Chapter Five
Beatrix found some comfort in Lord Harrelston’s claim that nobody would think it her fault for sitting out a dance.
Though, she was not clear on his reasoning.
He clearly blamed Lord Chester, so she supposed he’d seen that lord come in late.
But there had been something in the way he said it, as if anything to go wrong involving Lord Chester was certainly his fault and everybody would know it.
She did not know why he would say so. It really seemed that if it were anybody’s fault, it must be the dowager’s. That lady had been too precipitous and had not considered that accidents and delays do happen.
Nevertheless, she was enjoying talking to Lord Harrelston.
She would admit she enjoyed it more than she had with the other gentlemen she’d danced with this evening.
There was an ease about him. Perhaps it was because he’d already seen her at her worst, splayed on the pavement on Bond Street.
Even after viewing that lack of grace, he’d sought her out.
She’d stolen a few glances at him when he was distracted by the dancing.
He was very striking. Very striking indeed.
His hair was the color of a light caramel and had shades running through it that had been touched by the sun.
His eyes were very blue, his jaw firm. His neckcloth was exceptional.
It was elegantly done without appearing fussy or too composed.
It was almost as if the more she looked at him the more handsome he got.
And then he’d been so good humored with her father. Yes, she really did like him.
Of course, she was meant for Lord Chester so she must not allow the liking to get out of hand.
The Boulanger ended and Lord Harrelston escorted her into the supper room. She saw no trace of Lord Chester so she presumed he’d gone. She could not be sorry for it. She felt uncomfortable in his presence. Though Beatrix reminded herself that it was just circumstances.
They were newly met, they did not know each other well yet.
Their two meetings had not been propitious.
The dinner had been ruined by her mention of Fanny Hill and had not ever really recovered.
And then this evening. His horse had thrown a shoe.
Perhaps both sets of parents talking about the match so often had affected things too.
Perhaps expectations had been built too high, as if they were meant to instantly fall in love.
Time would make things easier between them, she was sure.
For now, though, things felt rather easy with Lord Harrelston.
They had just been laughing at his description of what his family had called “the house dog” in his youth.
It had been from a litter of spaniels that were meant to build up his father’s kennels.
That particular spaniel could not be made to hunt or do much of anything else.
Trying to move him along to follow the pack turned him into jelly.
He would sink to the ground and there was not a thing anybody could do about it.
His father had advocated for giving the pup away. He claimed he had not the intention of feeding a useless dog and he’d never in his life encountered such a lazy spaniel. Lord Harrelston had said he would manage it and his old earl thought no more about it.
The spaniel, who had eventually been named Sloth for his ability to do nothing for extended periods, had lived in his rooms for weeks before he was discovered.
Lord Harrelston used to sneak him up and down the servants’ stairs to take him outside.
The servants discovered it quick enough, but none of them thought it was their business to tell the earl.
“Did your father make you give him away, in the end?” Beatrix asked.
“No, he gave up. From then on, Sloth was to be found on sunny pieces of carpet, only rousing himself for his dinner. He was a lovely dog, despite his lack of ambition.”
“I have always longed for a dog. A small one that might sit on my lap.” Beatrix said with a sigh. Apparently, there is a long list of things running against a dog in the house. They are dirty, they smell like dogs, and they leave their hair everywhere, to name a few.”
“Let me guess,” Lord Harrelston said. “Miss Sprite.”
Beatrix giggled. “Indeed, Miss Sprite.”
And so they went on, laughing at old stories from their youth.
She told him of the time that she and her sister Caroline, chafing under the strict supervision of Miss Sprite, had escaped her grasp and run to the village.
There, they approached a tinker to find out how they could become tinkers themselves, as it seemed a very carefree lifestyle.
Mrs. Jennings, the butcher’s wife, had spotted them and dragged them back home.
Miss Sprite made them write “I will never try to be a tinker again” a hundred times each.
Then they laughed some more and exchanged more stories.
It was so lovely. Surely, she would have the same sort of conversations with Lord Chester. Eventually.
They simply must meet under circumstances that were more genial than they had been so far.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As Mr. Feldstaffer prepared to leave for the first League meeting of the season, the countess inquired into the health of his mad brother Jerrold. That mad brother, who had never existed but acted as his convenient reason to be out of the house on a Thursday afternoon, never seemed to improve.
He had shaken his head sadly and relayed that Jerrold was still obsessed with fire, despite the doctor’s best efforts. It was only Mr. Feldstaffer’s continued visits that calmed him and got him to turn his thoughts away from reenacting the great fire of 1666.
Now he trudged up the stairs to The League’s headquarters in Cheapside with a very dejected expression. It was his usual expression so he did not think his fellow butlers would read anything into it.
Mr. Harkinson’s raised brow continued to weigh on his mind. Along with more recent developments.
It seemed there had been an untoward circumstance occurring at Almack’s. He was not surprised! He had, of course, expected it. Though, how it had unfolded he could not have predicted.
As his fellow butlers filed in, on time as usual, they paused to stare reverently at their motto, hung over the hearth. They had not seen it since last season. Cum Virtute, With Valor.
Of course they must proceed with valor. Mr. Feldstaffer really could not think how else one was to get through life without collapsing in defeat.
Mrs. Belkey bustled in with a tea tray. Their landlord’s wife had long served them expertly. The place was spotless, as usual. After she accepted their congratulations on it, the door was closed behind her.
“My goodness, my goodness, my goodness,” Mr. Harkinson whispered, staring into his teacup.
First a raised brow? Now a string of “my goodnessess?” Mr. Feldstaffer presumed from that interesting display that Mr. Harkinson knew of the mention of Fanny Hill and he also knew of Lady Beatrix sitting out the third at Almack’s.
“Well now,” Mr. Penny said in a conciliatory tone.
“Indeed,” Mr. Browning said gravely.
“Hmmm,” Mr. Rennington said.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Wilburn said, “before we dip our toes into what may be more uncomfortable waters, perhaps we might hear from Mr. Browning regarding our triumph of last season? How do the duke and his new duchess get on?”
Yes, let us do that, Mr. Feldstaffer thought. Mr. Browning had fought tooth and nail last season to turn the duke away from Miss Finella Fernsby. That Miss Fernsby was now the Duchess of Greystone. Not exactly a win for Mr. Browning!
“As to that,” Mr. Browning said, “I will firstly admit that I did not have high hopes for the match.”
That was painting it with a light brush.
“However, things have turned out far better than I had hoped. The duke is delighted. Perhaps too delighted, if I’m forced to look that in the face.
But more importantly, the duchess trusts my judgment in all things.
She often says, Browning, you will know best. I trust you implicitly.
As well, the duke’s sister has been positively and permanently banned from the house and I am not sorry to see the back of her. So in the end, it has all worked out.”
“Is that not so often the way?” Mr. Penny said. “Things do tend to work out in the end.”
As usual, Mr. Penny was hallucinating fairy tales. That man walked around oblivious to the facts of real life.
“Perhaps we ought to turn our attention to how things might work out in Mr. Feldstaffer’s situation?” Mr. Harkinson said with a smirk.
“I do not know how much you know,” Mr. Feldstaffer said, “but I suspect you know all of it.”
“Why would she say she’d read that book about…about the unfortunate Miss Hill?” Mr. Rennington asked.
“Nobody knows,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “The point is, she did not read it and has not a clue what it is. What I wonder is, how widely is it known that she said it?”
“I do not believe it has made the leap,” Mr. Wilburn said.
They all understood what “the leap” was.
Gossip traveled round the servants’ circles and some of it made the leap, and some of it did not.
The leap could be a lady’s maid telling her mistress, or a valet mentioning it to his lord.
At that moment, it made the leap from the servant class and into the ton.
“I suspect it has not made the leap because of the subject matter,” Mr. Browning said. “I suspect that most servants would be very leery of mentioning they’d ever even heard of…that book.”
Mr. Feldstaffer thought that might be right.
However, if the gossip was slow to move it did not mean it wouldn’t.
At some point, a valet used to taking liberties who served a roguish lord would mention it.
Then it would travel to the gentlemen’s clubs, where such things could be discussed out of hearing of the ladies.
Where it would go from there, he could not say.