Chapter 18
Eighteen
For the first time since she had arrived in London, Aurora slept until Hyacinth brought her a cup of chocolate.
She felt heavy and tired. She had never been up so late in her entire life.
Except for that time when she was ten and Papa had taken her up to the roof walk to see a meteor shower … or was it a comet? Her head felt thick.
With a decided yank, Hyacinth pulled the curtains open, spilling the bright light of mid-morning into the room and over the bed. The sudden contrast caused Aurora to swiftly shield her eyes until they could adjust.
She was sorry she had missed Lucy. She had promised to tell her everything about the evening.
Well, that would simply have to wait until tomorrow.
And she had missed the chance to go out and find Marjorie in the park.
Well, that too would have to wait. Peering carefully at Hyacinth as she bustled about the room, selecting a day dress for Aurora to wear, she noticed the lady’s maid seemed actually pleased about something.
You could not easily tell with Hyacinth—her usual expression was generally disapproving, particularly when it came to Aurora.
Today there was a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth.
Was she, was she smiling? If so, then it meant that last night had gone well.
A little fizz of excitement began to grow in the middle of Aurora’s stomach, and she nearly let out a whoop.
She docilely submitted to being dressed and coiffured and then skipped downstairs (after checking first to ensure no one was about on the stairs at that moment) to the breakfast room.
Even though she was later than usual, she was the only person up.
She found herself ravenous and gratefully set upon the offerings along the wall, even the kippers (of which she was not usually fond).
She stopped herself barely in time from going up for seconds.
If she continued in this way, she would never be able to fit into her new gowns.
She had too much energy now to sit and wait for Missie to come down for her brioche, so she stepped through the French doors to the small garden and contented herself with pacing to and fro out there.
It had gone well. At least, according to Lady Wentworth.
And, surprisingly, Hyacinth. Though who did she hear that from?
Aurora had said nothing as the maid readied her for bed in the early hours of the morning.
There had been, yes, her nerves and a resultant tendency to blurt Homer, yet the gentleman who overheard her—the Duke of Galloway—had not kicked up a fuss about it.
And the Duke of Selkirk had seemed to enjoy talking with her about music and mathematics, and he had danced with her twice.
She hadn’t had to sit out a single dance, except for the one when she was too parched to continue, and the handsome lieutenant had insisted on bringing her a small bowl of flavored ice to rival that for sale at Gunther’s, to quench her thirst. Oh, and she hadn’t trod on anyone’s toes.
In fact, she had felt as light as thistledown.
A small noise from the room beyond brought her back to herself, and she watched Missie appear and sink gracefully into a chair. Aurora turned and went back inside, greeting her friend with an exuberant, “Good morning!” which only made Missie clutch at her temples.
“You mustn’t do that, Rorie. Brioche, yes, just brioche.” She waved at the footman. “Mercy, I shall take my breakfast in bed like Mama from this point forward. Why did I ever think to get up and come downstairs this morning? I am completely done in.”
“But, Missie,” exclaimed Aurora, pulling out a chair near her friend and settling in, “wasn’t it marvelous? Did you not have the most wonderful time?”
“Yes, yes, yes, oh, do be quiet.”
As Missie’s eyes had not darkened in warning, Aurora saw the irritation was not very deep. So, she sat in silence, watching her friend nibble delicately at her pastry. Finally, she could not wait any longer and burst out, “Do you think they will call on us today?”
“Who?” asked Missie innocently, opening her exquisite gray eyes very wide.
“Don’t be a widgeon, Missie. You know who. The Duke of Selkirk and the Duke of Galloway.”
“Oh, them. Well, I presume they will call. Galloway is by far the more eligible of the two but,” and here her eyes began to dance, breaking through her practiced air of ennui, “isn’t Selkirk romantic? All dashing and mysterious and terribly handsome.”
“Yes, he is.” He was. Dreadfully so. But he liked music. And he could play the violin. And he talked to her like a person. Concerning him, her mind was a complete and utter jumble. In truth, she could not clearly recall anyone else she had danced with last night. Only him.
“Hmm. I could simply wrap him around my little finger if I wanted to. But that’s right. He has no money and is therefore earmarked for you. Pity.”
And with a toss of her head, Missie reached again for her brioche to tear off the tiniest of morsels.
Aurora froze. She felt as if she had been slapped in the face.
The fizzy feeling inside her began to retreat.
She knew her friend could be brittle. She knew her friend could be competitive.
But up until today, Missie had never been dismissive of her.
Or cruel. It reduced it all to a horrid business transaction, of which she, Aurora, was only under consideration because of her father’s money.
Her own worth? As a person? In Missie’s estimation, it was clearly not of much value.
And, if that was how she truly saw Aurora’s marriage prospects, was that how she valued her as a friend?
A means to an end? But, no, that couldn’t be—they had become friends long before she could be of any obvious use to Missie. Or?
Aurora slammed shut the door on where her thoughts were leading. Not for today. If she continued down this path, she would climb out the window, hire a horse, and gallop her way home.
She said nothing else while Missie finished eating, and then both retreated upstairs to their respective bedrooms to write letters.
Shortly after luncheon, Lady Wentworth sent word they were to join her in the red room.
She allowed both to kiss her on the cheek when they appeared, and proceeded to deliver her instructions on how things were to proceed.
These included what new gowns to be ordered, which invitations were to be accepted, and which were not, and how to greet callers when they arrived.
And, of course, the final preparations for that oh-so-important appearance at Almack’s, which would officially launch Millicent and, of course, Aurora.
She concluded her speech with a postscript to Aurora.
“I shall not write to your father and mother as yet, child. It is still too early to be sure. The Duke of Selkirk paid you the most careful attention last night and, if you continue to play your cards right, I believe he may offer for you.” She simpered at this.
“Remember,” and here her tone changed, “there is to be none of your prattling on about books and such. Unless they are novels. Of the right sort.” She then continued to her daughter, “And Millicent, dear, I do believe the Duke of Galloway is a definite prospect for you. Though there are still some other fish yet in the sea, we do not wish to move too precipitously. I am very pleased, very pleased indeed.”
She rang for a pot of tea and instructed the young women to take up their embroidery, which they had been told to bring down with them when they were summoned.
Thus modestly employed, they would be ready to receive whomever should call.
Aurora was so discomfited by the day so far and the prospects ahead that she stabbed herself in the finger so many times she lost count.