say to that? Admit she had not yet been, and might never be, granted admittance?
“Ah . . .” The two ladies glanced at each other. “Excuse me, I see a friend I must speak to,” Miss Hargrave said.
And they swept past Louisa as if she were a crumb on the carpet.
Louisa gasped. They had never smiled. Miss Simpson had never even acknowledged her greeting, and they had made no effort to seem friendly or happy to see her.
And this was to be her glorious Season in London?
Louisa felt as if she had been slapped. She had never been so completely snubbed in her life. In Bath, where she had friends, where people had esteemed her, where no one had thought her ineligible of notice, she had never encountered such blinding indifference. Louisa felt a strong urge to burst into tears.
But a stout man in a gaudy waistcoat eyed her with obvious curiosity, and more of the spectators who thronged the passageway might be staring. She turned blindly and almost collided with another male figure.
“Miss Crookshank, good evening. Are you enjoying the theater?”
It was, once again, the improper Lieutenant McGregor.
This time, she was in no mood for flirtation, no matter how scintillating. And anyhow, Louisa had glimpsed him earlier, sitting beside some sallow-faced female in another box—a sight that had given her an unpleasant, if irrational, pang. So now she tried to control her expression.
“I—I—”
“Do not let them distress you,” he told her in a low voice. “They are cats, and they like to scratch. You do not need their approval.”
But she did. Still, his attempt at reassurance warmed her.
He offered his arm. “Let me escort you back to your box.”
So, feeling less alone, she accepted his escort. She was secretly disappointed when they reached the entrance and he bowed in farewell and did not come inside with her. She took her seat quickly as the lights dimmed.
“I was afraid to look their way too often, but Lord Gabriel and his wife did not appear to have left their box,” Gemma whispered. “Did you meet them in the corridor? Did they speak to you?”
Louisa shook her head. She did not feel capable of answering without revealing her still disturbed feelings, so she was glad to hear the musicians once again take up their instruments. She pretended to be deeply engrossed in the tune being played.
Next, Sir Lucas returned, too, and took his seat beside her. He pressed her hand and then looked down at the stage. She thought of telling him about her shattering rebuff, but changed her mind. It was too painful to admit, and dear Lucas had no idea, she was sure, that some ladies of the Ton might find Louisa not worthy of their company. The thought brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined not to succumb to her emotions, not here.
Gemma was surprised when the curtain rose again; it seemed that the evening’s entertainment was not yet complete.
It was not Shakespeare, this time, that was enacted upon the boards, but a comedy of broad humor and little finesse.
The farce that ensued would most certainly have been condemned by Miss Pomshack’s father, the vicar, but although the older lady looked a bit scandalized, she held her tongue. The rest of the party laughed at the broad wit of the actors. However, Louisa’s laughter seemed shrill and even forced.
But she ignored Gemma’s concerned gaze, and Gemma turned back toward the stage and tried to make sense of the jests, some of which she did not comprehend at all. But she laughed with the rest of the audience over the humorous antics of the cast.
When the farce ended, people stood and began to leave. Gemma glanced quickly back at the box where Lord Gabriel and his wife had sat, but was disappointed to see it already empty. They had made their exit early.
“Come along,” Sir Lucas told the ladies. “The traffic outside will be something fierce, and we have to find our carriage.”
The passageway was jammed with people all headed for the stairway, and it took them some time to make their way out and then locate their vehicle amid the press. At long last, they were handed into Louisa’s chaise and wended their way home. Louisa was very quiet in the carriage, and when the ladies stepped down in front of the rented house, Sir Lucas looked at her in concern.
“You all right, Louisa?”
“A bit of a headache, that’s all,” she told him. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Lucas. It was most thoughtful of you to take us to the theater.”
He looked gratified. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I won’t come in since you’re not quite the thing. Go straight to bed, that’s the ticket.”
Louisa agreed, and he bowed over her hand. But after he turned and walked away, Louisa stared after him, her expression desolate. And inside the house, Louisa murmured good night to the others, ignoring Miss Pomshack’s offer to make her a tisane for her headache.
“Probably her ankle bothering her again,” the older lady said, pursing her lips as she and Gemma watched Louisa hurry up the staircase. “I did warn her that she should stay in bed this evening.”
Gemma murmured an answer and said good night. Although she would never tell the older lady, Gemma feared something more dire than a sore ankle troubled her friend. Louisa had been silent all the way home. Had something happened? Had she encountered Lord Gabriel, after all, and been rebuffed? Worried, Gemma went upstairs and allowed the maid to help her off with her dress.
But when the servant had departed, Gemma wrapped her shawl about her nightgown and made her way to Louisa’s room. The door was shut, and she tapped lightly.
There was no answer, but she heard an ominous sound from inside, the muffled sound of weeping.
Oh, no. Gemma was emboldened to turn the knob; the door was not locked. Before she could lose her resolve, she stepped inside.
Still in her evening dress, Louisa lay facedown on top of her bed. Her gown was now sadly crushed, and she sobbed as if her heart were broken.
“Louisa! What is it?” Gemma hurried forward and sat down on the edge of the mattress where she could pat Louisa’s heaving shoulders. “Did you see him after all? Did Lord Gabriel say something hurtful? It was not I, was it, who has ruined your chances?”
Gemma held her breath until she saw Louisa shake her head. But still the other girl sobbed.
“What happened, then?” Perplexed, Gemma stared at her friend. “Tell me, please do. It cannot be this bad.”
“Y-yes, it is,” Louisa stammered, hiccuping from the force of her tears. “I—they—Miss Har-hargrave . . .”
“Yes?” Gemma had never heard this lady’s name before, so these words did little to enlighten her. “Please calm yourself, Louisa, you will make yourself ill. Shall I ring for some brandy or a cup of tea?”
That at least made Louisa push herself up from the bedcovers. “No, no. I sent the servants to bed; I didn’t wish anyone to see me. And even Lucas—he could have noticed that it was something really serious! He paid so little attention to me at the theater. Oh, I feel so wretched!”
“I will go down myself and make you some tea,” Gemma offered.
Louisa looked at her in surprise, but Gemma smiled. “Really, I know my way around a kitchen.”
“No,” Louisa said, hiccuping again. “Just give me a little water and sit with me a while, if you would. I feel—I feel very alone tonight.”
Relieved that the torrent of tears seemed to have slowed, Gemma went to the table by the bed and poured some water from the jug. She took Louisa the glass and when her friend had sipped a little of the liquid, she took it from her and set it down again. Then she put her arm about Louisa’s shoulders and said, her voice gentle, “Why do you not tell me about it, Louisa? It can’t be this bad, really; it cannot.”
“Oh, it is. I’ve never had such a direct—well, almost direct—cut,” Louisa said, her voice barely above a whisper. She recounted the painful story, with many hesitations and an occasional gulp and sniff.
“And this Miss Hargrave is such an important person?” Gemma asked.
“I—that is, I don’t really know. But she moves easily among Society, and she goes to Almack’s, so she must be.”
“And therefore the ocean will shift its banks if she does not smile upon you?” Gemma kept her tone light.
But Louisa was not to be so easily distracted from her despair. Instead of grinning at the mild jest, she swallowed another sob. “But it’s not just her, it’s everyone. I just—in Bath, people liked me, some of them even admired me, I think. They called me ‘the Comely Miss Crookshank.’ ”
She tried to smile, but her expression was more like a grimace. “I know it’s vain of me to consider it, but—but they liked me in Bath, Gemma. I’ve never . . . I’ve never . . . No one is ever going to accept me here. I have made a dreadful mistake. I have leased this house for the whole Season, but I don’t care about the money. I think I shall have to give up and go home.”
Gemma stiffened with anger. She stared at her friend’s swollen eyes and reddened cheeks. Louisa was not the most comely sight just now, but who would be, after crying so hard and so long? Yes, Louisa could be a bit vain at times, but she also had a very kind heart, Gemma thought. Look at how she had taken in a stranger journeying alone to London, the kindness and consideration she had bestowed upon Gemma! How different it would be for Gemma right now if she were biding her time in some out-of-the way, run-down hotel, with no one in London to care about her safety and well-being.
“Louisa—” she began, but the other girl was already speaking.
“I know that my father made his wealth in the mills,” Louisa said. “He owned shops, as well, I admit it. But even if he was not highly born, he was a most gentlemanly, kindhearted man. He was the most wonderful, generous father any girl could ask for. I miss him so much, and to judge him—and me—as lacking in merit only because my family has not been wealthy forever, well, it is too bad.”
“It is more than too bad, it is insufferable!” Gemma declared.
Louisa stared at her. “You don’t think I’ve been too presumptuous, entertaining the idea of coming to London and hoping to join the Society of my betters?”
She sounded unusually meek, and Gemma found she could hardly bear this change. Perhaps Louisa’s customarily untrammeled self-assurance might annoy others at times, though it had not bothered Gemma, but this pitiful humility was much worse.
“Better in what way? Certainly not in kindness or good manners,” Gemma retorted. “Yes, I know how Society works, and I know, too, that I am not the one who can judge, since my own antecedents are still uncertain. But we cannot just give in to them, these arrogant and haughty damsels who think they can define who is allowed to enjoy London’s pleasures and who is not!”
“We can’t?” Louisa sniffed again and looked about her for a handkerchief.
Gemma jumped up and fished a clean square of lace-edged linen from Louisa’s reticule. Her friend took it and blew her
nose with vigor.
“No, indeed!” Gemma stood beside the bed and folded her arms in decision. “Louisa, I have been snubbed all my life. There have always been those girls who ignored me, who looked the other way when I walked by, who did not invite me to share special celebrations. Worse, sometimes they made sport of me, called me names that I would not repeat in good company.” Gemma’s lips tightened as she remembered. “Once when I was twelve, one schoolmate emptied a slop bucket in my bed.”
“Oh, that is infamous!” Louisa exclaimed. She sat up straighter. “How could anyone behave so?”
“She was jealous because the dancing master had admired my form and had called her clumsy.” Gemma smiled a little at that part of the memory. “He was quite handsome, the dancing master. All the girls had crushes on him.”
Louisa still looked shocked.
Gemma added, “I maintain that those who are true ladies, who are real gentleman, who possess genuine class inside themselves as well as in their ancestors’ pedigrees, would never behave so. There will always be those who try to make themselves feel superior by putting someone else down, Louisa. But that is the mark of a small mind and a petty spirit. And if we allow them to hurt us, then they have won.”
Louisa sighed. “But how can you suffer such treatment and not permit it to hurt? I just wish for people to like me!”
Gemma hesitated, and Louisa said quickly, “Oh, how selfish I am. You have endured so much worse, and here I am making a fuss because two ladies did not wish to speak to me. I’m sorry, Gemma. I will do better, really, I will.”
“That is the secret, Louisa,” Gemma told her gently.
“What is?” Louisa blew her nose again, but she blinked hard, and her eyes were regaining their usual sparkle.
“If you don’t care about their approval, their disparaging actions lose their sting. If you show them you are quite indifferent to their opinions, it unnerves them. In fact, sometimes, that can even make you quite sought after. People do not know what to make of it, you see.”
