Chapter Three #2
How was she supposed to know that? Miss Sprite had kept such a tight rein on her and Caroline that she could not possibly have known that there had ever been a book denounced by the church.
The only comment Miss Sprite ever made about literature was that it was a shame that Fordyce had not written more of it.
Beatrix was well aware that novels existed, she’d just not been permitted to read any of them.
Miss Sprite did not approve of the theater either. Anything “made up” could not be good for a person’s soul and people pretending to be invented people must be some sort of blasphemy, though the vicar had not so far mentioned it.
The world had marched on, leaving Miss Sprite behind. She and Caroline had been stuck behind with her.
Beatrix had thought she would be so clever to mention Fanny Hill, considering Lady Mellon’s footmen’s enthusiasm over it.
It had sounded new and of the moment. And how else was she to impress a worldly gentleman like Lord Chester, if not being of the moment?
Of course, when he’d asked about her favorite part, she’d realized the foolishness of claiming to have read a book she had not read.
And then all the dropped cutlery and a bowl of potatoes on the floor had further pointed out her foolishness.
After the party had departed the house, her mother had followed her up the stairs.
Beatrix had practically sprinted up the staircase in a rather hopeless effort to get away.
Miss Sprite was already in her bedchamber, no doubt wishing to hear how the evening had unfolded.
Well, Miss Sprite heard precisely how it went.
The lady had gone several shades of pale before dramatically falling into a chair.
The countess patted the governesses’ hand and assured her that she knew Miss Sprite had never mentioned the book in Beatrix’s presence.
Miss Sprite recovered herself and began an interrogation as to where the information had been picked up.
The countess interrupted her and informed her that they knew that too and it had not been inside the house.
Understanding what Lady Mellon’s footmen were up to produced several other ideas. Lady Mellon must be informed. Those footmen must be condemned and dismissed. Or arrested, even. Deportation to Botany Bay would not be too severe!
The countess countered those ideas too. She and the viscount would not wish to create a problem with a neighbor. Lady Mellon’s footmen were Lady Mellon’s problem.
Miss Sprite ended with the lament that she’d worked for nineteen years to isolate the girls from any danger and she’d failed. That had left the countess to console her over it and Beatrix was fairly certain it had saved her from an unending lecture over her stupidity.
All of that happened and Beatrix still did not know what the problem was with Fanny Hill. Everybody else seemed to know it well enough. Whatever it was, it was seen as shocking. She supposed she would never find out as she could never, ever mention it again.
Eventually, her mother and father calmed down about it. They agreed that it was one of the most unfortunate things Beatrix could have uttered, but in the end it was a bit of girlish foolishness.
Miss Sprite, unsurprisingly, was not so easily soothed.
She’d interrogated Beatrix backward and forward about what else she’d heard about the book.
When she discovered that Beatrix had overheard the footmen planning to keep it from the housekeeper, that prompted a whole new tirade.
Beatrix should have known that if good Mrs. Clay was not to be informed, it must be out of bounds.
Beatrix thought she had a point, but it was too late for that.
Now, her father and mother had escorted her into Almack’s. All three wished to leave the controversy behind and think of it no more. The countess felt this was Beatrix’s opportunity to really impress Lord Chester. According to her mother, Beatrix was exceedingly elegant on a ballroom floor.
Beatrix was not sure if that was quite accurate, it might be another parental hallucination, but she certainly knew what she was doing.
They’d employed a dancing master for years.
Weekly, a certain set of young people in the neighborhood would journey to Copperstone Manor and they’d hold a daytime “faux ball” with the dancing master and Miss Sprite supervising.
It had been as awkward as might be imagined, and she was often taller than her partner. However, Beatrix knew all the latest steps, and she must have danced a thousand country dances, cotillions and quadrilles.
Poor Lynette Watson had one day inquired into the waltz and Miss Sprite banned her from ever coming again.
Miss Sprite said the waltz was for a lady who wished to shred her reputation into little pieces and set it afire.
Fortunately, the countess had got wind of it and reinvited Miss Watson.
Miss Sprite refused to acknowledge the girl from then on.
Lynette Watson joked that she had become a walking specter, the dancing ghost. She was there, but unseen.
In any case, the countess had told her the waltz was not even permitted at Almack’s so apparently the patronesses were in agreement with Miss Sprite over its dangers.
Lady Sefton had greeted them in the foyer. She’d said she had a particular request to be put down on Beatrix’s card.
Her mother and father nodded knowingly. Beatrix felt rather knowing herself. Certainly, it must be Lord Chester.
It was not Lord Chester.
“Lord Harrelston,” Lady Sefton said. “He particularly asked for the last dance of the evening. Goodness, I suspect it has finally occurred to that gentleman that he might want a wife.”
Lady Sefton drifted off. The countess turned to Beatrix. “He was the gentleman Miss Sprite mentioned? The one you encountered on Bond Street?’
“Yes, he helped me up after I fell. That horseblock came out of nowhere.” She paused, then added, “He is the only other gentleman I have met in Town.” She would not like her mother and father to imagine she was slipping out of Miss Sprite’s grasp to introduce herself to gentlemen.
“Well, Lord Chester cannot take all your dances,” the countess said pensively, “I just had not thought…”
Beatrix presumed this to mean that her mother had not thought that there might be other gentlemen interested in dancing with her.
She might be offended by the idea, but really she had not thought of it herself.
She was rather flattered that Lord Harrelston had remembered her and asked to be put down on her card.
Especially considering the events of their meeting.
She could not have looked charming, sprawled on the pavement.
They proceeded into the ballroom. The foyer had not been very grand. It was almost veering on shabby. The ballroom itself, though, was lovely. It was as if the shabbiness of the foyer was meant to disguise the splendor inside.
The large crystal chandeliers sent a lovely glow over the room.
Various sofas lined the walls for those who did not care to dance or who suffered an infirmity.
There was a gallery overhead and it contained some very seasoned matrons.
Beatrix presumed they were the other patronesses and she presumed the gallery was an exclusive place to be admitted.
They did not have a gallery at home and she thought it set the room apart from the usual.
Beatrix held up her quizzing glass in what she hoped was a carelessly elegant manner. The room was filled with a kaleidoscope of color. Elegantly dressed ladies were in view wherever she looked.
“Lady Beatrix.”
Beatrix dropped her quizzing glass and turned. “Lord Harrelston,” she said.
“Ah, Harrelston,” the Earl said. “From Bond Street. Rescuer of clumsy girls.”
Beatrix felt as if it would be preferable to sink through the floor, never to be seen again.
She knew her father joked, as he very much liked to do, but he was too used to spending time with his gentlemen friends in parliament.
The countess said that sometimes he forgot how to go forward in more delicate society. What would Lord Harrelston make of it?
“Lord Copperstone, Lady Copperstone,” Lord Harrelston said. “You are to know that Miss Sprite informed me that a gentleman would never speak of anything witnessed on Bond Street. I claimed I had forgotten it already. Therefore, I have no notion of what you are talking about.”
“Hah! Very good,” the Earl said, seeming pleased to encounter a fellow who could joke back.
“Lady Beatrix,” Lord Harrelston said, “I have been so bold as to request Lady Sefton put me down on your card. I hope you do not mind it.”
“Not at all, that was very kind,” Beatrix said.
Why should she mind it? He seemed such a genial gentleman.
He was much more jolly than Lord Chester.
She did not feel as nervous in his presence.
And then, he was very pleasant to look at.
She really did like that shade of dusky hair and his deep blue eyes.
Yes, he was very pleasant. Very pleasant, indeed.
A man suddenly appeared next to Lord Harrelston. He was darkhaired and not as tall. His features were regular if not half as interesting.
“Do I approach Lady Beatrix Copperstone?” the man asked.
“Indeed, yes,” Beatrix said.
“Allow me to push in, Harrelston. I would introduce myself. Jerome Hardwick, Earl of Monroe. Lady Sefton has been so good as to put me down on your card for the opening of the ball.”
“Oh, I see,” Beatrix said. “This is my mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Copperstone. As her parents exchanged greetings with Lord Monroe, Beatrix could not help but to notice that they seemed rather taken aback that there was a second gentleman wishing to be on her card.
Just then, the dowager viscountess, Lord Chester’s grandmother, charged into their circle. “Lady Beatrix, my grandson will be here any moment. I came in the carriage with my son and daughter-in-law and he comes on his horse.”
Beatrix nodded at this rather specific outline of how everyone in her party had arrived.
“I had a word with Lady Sefton,” the dowager said, “and put Lord Chester down for the only dance left—the third.”
“Very kind,” Beatrix’s mother said.
Beatrix was rather speechless. Her card was filled? To the tippy-top?
She supposed she ought to have expected it. Her card was in the hands of a patroness and she doubted those ladies took no for an answer. Still. It was very gratifying indeed.
The lady in question approached. “Lady Beatrix,” Lady Sefton said, handing her the card, “you are fully engaged.”
Beatrix bobbed a curtsy, as it seemed right. “I thank you, Lady Sefton.”
The curtsy seemed to be met with approval. Lady Sefton smiled. “Charming girl. Ah, it sounds as if the musicians are done their tuning. The ball will begin and I will make my way to the gallery for a good view of it. The Countess of Chamondeley will open.”
Lady Sefton hurried off. Lord Monroe, who was down for her first, held out his arm. “Lady Beatrix.”
Goodness. Miss Sprite had frightened her backward and forward about Almack’s.
She’d made the patronesses out to be dragons who would breathe fire on the slightest misstep.
She’d opined about a girl sitting out and how all of society would know it by the next morning.
She’d fretted that this year’s crop of eligible gentlemen might be not enough of them or too short or preferring fair hair or engaged already.
As it happened, things were going along swimmingly.