Chapter Eight
Miss Rafferty Is Introduced
“Fiona, are you interested in the writing of Mr. Coleridge?” Lady Amelia asked. “I confess I am not familiar with the man.”
“I think ‘Christabel’ to be the most confusing drivel,” she answered frankly. “‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ is at least interesting. But then, I do not care to mix morals and poetry. Wordsworth is far more to my taste, daffodils and all.”
“Richard finds fault with all poets, except perhaps for the sonnets of his beloved Shakespeare,” Valentina teased.
“Indeed? Do you also enjoy Shakespeare’s plays, Lord Seldon?”
The earl sat across from her, next to Lady Amelia. In such a closed space, she was very aware of his height and breadth. The earl’s long legs, clad in tightly fitted buff pants and gleaming black boots, were barely an inch from her skirts.
“I do,” he answered. “Especially the histories. Henry V in particular, and Julius Caesar. Shakespeare has a remarkable understanding of the best and worst in men and women.”
“I have a tattered copy of Antony and Cleopatra,” she admitted, “so often read that it will soon disintegrate.”
“A history with a large dose of romance.” He smiled. “But an intriguing story.”
Their carriage came to a stop, and outside the window, she saw a line of conveyances waiting outside a stately manor, which shone brightly lit from the interior and exterior.
“We have reached St. James Street,” Richard said. “Our turn will come shortly.”
Valentina’s gloved hand clasped hers. “Are you nervous?” she whispered.
“Terrified.” It wasn’t far from the truth. Her stomach was in knots.
The earl raised an ironic eyebrow. “Take heart. We shall all soon perish of boredom, and your fears will be forgotten.”
“Richard!” Valentina squeaked, reaching across to slap his arm.
When they entered Lady Sefton’s salon, it was nearer nine o’clock than eight thirty.
Taking advantage of a break in performances, the earl led them to an available seat in the middle of the audience.
Fiona caught a slight murmur as she found her chair.
Whether this was a good or bad thing, she didn’t know.
Richard saw them settled, then bowed and headed to the refreshment table, where he immediately engaged in conversation with a lithe, dark-haired man who seemed close in age.
Valentina’s eyes followed them both.
“Who is that speaking to your brother?” Fiona whispered.
Her fair cheeks flamed red. “Denys Spencer. He and Richard are old friends. They attended Oxford together.”
She wanted to know more, but a young man walked toward the podium before she could ask. He was quite short with longish brown hair and a pale countenance. Dabbing a handkerchief to his lips, he nodded to the crowd and arranged his papers. Looking up, he recited in a clear, pleasant voice.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us…
After the first, the reading included three more poems, all thoughtful and lovely in an understated way. When he finished, Valentina and Lady Amelia debated the performance. Valentina was enchanted, her mother less so.
“I didn’t understand a word of it,” Lady Amelia complained. “What is wrong with a good, old-fashioned story like ‘The Highwayman’? That’s poetry in the best sense. Oh, my…look! It’s Lord Byron.”
There was a buzz of excitement among the crowd. Byron’s work was all the rage in Dublin just as here in London, but she had never seen the notorious poet. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause as he approached the platform.
Lord Byron didn’t meet her idea of a romantic figure; he was just medium height and of average physique.
His best feature was his large, very expressive eyes.
Byron had stopped to greet his hostess and Fiona surveyed the people nearest her with curiosity.
She noticed the gentleman recently seated to her left held a leaflet in his hand.
“Pardon me, sir, could you tell me the previous poet’s name? I had no chance to secure a program.”
She heard a gasp from Lady Amelia.
The object of her overture seemed slightly taken aback but smiled warmly. “May I offer mine, then?” He was a handsome man in his prime with sandy-blond hair.
She could have kicked herself. Of course, speaking to the gentleman first was a mistake. The earl appeared out of nowhere, smoothly covering the awkwardness.
“Sir William, may I present our guest and my ward, Miss Rafferty. She has just arrived from Ireland.”
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Rafferty.” The gentleman bowed to Valentina and Lady Amelia.
“Miss Merrick. Lady Merrick, a pleasure to see you both.” Sir William’s eyes flickered back to her.
“Did you enjoy the reading, Miss Rafferty? The poet’s name is John Keats and he is making quite a name for himself. A pity you missed Coleridge.”
“Shhh…” Valentina put a finger to her lips. “Lord Byron is about to begin.”
All attention shifted to the front of the room as the poet cleared his throat.
When we two parted
In silence and in tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold…
There was a sudden gasp and a loud moan from behind them.
Lady Amelia’s fan snapped shut. “Don’t bother to look, Fiona. It’s only Priscilla Wentworth. She faints whenever Byron reads.”
Fiona hid a grin and caught Sir William’s eyes, which were bright with laughter. She decided she liked him very well indeed.
There was a brief interruption in the recital as Miss Wentworth was attended to, and then Byron continued, unshaken as if such things were everyday occurrences.
Which she guessed was not far from the truth.
The celebrated poet read for nearly an hour without further incident and met with an enthusiastic ovation when he closed his book.
As the audience left their chairs in search of refreshment or conversation, Sir William bowed and wandered off.
She turned to Valentina. “And just who is Sir William Denton?”
“A suitor my sister has refused to consider,” the earl answered.
“She has rejected four so far. The last was a baron, and Sir William Denton is a veritable pillar of society. Valentina steadfastly refused to entertain either possibility. Why the devil not, I cannot fathom.” He regarded his sister with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
“Richard…” his mother admonished gently.
“Was the baron corpulent and gouty?” Fiona teased. “Perhaps Sir William has a squint I did not notice?”
Valentina’s color rose. “No, none of those.”
“Sir William is a splendid gentleman: personable, well-mannered, rich, and he holds a handsome estate. But do tell Miss Rafferty your objections, Valentina.”
“He is boring and much too old,” Valentina admitted, unfurling her lace fan.
Fiona stifled a smile.
“Do let us speak of something else, Richard,” Lady Amelia pleaded.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of names and faces.
Fiona could barely remember the number of people introduced.
She promised two dances at Almack’s to Denys Spencer, whom the earl had introduced later at the refreshment table, and accepted another invitation from Sir William and two young men she hardly remembered.
At one point, she whispered to the earl, standing watch at her side. “I have promised five dances without knowing a single step. You have two days to bring about a miracle.”
“I intend to,” he said, unruffled.
As they spoke, a devastatingly attractive woman, attired in a pale-blue gown with a breathtakingly low décolleté glided toward them.
She was of medium height and elegant carriage with perfectly coiffed light curls.
On second look, Fiona realized she was past the first bloom of youth, but that did not detract from her beauty.
“Good evening, Mrs. Davenport,” the earl greeted her. “It’s quite a crush, isn’t it? Miss Rafferty, this is Mrs. Davenport. Miss Rafferty is my ward.”
Mrs. Davenport arched her perfectly shaped brows. “Indeed?” Her smile was somewhat forced, though pleasant enough. “A ward…how droll of you, Richard. Welcome, Miss Rafferty. You have recently come to London, I suppose. Is it your first time here?”
Innocent as the question sounded, she sensed a subtle barb. “I arrived from Dublin this week.” Mrs. Davenport’s blue eyes appraised her frankly, and she wondered if she had overdressed after all.
“Ah, Dublin…an interesting city, but nothing compared to London. So, you are Irish. Such a fanciful culture. And what do you think of our Season, Miss Rafferty? A bit overwhelming, I am sure. Do you have connections in town other than the Merricks?”
“Miss Rafferty is known to our family through her father, and we are sponsoring her.” She was relieved at Lord Seldon’s interruption. “I believe Valentina searches for you, Miss Rafferty. She is by the punch bowl.”
As she made her way toward the refreshment table, she glanced back and caught Mrs. Davenport and the earl in close conversation. When she reached Valentina, she took a cup of punch, observing them with frank curiosity. Mrs. Davenport had lifted a gloved hand to lightly touch Lord Seldon’s sleeve.
“What a striking woman,” she remarked.
“She is considered a great beauty, and quite rich after the passing of her husband three years ago. He was a railroad magnate, slightly below her touch, but extremely wealthy. Everyone is amazed that she has not remarried. But I suppose Richard has something to do with that.”
“Lord Seldon? How so?”
Valentina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They were quite…involved. Richard escorted Eleanor everywhere for some time, but then he appeared to lose interest. We were happy that he did; I find Mrs. Davenport to be quite cold, and not the sort one would wish for in a sister-in-law.”
“Had it come to that?”
“Well, she is considered quite fast in some circles, but Richard certainly seemed attached. But here comes Sir William, no doubt to claim a dance or two. I wish I could like him better, but we share nothing in common. I want to fall in love, Fiona,” she said dreamily, “with a man who will sweep me off my feet.”
“Well, then, you will not mind that I have already promised him a quadrille at Almack’s on Wednesday, whatever that may be.”
“Of course not. Be sure to avoid accepting a waltz except from Richard. They’re still considered daring for a debutante. You will need permission from one of the patronesses to participate in one, but my brother will take care of it. Good evening, Sir William.”
“Might I hope you would do me the honor of a dance or two at Almack’s, Miss Merrick?”
“Of course.” Valentina curtsied gracefully. She glanced past him to the corner of the room where Denys Spencer laughed at one of the earl’s remarks. The camaraderie between the two men seemed genuine, and her guardian looked relaxed and approachable.
“Really?” Fiona commented after Sir William had left. “A dance or two? With the elderly William Denton?’
Valentina tossed her head. “What is the harm? I may not want to wed him, but he is a fine dancer, and I will enjoy it.”
“So, we must add ‘a fine dancer’ to Denton’s list of attributes. I must say, Valentina, I find him very attractive.”
“Then you marry the man,” she said, a trifle peevishly.
On the way home, Lady Amelia pronounced Fiona’s introduction to London society a great success. “A ride in the park tomorrow shall certainly settle the matter. But not too early, Richard,” she begged.
He agreed, and they decided on two o’clock.
“I have an appointment with my solicitor in the morning, then a meeting at the Four-In-Hand club. I’ll take luncheon at White’s and see you afterwards. When we return from the park, Miss Rafferty and I shall practice her dancing. I’d be grateful if you would let Miss Ernest know, Mother.”
Lady Amelia seemed well pleased with these plans and as the coach traveled back to Merrick House, she somehow managed to close her eyes and fall asleep. Valentina seemed lost in thought and didn’t offer to speak.
The earl glanced at Fiona. “Am I high-handed in my arrangements?” he asked with a slight smile. “I trust tomorrow afternoon will suit your dancing lesson, or perhaps the evening would be better?”
“I fear I might need both.”
“That certainly can be done, but you underestimate yourself.”
“How would you know, my lord? I warn you, I am abominable at dancing.”
“You have a singular sense of music and are graceful in your carriage and movements. It won’t be difficult to teach you, Miss Rafferty. Did you lack a governess, that you never learned?”
“We moved to Barbados when I was ten, and there were none available and little in the way of parties. Mháthair continued my education, but her attempts at teaching me to dance failed utterly.”
“And once back in Dublin?”
“Aunt Muriel was quite older and not in good health. Besides, my lord, do you know how much practice it takes to learn to play as I do? I’m afraid there was time for little else.”
“I can imagine,” he murmured. “But you do not lack refinement or sophistication, Miss Rafferty.”
“From imitation, I think. My aunt was quite a great lady in her day and remained so until her death. Manners and dress were important to her.” She digested the surprising array of his compliments. Perhaps she had made a decent impression tonight after all.
The earl leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes for the remainder of the ride home. She followed his example, but the excitement of the evening left her far from sleepy.