Chapter 2
TWO
ARABELLA
“Come, sit down, Aunt.” Arabella Easton gently guided Aunt Louisa to a chair at the tables under the colonnade, watching her nurse her ankle with a gentle hand.
Arabella’s eyes darted to the multitude of people passing by, each attired in a domino and mask. The astounding variety of fabrics on display pulled at her like a magnet, but she forced her focus back to her aunt. “Perhaps we should not have come.”
“No, no, no.” Aunt Louisa waved away her niece’s concerns even as she winced. She had twisted her ankle on a loose stone on the way in and was finding it difficult to walk. “I shall be well directly. The true tragedy would be if no one was permitted to see that marvelous creation of yours.”
Arabella ran a hand down the velvety fabric of her indigo domino, underneath which was a satin emerald dress.
“I would much rather your ankle be seen to properly.” She had spent a great deal of time embroidering the domino and making the mask, but she took such joy in the creation that it was no trial for them not to be seen—or at least not too great a trial.
“It truly is a wonder,” her cousin Felicity said, admiring Arabella’s ensemble. “How on earth did you devise such an idea?”
Arabella touched her mask, and her fingers brushed the beads and sequins that lined the wings.
She had created it in the shape of a butterfly, and the wings extended well past her cheeks.
“That is one advantage of living in the country year-round, I suppose. I have had a great deal of time to imagine up any number of silly things. Can I fetch anything for you, Aunt?” Her gaze caught on a man walking past on stilts, towering over them.
She had seen pictures of such things in books, but to witness it in person was something else entirely.
“Oh, no, child,” Aunt Louisa said. “Benedict has that well in hand.”
And indeed, just then, Mr. Benedict Fairchild came hurrying up with a drink, which he gave to his aunt.
He was related via her husband, making him no relation at all of Arabella’s, whose mother had been Aunt Louisa’s sister.
But it was Mr. Fairchild’s willingness to attend the masquerade that had made Aunt Louisa relent to Felicity’s pleas to come.
“Ah,” Aunt Louisa said after taking a drink. “Much improved already.” But as she adjusted her foot, there was a flinch in her smile.
Felicity was trying valiantly not to look disappointed at the unfortunate turn of events.
Arabella sympathized, for she herself was full of tingling anticipation to see more of Vauxhall Gardens.
Not only had she never been to a masquerade, but she had never been to any public party—and certainly not one in London.
“Perhaps you and your cousin could take a stroll, Felicity?” Arabella suggested. “I will gladly sit with my aunt.”
“I won’t hear of it,” Aunt Louisa said firmly. “I need no chaperone. Felicity, on the other hand…” She cocked a brow at her daughter, then looked at Arabella again. “Go on with them, my dear. I shall be quite comfortable here. Ah! Only look. There is Mrs. Gilbert. She will sit with me a while.”
“Are you certain?” Arabella felt a twinge of guilt, not just for abandoning her injured aunt but because she was not sure Papa would approve of her wandering here without her chaperone.
But if the alternative was not to see any of Vauxhall, there was no question what she would do.
She had made her domino and mask without a real prospect of putting them to use, and now that she had just such an opportunity, she was eager to make use of it.
For years, all she had wanted was to see London, and finally, she was here.
Now that she was, she was torn between a desire to see and experience every bit she could and the weight of being a model of decorum, as Papa expected.
If she was not, there was no chance at all he would agree to any of her future requests.
“I am perfectly certain.” Aunt Louisa smiled kindly and stretched out a hand to Arabella, who took it. She did not release Arabella after squeezing it, however. Gentle but firm, it summoned Arabella closer. “You will help look after Felicity, will you not?” her aunt said in an undervoice.
“Of course.”
She patted Arabella’s hand. “I know I may trust you.” Her eyes searched Arabella’s, brimming with sympathy. “You deserve a bit of freedom after being kept in that out-of-the-way estate all these years. But for heaven’s sake, do not do anything that will land me in a scrape with your father.”
“You may rely upon me, Aunt.” Arabella gently pulled at her hand, for Felicity and Mr. Fairchild were waiting. Now that she was confident her aunt would not be alone, her curiosity was waxing.
“Wait a moment,” her aunt said, still not releasing her hand. “I would be remiss not to warn you, child, before you delve deeper into the gardens.”
Arabella’s brows went up. “Warn me?”
“On no account must you or Felicity be alone. Do you understand? Men behave like common pigs in places like this. If you are not with a chaperone, they lose all sense of decorum. It is the most unaccountable thing. The number of kisses that have been stolen here, the number of reputations ruined…” She shook her head, eyes wide with significance.
“It is truly shocking. And do not be fooled by pretended chivalry. More than one woman has been lulled into a false sense of security by a prettily behaved man, only to have her reputation in shreds when she leaves. And for heaven’s sake, do not venture into the Dark Walks! ”
Arabella nodded quickly. She had no notion what the Dark Walks were, but the name was enough to keep her away. “I shall take every care. Of Felicity too.”
Aunt Louisa’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Now, go and enjoy yourself.” She beckoned again to the woman nearby, and Mrs. Gilbert came to join her.
“Poor Mama,” Felicity said, looking over her shoulder as they walked toward the Rotunda. “She will enjoy herself with Mrs. Gilbert, though. Do you know they had their first Season together? Mama will be enjoyably occupied.”
“And you free to run loose?” Mr. Fairchild quipped.
“Hardly,” Felicity said. “Though, to be sure, without her, we are likely to have a bit more fun. I am determined you shall have a proper Vauxhall experience, Bella.”
Mr. Fairchild snorted.
Felicity looked up at him. “What?”
He cleared his throat and controlled his expression. “Nothing. Only that I am not convinced such a thing exists as a proper Vauxhall experience. People come here to be improper.”
Felicity jabbed him with an elbow. “You mustn’t shock Bella, Benedict. She has never been anywhere like this.”
That was true enough. Arabella’s experience of the world beyond her own home had been confined to a few local assemblies and two town journeys with Papa. He had always refused her pleas to accompany him to London but had finally agreed for her to join him in Manchester.
Her desire to see London had suffered a shock as a result of the visit, so full was Manchester of thick smoke, loud machines, and people in poverty the likes of which she had never imagined.
When Aunt Louisa had invited Arabella to join Felicity and her, Arabella had nearly refused.
Thank heaven she had not—and that Papa had relented as well, going so far as to invite Aunt Louisa and Felicity to make use of his townhouse.
Arabella had only been in London three days, but so far, it was nothing like Manchester.
“Have I shocked you, Miss Easton?” Mr. Fairchild asked.
Arabella shook her head. “I was warned.”
“Warned of what precisely?” Felicity asked.
“Excusing your presence, Mr. Fairchild, your mother warned me against the men here, particularly if I were to be found alone, which I have promised not to be, at risk of leaving with no reputation.”
Felicity laughed. “Quite rich of Mama to say such things! She was very wild in her day, you know. I found an old letter—from Mrs. Gilbert, in fact—about a kiss between Mama and the son of a nabob. Besides, what is life without a bit of risk?”
“Hear, hear,” Mr. Fairchild agreed.
Arabella’s eyes roved to the statues they were passing on the left.
She considered asking to go see them but decided against it.
She could not stop to admire every thing that caught her interest, or they would be here for weeks.
She had no desire to betray her ignorance of all things ton, either, so she would allow herself to be guided by Felicity.
“And,” Felicity said, emboldened by her cousin’s agreement, “how many young women have managed to amuse themselves a bit at Vauxhall—to flirt or perhaps even steal a kiss—without damaging their reputations? Far more, I would wager, than have left with their reputations in tatters. Mama is simply afraid of your father, Bella.”
“Afraid of him?” Arabella asked, her curiosity roused. “Why?”
“He is so very strict. Mama has always thought it terribly wrong for you to be kept so far from Society all these years. It has made you quite old for your first foray.”
Arabella felt a flash of defensiveness on Papa’s behalf and, beneath it, a sliver of vexation at being called old.
Felicity was but two years younger than Arabella’s two-and-twenty.
Felicity had been in London the two Seasons before this one, though.
She was not wide-eyed and agog at every corner and stretch of Vauxhall. Indeed, she barely seemed to heed it.
“What you perceive as strictness,” Arabella said, “is merely a wish to keep me safe. I assure you, I have everything I desire at Wetley—and more.”
It was mostly true. Papa spoiled her and her two younger sisters, providing them with the best of everything: tutors, books, horses, food, clothing. Wetley Abbey itself was grand and sprawling, with trails and gardens aplenty. Its library was the most expansive in Staffordshire.
But Arabella had lost count of the number of times she had asked to come to London.