CHAPTER FOUR #3
Mother and daughter exchanged a smile of mutual understanding and both fell into a reverie masquerading as an absorbed interest in the passing scene.
For once the lush pastures and fields of Hertfordshire wearing their springtime green failed to quicken Laura’s mind and heart as she stared unseeingly through the carriage window.
She knew that her parent, though maintaining a semblance of her habitual sweet serenity, was actually eager to re-enter the world she had renounced, for all practical purposes, with her marriage to a man of limited financial resources allied with a reclusive temperament.
Her own social connections had withered away over the years of enforced rustication, so her half-brother’s unexpected offer to move in polite circles once more had appeared as a blessing from on high.
At the wave of a magic wand, as it were, the heretofore financially unattainable chance to introduce her daughter to society had become a reality simply by agreeing to chaperone her niece also, a task she’d have been pleased to undertake as a familial obligation in any case.
Laura understood that her mother’s present state of contentment rested on being able to give her daughter this season with little conscious thought of her own pleasure at entering the world again.
She was ashamed to confess her own resentment at having to accept that, in all things but affection, the uncle she disliked would stand in the place of a father to her during their London sojourn.
She closed her eyes and made a solemn promise to herself that she would not dwell on the negative side of their visit, however aggravating.
the situation with Uncle Oswald might become.
London itself would offer numerous compensations for lost autonomy.
Her lips quirked into a rueful grimace at the unbidden recollection of how eager she and Mary Milford had been, at sixteen, to grow up and go to London for the season.
Of course, their adolescent fantasies had centred on going to parties, dancing until all hours of the night and meeting a Prince Charming who would sweep them off their feet.
Laura’s interest in parties and dancing had waned with maturity and, after subjecting her male relatives past and present to a dispassionate review, she frankly doubted the man existed who could charm her out of her precious independence.
She certainly looked forward to attending the opera and the theatre and visiting all the places of historical interest she’d only read about.
Perhaps her cousin Sophia would be willing to show her around the metropolis a bit.
“Mama,” she said, turning away from the window, “what is Sophia like? You have met her, have you not?”
“Yes, once, but she was only a child then. It was when I went home to Elmwood, when my father died. Your father found it inconvenient to make the trip at that time, so you stayed on the farm with him.”
Which statement, shorn of euphemism, meant that her father, resentful of his father-in-law’s changed attitude toward him when his own father had died bankrupt, had refused to attend the funeral of his wife’s father, Laura mentally translated before saying, “I was twelve when my grandfather Albright died, so Sophia must have been about eleven. Does she favour Sir Oswald?”
“No, she looks like her mother — at least, she has her brunette colouring. Marietta was lovely to look at and possessed a very sweet nature, though her understanding was no more than moderate.”
“Which means she must have been completely hen-witted, Mama, for you are wont to attribute more than their just due to people,” Laura retorted with a teasing smile. “Was Sophia sweet and stupid too?” Her expression of mock innocence dissolved into a giggle at her parent’s shocked exclamation.
“Dearest, I beg you to curb this playful tendency to employ such intemperate language while we are in town. It really will not do in company, you know.”
“I beg your pardon, Mama. I promise to try not to shame you with my rag manners in society. Now tell me what you recall of Sophia at eleven.”
“She was pretty and dainty and well-behaved, with perfect manners, as I recall.”
“Oh dear, that guarantees that we shall not become bosom friends unless time has wrought a change in her, for she will find me none of those things.”
This time is was Mrs. Marsh who laughed, saying, “If you are fishing for compliments, my child, you are casting in the wrong river. You pooh-pooh everything I say about you on the grounds of partiality anyway, though I fail to see why one cannot be accurate and partial at the same time. They are not mutually exclusive qualities. My partiality cannot rob you of your attractions and virtues.”
“Of course not, Mama, unless you are the only one who perceives them,” Laura said slyly before changing the subject. “Tell me about Sophia’s brother. Surely I have understood that there is another child?”
“Yes, Aubrey, but he was not born until several months after your grandfather’s death. I have never seen him, and Oswald did not mention him in his letters.”
“Perhaps he is away at school,” Laura suggested, “though he must be rather young yet.”
Since further discussion on this point could not lead to enlightenment, both ladies resumed their silent study of the countryside.
The journey was neither long nor arduous.
Sir Oswald had sent his carriage and team to Hertfordshire to bring his sister and niece to London, sparing them the inconveniences attached to traveling on public conveyances.
The early stage of boredom with the motion had barely set in by the time the well-sprung carriage pulled up to a handsome brick house in Mount Street, and Sukie was heard to say that she for one could have gone on forever, so agreeable had she found this first experience of traveling “like a real lady.”
Almost before the wheels had ceased turning, the black door with its gleaming lion’s-head knocker was opened by a bewigged young footman who opened the carriage door and set down the steps.
Mrs. Marsh had just accepted his helping hand and stepped down when a stately silver-haired man appeared in the doorway.
“Jimson, I did not know you were with my brother in London!” she cried. “How very good it is to see you again!”
“And for me to see you, ma’am,” this worthy replied, giving a paternal squeeze to the hand she extended.
“Laura, my dear, you remember Jimson, your grandfather’s butler at Elmwood? Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”
While Laura was shyly greeting the butler, and the footman was assisting a wide-eyed Sukie to descend from the carriage, two more people came out of the house.
“My dear Annabelle, you are come in good time. I hope I see you well? Yes indeed,” Sir Oswald continued, answering his own question after casting an appraising glance over his sister and niece as he approached, “there is definitely an added brilliance to your complexion since last we met, but I wonder that you saw fit to trick yourselves out in deepest mourning still.” With a wave of one long-fingered hand he indicated the black pelisses and bonnets worn by his relatives.
Laura’s lips parted in reaction, but she firmly closed them, lowering her lashes to veil her eyes while her mother explained that they’d not had time to have any new outerwear made up before leaving home.
In her turn she submitted to her uncle’s perfunctory peck on the cheek and said all that civility required, but her covert attention was on the girl trailing in her father’s wake.
Sophia Albright had more than fulfilled her aunt’s prophecy.
Still petite and dainty, she was ravishingly pretty with a profusion of black curls, deep brown eyes and a straight little nose.
Her smile when she accepted her aunt’s embrace revealed a pair of delightful dimples, and she greeted them in a breathy little voice.
“Welcome to London, Aunt Annabelle and Cousin Laura. It is so good of you to take on the chore of chaperoning my come-out, Aunt. I am truly grateful.”
Mrs. Marsh chuckled. “You are so lovely, my dear Sophia, that my task should not prove onerous. At least it will not include beating the bushes to secure dancing partners. You are the very image of your dear mama, though I do not recall that Marietta’s hair was quite so dark and shiny.”
“Yes, I am held to favour my mother. Am I not fortunate that the fashion for dark girls has not yet passed?” Sophia turned a laughing face to the silent Laura and added, “It is also fortunate that we are such very different types that there will not be odious comparisons between us, do you not agree, Cousin Laura?”
Laura took the simple route and murmured an agreement.
Meanwhile, Sir Oswald, who had been directing the servants in the removal of the baggage from the carriage, came toward the group of women, saying briskly, “Shall we proceed indoors and stop providing a spectacle for the neighbours’ entertainment?”
At this order, couched as suggestion, all four women turned and walked to the door with alacrity. Laura squared her shoulders and took a deep calming breath as she brought up the rear, entering her uncle’s house with bone-deep reluctance.