Chapter 9
T he first banns were read the following Sunday, during divine service at St Bartholomew’s, much to the ire of the vicar, who had received the request via no fewer than three urgent notes, two personal visits from Lady Tolliver, and one rather harassed footman bearing a sponge cake by way of persuasion.
By Monday morning, Hetty found herself officially half-married in the eyes of God, Society and the better part of the county.
“Well,” she muttered, standing in the front hall and clutching the twelfth congratulatory bouquet of the morning, “it is comforting to know that universal delight may be achieved, so long as my opinion is excluded entirely.”
The card attached read: To the future Lady Langley – how splendid! What a triumph for your mother. Do let us know if the earl has a younger brother .
There was no signature, which made it all the more aggravating.
By mid-afternoon, she had received seven handwritten notes commenting on the handsomeness of her betrothed, four invitations to dine (one of which included a subtle inquiry as to whether Lord Langley might be inclined to invest in sugar futures) and two sketches of wedding gowns from Miss Pomeroy, along with an encouraging postscript: So happy for you, dearest. What a strange world, indeed!
By Tuesday, Hetty was keeping a decanter in the morning room, and by Wednesday, she had informed Georgie in no uncertain terms that if another person used the phrase “what a coup,” she would commit an act not suited to polite society or English law.
And so it came to be that by Thursday, Miss Henrietta Tolliver was promenading arm in arm with Theodore Winslow, Earl of Langley, parading down Rotten Row like a perfectly matched pair – entirely at her mother’s insistence, and most decidedly against her own will, judgement and natural inclination.
Trailing discreetly behind them was the said Lady Tolliver, perched in her phaeton like a minor monarch.
She nodded regally at every acquaintance and did not, for one moment, cease smiling.
All of London, or at the very least the particular half of it devoted to horses, husbands and happenstance, seemed to be watching.
Hetty, for her part, kept her chin high and her gloves immaculate, and bore it all with the expression of a woman politely tolerating her own execution.
It had now been four days since the public declaration of their engagement, and one thing had become abundantly clear: Theo Winslow had done absolutely nothing whatsoever to halt it .
He had sent no clarifying letter to the papers; there had been no visit to her father, nor protestations that this was all a terrible misunderstanding.
There had been no pleading at her feet – not even a poorly timed declaration of affection to make things worse!
In short, he had failed her entirely – and so, once again, the business of preserving her freedom fell squarely upon her own shoulders.
“Well,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed ahead as if she had not just passed three ladies openly whispering behind lace parasols, “as the damage is already done, we may as well use this engagement to our advantage.”
Theo glanced sideways at her. “I shudder to ask.”
“I have devised a solution,” she continued. “We shall remain engaged until the close of the Season. That is all.”
“That is all?”
“Yes. You see, so long as I am engaged, no other gentleman shall dare to propose. I shall be left blissfully alone. And when the Season concludes, you shall cry off.”
“Shall I indeed? And will I be furnished with a script, or am I to improvise my heartbreak?”
“You may say whatever you like,” Hetty said airily. “A sudden discovery of my insufferable temper. Horror at my scandalous fondness for card tables. Perhaps you shall develop a passion for a melancholy German soprano.”
“How diverting. And your reputation?”
“Ruined,” she declared with a pleased sigh. “Utterly and magnificently so. I shall be deemed too difficult, too opinionated, far too independent. In short: entirely myself. No gentleman of sense will dare approach me next Season after such a public catastrophe. It shall be glorious.”
They walked on in companionable silence.
After a pause, Theo’s voice broke the quiet. “You do realise, of course, that none will believe I sought to end the engagement.”
Hetty frowned. “Why ever not?”
He fixed her with a pointed look. “You have read the gossip columns, Hetty. At present, I am cast as the tragic figure, a wounded romantic, undone by a single glance at you. If anything, Society will believe you to have cast me off.”
“Nonsense. You are an earl.”
“It is hardly a safeguard. Stranger tales have flourished in The Morning Gazette .”
“I shall see to it myself,” Hetty declared. “An anonymous report: Lady H.T., seen in tears, cruelly cast aside by Lord L., who has transferred his affections to a tragic opera singer with a fondness for French silk and humourless men in decorative waistcoats.”
“I am flattered by the accuracy.”
She swept on, undeterred. “By the close of summer, I shall be sufficiently untouchable. The scandal will deter even the most persistent suitor. You must admit, the plan is quite flawless.”
Theo said nothing, and continued walking.
After a moment, she glanced sidelong at him. “You are still in favour of the scheme, are you not? Do not disappoint me now, Theo Winslow.”
Still, he did not answer. When he spoke, his voice was quieter and uncharacteristically thoughtful.
“I am in favour of anything that spares you the indignity of being auctioned off like a prize heifer at a country fair. If this absurd arrangement affords you some measure of peace, then yes, I am in favour.”
She turned her head slightly, surprised by the earnestness of it, but he was already recovering, his tone lifting again into its customary drawl.
“Besides,” he added, “this opera singer of mine sounds most promising. I do hope she plays the harp. I’ve always imagined it rather thrilling to dine with someone who could produce a dramatic arpeggio mid-supper. ”
Hetty gave a soft huff of laughter and looked ahead once more, eyes narrowed on the path with the kind of determination that was often employed in managing unruly sisters. “Then perhaps I shall marry you out of spite. You are plainly unfit to be left unsupervised.”
A voice rang out across the Row – bright as a bell, piercingly high-pitched, and unmistakably nosy. It was a voice that Hetty knew could only belong to one possessed of both a keen ear for gossip and an insatiable desire to insert herself into the affairs of others.
“Miss Tolliver! Lord Langley! How perfectly delightful to see you!”
They turned in unison to see Miss Artemisia Pomeroy bearing down upon them, side-saddle atop a gleaming white gelding, the plume in her hat bobbing with every trot.
Flanking her on either side came two of her cousins, Miss Lavinia and Miss Dorothea Crumpleton, both bedecked in ribbons and ringlets, and trailing just a touch more languidly as though the entire party bored him terribly, was Lord Marchmont .
“Do not utter a word,” Hetty muttered to Theo from the corner of her mouth, her smile already fixed in place. “I am far too well-bred to murder a duchess’s niece and a viscount.”
“Lord Langley,” Miss Pomeroy cooed as she reined in, “how exceedingly well you are looking. Positively dashing. One sees at once why dear Miss Tolliver has been so thoroughly captivated. And Miss Tolliver, you are quite radiant, my dear. Engagement becomes you most charmingly. You must tell us everything, of course – although, I do confess myself a trifle surprised to find you unchaperoned. How very… unorthodox of you.”
“I should be most delighted to reassure you, Miss Pomeroy,” Hetty said, with a graceful inclination of her head, “that my Mama is seated just there, in the phaeton behind the hedgerow, with the enormous ostrich plume and a lorgnette so powerful she can likely read your thoughts from here.”
Miss Pomeroy’s smile wavered for the briefest instant before rallying with renewed cheer. “How comforting. One does hate to think of young couples left to their own devices. It leads to all manner of… rumours.”
“I do adore a good rumour,” Theo said mildly, adjusting his gloves. “So long as I am cast as the brooding romantic and Miss Tolliver as the unapproachable enchantress. A most flattering arrangement.”
“I shall settle for ‘infamous,’” Hetty offered. “It seems far more enduring. ”
Lord Marchmont, silent until now, offered an appreciative smile. “Infamy suits some women far better than roses and lace. Though I imagine you could wear either to devastating effect, Miss Tolliver.”
Hetty’s eyes flicked to his. “How generous of you to say so, my lord.”
Beside her, Theo remained very still.
Miss Pomeroy gave a tinkering laugh. “Oh, Marchmont – do behave.”
But Marchmont’s gaze did not shift. “Merely an observation. One cannot help but admire a woman who knows precisely how she wishes to be seen.”
“Indeed,” Theo said sharply. “Miss Tolliver has never lacked clarity on that point.”
Hetty looked between the two men. “How fortunate I am to be so thoroughly interpreted. Do let me know when you’ve reached consensus on my character. I shall be most interested to hear the result.”
Miss Pomeroy let out another high laugh. “Well! I believe we’ve exhausted the morning’s entertainment. We mustn’t keep you from your very romantic stroll a moment longer. Come along, girls. Lord Marchmont.”
She turned her horse with a flourish, her cousins fluttering after her. Lord Marchmont lingered a moment longer, holding his reins loosely in one gloved hand. “Miss Tolliver. Yes, I must say: you do wear notoriety remarkably well. ”
He held her gaze a moment longer than decorum allowed, enough to be remarked upon but not to invite reproach, then inclined his head in parting. “Langley.”
With that, he turned his mount and followed Miss Pomeroy and her flock at a leisurely pace.
Hetty remained very still, her spine held with the sort of impeccable posture only rage, pride or breeding could sustain.
A breeze swept across the Row, teasing at the ribbons of her bonnet and sending a wisp of hair against her cheek, but she made no motion to tuck it back.
She heard Theo exhale through his nose. “I take it that our little arrangement has not wholly deterred the competition”
“I was restraining myself from throwing my reticule at him.”
“How noble of you. Though I suspect he would have taken it as encouragement.”
“I daresay he would,” Hetty conceded. “Which is precisely why I refrained. I prefer scandal on my own terms.”
They continued their promenade in silence, the rhythm of their steps matched so perfectly they might well have appeared as lovers, had Society not known better – but then, of course, that was the entire point.
Hetty’s eyes flicked sidelong towards Theo. “I do hope, Lord Langley, that you are prepared to play your part convincingly.”
“And which part is that? The aggrieved betrothed? The reluctant victim of a Tolliver ambush?”
“Do stop being tiresome,” she said sweetly. “Why, the doting, utterly besotted fiancé, of course. ”
“As you wish, Miss Tolliver. I shall do my utmost to appear entirely bewitched.”
She glanced out across the Row, where a pair of young ladies were pretending not to observe her, and behind them, a mounted gentleman gave an overt nod in her direction, the sort that made her wish she could throw her slipper at him without consequence.
“I am not like Georgiana,” she said at length.
“I do not dream of lace handkerchiefs and lockets with someone else’s hair inside them.
I have never longed for a townhouse in Mayfair or the thrill of a diamond tiara presented at court.
I do not consider a drawing room of my own the height of personal accomplishment.
” Though her arm rested in the crook of Theo’s arm, she kept her eyes fixed firmly upon the path ahead.
“I never wished to be married at eight-and-ten simply because it was expected, nor because my Season proved particularly advantageous to my mother’s reputation amongst the matrons. ”
“Indeed?” Theo said. “And what is it you wish for, Miss Tolliver, if not matrimony and the security it affords?”
“I have plans, Theo. I had them long before your fist connected with that man’s jaw.”
“Plans?” he echoed.
“I desire,” she said after a long sigh, “to live with some measure of independence – which I am aware, in a woman, is considered at once laughable and dangerous. I should like to read books of my own choosing, without being told which are improper. I should like to wake in the morning with no obligation but curiosity. I should like to travel not under the auspices of a chaperone, nor in pursuit of a husband, but simply for the pleasure of it. I should like to see paintings in Florence and the ruins in Athens and the sea at Marseille. I want to taste figs in Sicily and drink coffee in Constantinople. I want to ride through the Scottish Highlands and climb the Alps! I should like to learn to sail, though I suspect I would be dreadful at it, and write something under a false name that causes a bishop to faint.”
“That is rather a list.”
“I should like a house of my own one day,” she continued, as though she had not heard him.
“Not a great estate, nor anything encumbered with a retinue of idle footmen. Only something modest and quiet, with a proper library, and a fire that does not grow cold upon the death of a man. A house in which I might pass my days and take my meals and step into the garden without commentary on the length of my hem or the volume of my laughter.” She paused, looking out at some distant carriage.
“No. I do not desire to belong to anyone. I shall not be bartered for a seat in Parliament, or a favourable connection, or the good opinion of some baronet’s mother who disapproves of freckles.
Nor shall I be paraded through drawing rooms like a prize mare, tame and docile and terribly grateful for the stable. ”
“Well,” Theo said slowly, as they continued their stroll. “I should think any man who attempted to bridle you would find himself kicked senseless before he’d finished the knot.”
Hetty allowed herself a rueful smile. “One can only hope.”
He gave a short laugh. “I was under the impression you wished me to play the besotted fiancé. Not the condemned one. ”
“You may be both,” she said with false sweetness. “If you perform with sufficient charm.”
“I must warn you, Hetty” he said as they turned down the Row. “I am an excellent actor. A lesser woman might fall in love with me entirely by accident.”
“I daresay,” Hetty replied, “a lesser woman might. But I, my lord, have made a lifelong study of resistance.”