Chapter 6 #2
“Pa!” his son objected. “Dash it all. Don’t embarrass a fellow so. Grandmother has that well in hand, I assure you. Do ignore my father, Miss Bancroft, he’s got no idea of fashion,” the young man said, shaking his head sadly at his sire.
Meg laughed, relieved and delighted to discover Nat’s relations were so amiable. “Indeed, Mr Seymour, I confess I rather like your waistcoat.” This much was true, though it was a dazzling shade of blue and embroidered all over with tiny gold bees.
“Ha! There, see?” Aubrey said, a reaction that made his father roar with laughter. “I told you it was all the crack.”
“Oh, Miss Bancroft, don’t encourage him, pray don’t,” said a soft voice from beside the gentleman. “I had the most awful time persuading him not to wear a most ghastly creation in puce silk. Truly it was most distressing,” she said, with apparent sincerity.
“My sister,” Aubrey said, drawing the lady nearer. “Lavinia, though we all call her Vinnie, and she’s as bad as my father.”
Lavinia, like her brother, was well made, fair of face, with deep auburn hair that seemed to be a family trait in those whose hair had not turned to white. Aubrey’s and his sister’s eyes were a startling green, whereas the rest of the Seymour clan seemed to go through various shades of blue.
Lavinia was not as gregarious as her brother, but smiled warmly, seeming genuinely pleased to meet Meg. From here she was introduced to guests from the town, who had come to dine, presumably to make up the numbers as the ladies seemed to outnumber the gentlemen.
Captain Dearborn was a rather stiff looking but kindly fellow, perhaps in his forties, with a tanned, weather-beaten face and the bearing of a military man. He said little but seemed friendly and easy enough to converse with.
“And this is our dear friend, Reverend Honeywell,” Uncle Charles said, clapping the reverend on the shoulder, as the old man twinkled back at them.
“I am so pleased to meet you, my dear,” he said, and with such approval Meg could not help but believe he meant it. When he turned to Nat, however, the fellow beamed with delight.
“Nathaniel, how well you look! My dear fellow, you have grown so. Well, well, I am so pleased to see you, and to wish you happy too! What splendid news! If you are looking for someone to perform the ceremony, you know where to find me, though I imagine the young lady will be wanting a fashionable affair. St George’s, perhaps?
” he said with a wistful expression that suggested he thought this a great shame.
“Oh, no!” Meg exclaimed before she could think her words through. Except the idea of marrying in such a public manner was appalling and having this delightful fellow marry her to anyone was too wonderful to resist. She blushed, avoiding Nat’s eyes, for she was certain he was grinning.
“Little Valentine would certainly be a charming setting for it,” Nat said, taking possession of her hand and placing it on his sleeve in a proprietary fashion that quite made her nerves jump. “We shall bear it in mind, won’t we, my dear?”
Meg mumbled something quite inaudible, which was just as well, for she was certain it would have made no sense, she was in such a flurry.
Good heavens, she must get a hold of her unruly tongue and think before she spoke.
Her apparent excess of maidenly sensibilities would at least please the older generation, she thought ruefully.
She was saved from any further comment, however, when a beautiful young woman rushed up to her and took her hands.
“Oh, I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said with a smile. “I’m Della, and I do beg your pardon, but I’ve been waiting very patiently. Nat, you’re such a tease, leaving me until last when you knew I was dying to meet your fiancée!”
Meg laughed, delighted by her frank and open manner. “Well, I hope I do not disappoint you after such anticipation.”
“You won’t, I can tell already. We shall be bosom companions before the week is out, I’m certain of it,” Della said, pausing as a footman hurried up to give her a message. Della opened the slip of paper, read it and sighed before turning to her grandmama.
“Mabel won’t come down. She says she cannot be responsible for odd numbers around the table, for it makes everyone uncomfortable. I did tell you we ought to invite another gentleman,” she added reproachfully. “You know what she’s like.”
“Oh, to the devil with Mabel. She’s such a fusspot,” the dowager grumbled, waving this information away.
“Grandmama’s companion,” Della explained in an undertone. “She is rather a fusspot, to be fair to granny. As if anyone here cares about having odd numbers at table.”
Their conversation halted as the door to the room opened, and a lady came in, taking everyone’s attention, as her late arrival seemed timed precisely to do.
She was elegant and lovely and dressed in the height of fashion and with such flair that even Meg, who knew little about such things, suspected her gown was not English in origin.
“Mama,” Nat said, releasing Meg’s arm with a murmured apology as he went to her. “How ravishing you look, as always. You put us all to shame.”
“Foolish creature, how you do flatter one,” the lady protested, though Meg thought she had expected nothing less. Not that Meg could blame her for thinking it was her due, for she was perfectly lovely.
Having already been sat upon thorns at the prospect of meeting Nat’s mother, she was now doubly anxious as she wondered if she could ever meet the expectations of such a fashionable woman.
“Now, Mama, let me introduce you to another very special lady, and one I hope you will become very good friends with. Dearest, this is Miss Margaret Bancroft. Meg, my love, this is my mother, Lady Louisa Ashford.”
Meg’s heart kicked behind her ribs as the lady’s eyes met hers. They were a paler shade of blue than her son’s and, whilst Meg detected no overt signs of either dislike or amity, there was a considering quality to them that made her increasingly nervous.
“My lady,” Meg said, sinking into a low curtsey which the dowager would likely have chastised her for, being fit for royalty.
She hoped she might be forgiven in the circumstances, and certainly Lady Louisa seemed pleased.
“I am so happy to meet you, ma’am. Nathaniel told me how very lovely you were, but even he did not do you justice. ”
“La, child, I might say the same if my wicked son had deigned to speak a single word about you to me,” she said, applying her fan so rapidly the curls about Meg’s face quivered in the breeze.
Nat’s doting mama sent him a scathing look he bore with no outward sign of discomfort, but which put Meg’s nerves in a state of increasing agitation.
“However, I must say that, as ever, Nat has the most exceptional taste. A beauty, Nathaniel. She is, indeed. I shall be put quite in the shade.”
She did not sound pleased.
“Nonsense, you will be mistaken for siblings wherever you go,” Nat said gallantly, which Meg thought rather a silly and overblown compliment, but it seemed to soothe his mother’s ruffled feathers and so she did not blame him for it.
“Good Lord, enough of this farradiddle!” The dowager’s voice cut through the room with an exasperated edge that had everyone leaping to assist her from her chair.
The reverend got there first, offering his arm as she hauled herself upright.
“I want my dinner, and I’ve listened to enough flummery for one evening, I thank you.
Honeywell, you may lead the way. I’m too annoyed to stand on ceremony. The rest of you may suit yourselves.”
With this, she stalked regally out of the room, leaving everyone else to make the best of it.
Nat hesitated, clearly torn.
“Go to your mama,” Meg said, giving him a little push, feeling this was definitely the most politic move if Lady Louisa’s nose was somewhat out of joint.
Nat flashed her a grateful smile and did so, leaving Meg to look about her, but not for long. Both Captain Dearborn and Mr Aubrey Seymour stepped forward, but Uncle Charles was quicker.
“Might I have the honour, my dear?”
“You may, with pleasure, my lord,” Meg said, taking his arm with relief.
He grinned down at her. “We’re a rum lot, especially my mother. Got a queer quick in her gallop, says just what she thinks and to the devil with everyone else. Don’t let her trouble you.”
“I think she’s rather marvellous,” Meg said honestly. “If only everyone said exactly what they thought, there would be a good many fewer misunderstandings.”
“Ha! Yes, and a good many more duels, if you ask me,” he replied with a chuckle.
Meg considered this. “Well, I suppose you may have a point.”
They followed in procession along to the dining room, where Meg had to disguise a swift inhale of breath at the magnificence laid out before her.
The dining room was stunning, featuring an ornate white ceiling adorned with gold plasterwork, red silk lining the walls, and large windows draped with silk brocade curtains of the same shade.
It was brilliantly lit, the table blazing with candles, light glittering upon rows and rows of polished silver cutlery, sparkling upon cut crystal glasses and chandeliers, and reflected by acres of pristine white linen tablecloth.
Footmen stood at the corners of the room, stiff as sentries, and the enormous table appeared to Meg like a scene set for battle as her sense of inadequacy to be among such company hit her with considerable force.
Suddenly, her mouth was dry and her composure, which had been remarkably buoyant, plummeted, leaving her with the urgent desire to run from the room and keep running, preferably all the way back to London.
Coward, jeered a voice in her head. You think you’re so clever, but now you’ve got the chance to shine, you want to run away.