Chapter Seven #2
He did find himself looking forward to seeing Lady Valor again. The last he’d seen her, she’d been dressed in a simple muslin. She would look far different tonight.
“Here we are,” Lady Marchfield said.
They proceeded in and Weston did not know what he was expecting, but it was not a particularly prepossessing sort of place.
He supposed that had to do with being the pinnacle and not having to try very hard to impress the fortunate people who were let in the doors. He found the idea in some way tedious.
Lord Ledderbey patted his arm and said softly, “All your hard work will pay off now.”
An elegant woman drifted over to them. “Lady Marchfield, I suspect I know who you have brought us.”
Lady Marchfield nodded graciously. “Lord Tramondeley, the Duke of Pelham’s heir presumptive, and his companion and guardian in his youth, Lord Ledderbey. Gentlemen, may I present Lady Westmoreland.”
“You are new to Town, is my understanding,” Lady Westmoreland said. “But if I understand Lady Marchfield at all, I imagine you have been well-briefed on how we do things.”
“Indeed, Lady Westmoreland,” Weston said. Though, he was tempted to say he’d been briefed on the utter lack of food and had a question about it.
“Excellent, do you have any preferences for which young ladies making their debut you ought to be put down for?”
“I am acquainted with Lady Valor Nicolet,” Weston said, refusing to say the name of Lady Letitia.
“Ah yes, Lady Valor, that will suit very well. I will put you down for the first. I must also tell you I have had a preference told me by one of our fairer guests. You will escort Lady Letitia into supper. She tells me she is acquainted with you from Cornwall.”
Weston gritted his teeth and worked to show no particular feelings about it.
He did not even know there was to be a supper.
Had not Lady Marchfield said not to expect much in that department?
He’d expected a lonely sideboard set up somewhere to minister to people who were on the verge of a faint from lack of food.
Now he was to take Lady Letitia into this supper? If it was anything like when she came to dine he might be better off hanging himself from the highest tree. It might well be a more pleasant experience.
“I will inform you of the other dances after I’ve arranged them,” Lady Westmoreland said, turning to greet some newer arrivals.
“Come,” Lady Marchfield said, “let us proceed to the ballroom.”
They set forth and found the room to be again nothing particularly impressive. Weston had been very practiced about keeping himself out of ballrooms up to now so he could only compare it to Lord Ledderbey’s ballroom. It was larger, to be sure, but their own had better windows.
He scanned the room, ignoring the idea that he looked for Lady Valor.
And there she was. She was looking far different than she had at his house. She was looking rather magnificent actually.
Her hair was elegantly composed. She wore a cream silk dress with an overlay of the same color and a pearl necklace. There was something sophisticated in the simplicity of the color and restraint in decoration.
She was positively lovely.
She was also surrounded by her sisters as if they guarded a delicate flower.
He made his way over.
*
Valor could not help but to feel her stomach lurch at the thought of Almack’s. Year after year, her sisters had set off for that place, looking a bit sick as they got in the carriage.
It was not so much that there would be dancing with as-yet-unknown gentlemen.
It was not even that it would be a first foray out into society.
It was that Almack’s was the place a lady would be examined, closely, and for the first time.
An opinion would be formed, cementing perceptions of that lady.
Some of the patronesses would stand in the upper gallery, looking down with falcon eyes on all that transpired.
Nevertheless, all her sisters had gone and survived it, even Grace who might have fallen on the floor at any moment. Tonight, they would all be there to support her. She must find her courage in that.
She would also find courage in her dress.
Madame LaFray had explained that her dark hair and hazel eyes could stand up to a light color and had designed a lovely cream silk dress with gently puffed sleeves and a chiffon overlay of the same color.
There was a subtle chain of cream-colored flowers embroidered around the waist and hem, otherwise it was unadorned.
The dressmaker had told her that it could be a temptation to keep going with decoration, but it only resulted in something that was overwrought.
As she already felt a bit overwrought, she did not care to look overwrought.
Serenity had advised that the string of pearls Winsome had given her last season would set the whole thing off.
According to her sister, the aim was to avoid looking as if one tried too hard.
One should appear as if one had grabbed the first dress within reach with hardly a thought about it. Elegant, but unstudied.
She could not say she appeared quite that nonchalant, but she did feel confident she wore the right dress for Almack’s.
There had been some debate over her slippers, a matching cream color and of delicate construction, as it had rained heavily and the streets were wet. Mr. Huberville had offered to carry her out to the carriage.
On top of not wishing to find herself in the arms of their current butler, the risk of him dropping her on the pavement was deemed far too high, considering what else he’d dropped in the past days.
The problem was getting to the carriage in Grosvenor Square. Almack’s had a covered portico so getting out again was not a danger. Mrs. Right finally came up with the practical solution of wearing her boots into the carriage and then changing to slippers once inside.
Valor had been sure her father would inquire into her dancing lessons with Lord Tramondeley. She’d expected he would, but over the past days he’d said nothing about it.
As for herself, she had perhaps looked out her bedchamber window from time to time and peered across the square to his house.
She could just see the front door through a break in the trees.
The only thing of note she spotted was a couple dropped off by a hackney in the early morning and then setting off again at the end of the day, two days in a row.
They must be very close friends to spend so much time there.
Now, she and the duke had positively arrived to Almack’s after a rousing talk from her father in the carriage.
He reminded her that she was a duke’s daughter and need not concern herself with anybody’s approval.
He’d patted his flask in his pocket. “Do you think those patronesses don’t know I make free with my brandy in their establishment?
They do, a few of them will be predictably outraged over it, and yet they do nothing about it because I am a duke. ”
He’d managed to make her laugh, which was always good for settling nerves.
Her father had presented her to Lady Westmoreland who turned out to be a very pleasant woman. Valor did not know who the lady would choose for her card, but she did hope that Lord Tramondeley was on it.
She reasoned that it was not so much because she admired his person, but more that he was new to dancing and would require support to keep his spirits up about it. After all, he’d only had a brief lesson. He must be nervous even if he would not show it.
As she thought of that, she had begun to wonder if a gentleman who went out sailing at night, looking for trouble of the French variety, might give it up eventually.
After all, did not a young gentleman mature?
She did not know of a single older gentleman who would try out such a thing.
Lord Tramondeley might just decide he’d had enough of it and give it up for rare book collecting.
Perhaps he’d just not yet thought of collecting something.
“I’ve had one request relating to you already, Lady Valor,” Lady Westmoreland said.
Valor felt her heart speed up the littlest bit. It must be Lord Tramondeley.
“Conte di Conpressio, he is the eldest son of the Marquis de Rossi.”
“The Sardinian fellow we met at an inn,” the duke said.
Lady Westmoreland nodded. “He is very well connected in England and maintains an estate here. They are an exceedingly cosmopolitan family—I find his father, the marquis, an absolute delight.”
“Pleasant enough fellow, I suppose,” the duke said.
Valor was disappointed that it was not Lord Tramondeley, but she was happy to see the count again. She also found herself gratified to hear Lady Westmoreland express her approbation. The count had made a very good impression on Valor and it seemed her estimation was correct.
“Oh, and Lord Tramondeley mentioned he was acquainted with you.”
Was that all he said? Just that they were acquainted?
“Tramondeley, excellent,” the duke said.
Valor felt someway insulted by that. Mentioned they were acquainted, indeed.
They proceeded into the ballroom and found her sisters all together.
“Where are your husbands?” Valor asked, thinking surely they’d not all come alone.
“Huddled in a corner with Lord James,” Felicity said, laughing. “There is to be a carriage race from here to Brighton on the morrow. Speculations abound and the bets are being laid. I hope they are being subtle about it, else the patronesses will not like it.”
From out of the corner of her eye, Valor saw Lord Tramondeley come into the ballroom with Lord Ledderbey.
He was looking very dashing indeed and his caramel-colored hair shone in the candlelight.
His eyes settled on her, which gave her a bit of a shiver.
Then he strode purposefully in her direction, which gave her another little shiver.
He really was a glorious sort of man, excepting his dangerous habits. And only being acquainted with her.
“Goodness,” Patience said softly, “here he comes.”