Chapter Three
By the time Mr Penrose asked Caroline whether her father intended to purchase an estate, she had been acquainted with him for almost eleven minutes.
He had begun more delicately. First there had been praise of her gown, a deep-green silk which brought warmth to her complexion and highlighted the copper tones in her dark hair, followed by an observation upon the emeralds at her throat and a question about whether she preferred Scarborough to London.
Caroline had answered politely, though she suspected even then that Scarborough interested him chiefly because he wished to know how grand a house her father kept there.
When he discovered that it overlooked the bay and had been extensively rebuilt upon Mr Bingley's purchase, he began to regard her with even greater interest. From the house, he moved naturally to the mills, from the mills to her father's fortune and from the fortune to the possibility of an estate.
"My father has spoken of it," Caroline said, wishing she had not accepted his invitation to walk through the rooms and hoping her clipped manner would discourage his attention.
They had moved into a quieter drawing room and already she longed for the protection of the crowd they had left behind. "But he has made no decision."
"A man in his position must surely wish to establish the family properly."
Caroline glanced at him. Mr Penrose was handsome in a mild sort of way, with fair hair arranged to appear artless and a coat cut to make his shoulders appear wider than they were.
His eyes were a pale milky blue and it added to a general feeling of colourlessness that made her shudder internally.
He had shown little interest in anything Caroline said until the conversation touched upon her father's money.
Since then, he had become almost animated.
"My family is already established," she replied, trying to conceal a sigh.
"Of course. I meant only that an estate gives permanence to a name. Trade, however prosperous, may alter with the times."
"And land cannot?"
He looked momentarily uncertain, as though the possibility had never occurred to him. "Not in quite the same manner," he said slowly, as if explaining something to a small child.
Caroline allowed the silence to remain between them.
She had discovered during her weeks in London that many gentlemen took silence in a young woman as tacit encouragement and were perfectly willing to fill the space with whatever nonsense came most readily to mind.
But she could not think of a single thing to say.
She reached into her reticule, pretending to retrieve a handkerchief, but taking the opportunity to touch the small piece of sea glass that she always carried with her.
After only the briefest pause, he began explaining the advantages of landed property at length, apparently requiring no reply.
Lady Lonsdale's rooms were crowded enough that the heat had become oppressive.
Candlelight caught upon jewels and pale silks, while the sound of several hundred conversations rose beneath the music from the ballroom beyond.
Caroline could see Louisa near the open doors, her fair head inclined towards Mr Hurst as he spoke.
Whatever he was saying could not have been especially amusing, but Louisa was smiling at him with such unguarded pleasure that Caroline felt a brief, painful twist of envy.
Mr Hurst had attached himself to Louisa almost from the beginning of the Season.
He was not brilliant and had no particular interests beyond hunting and consuming prodigious quantities of food as far as Caroline could ascertain, yet he was gentle with her and seemed sincerely delighted by everything she did.
Louisa, who had never doubted that happiness would find her, had accepted his admiration as naturally as sunshine.
Caroline had received rather more admiration and hated every second of it.
The exact amount of her dowry had somehow become common knowledge within a fortnight of her arrival.
Twenty thousand pounds was spoken of nowhere in her hearing, but its presence followed her through every ballroom.
It prompted introductions from sharp-eyed mothers and made gentlemen laugh warmly at remarks which were not intended to be amusing.
Men with neglected estates praised her intelligence.
Younger sons discovered a sudden fondness for the northern coast. One baronet had asked with complete seriousness over pudding whether her full twenty thousand pounds would be paid upon her marriage or whether some portion of it depended upon her father's death.
At the seminary, Caroline's father's fortune had marked her as the daughter of a tradesman. In London drawing rooms, it had become the most attractive thing about her.
Mr Penrose cleared his throat. "Your brother will take over the business in time, I suppose."
"Charles has not yet completed his studies."
"Cambridge, is it?"
"Yes," she said, looking around for their companion, Mrs James, who seemed to spend most of her time at these events gossiping in proximity to the punchbowl.
"And afterward?"
"I believe that is a question for my brother." A megrim was beginning to form behind her eyes and she would have given anything to be back in her bedroom at the rented townhouse.
He smiled as though she had said something arch. "That is a very proper response for a sister."
Caroline wondered what possible answer she might have given which would not have been transformed into a compliment.
She had been told she was elegant when she scarcely spoke, lively when she contradicted someone and modest when she refused praise.
Her fortune seemed capable of turning every failing into a virtue.
"I ought to return to my sister," she said.
Mr Penrose looked towards Louisa and Mr Hurst, who remained deep in conversation. "She appears well attended."
"Nevertheless."
He offered his arm again, and Caroline was forced either to accept it or make a scene. She placed the tips of her fingers upon his sleeve, standing as far from him as propriety allowed, and allowed him to conduct her back through the rooms.
Before they had reached Louisa, he asked whether he might call the following afternoon.
Caroline made some answer which was neither encouragement nor an outright refusal.
It was enough. His expression brightened, and she knew that tomorrow he would sit in their drawing room, drink her father's tea and talk at her for the fifteen minutes that propriety allowed.
"Did you enjoy your walk?" Louisa asked once he had bowed and moved away.
"Mr Penrose wished to discuss the enduring advantages of landed property."
Mr Hurst looked after him. "His own place is in a rather bad way, I believe. They say he is rather fond of the gaming hells."
Caroline gave him a tired smile. "Yes. I had formed much the same conclusion."
Louisa touched her arm, her amusement fading as she took in Caroline's face. "You look pale. Is it the heat? We can leave, if you wish." There was reluctance beneath the offer, though Louisa tried to hide it. Mr Hurst had secured the supper dance and had been speaking of it all evening.
Caroline shook her head. "You need not sacrifice your evening. Martha is here and can accompany me back home. I have endured enough of London for one night."
Louisa studied her, but Caroline had become practised at appearing merely tired. At last, her sister accepted the explanation and made her promise to send word once she reached home.
???
It was nearly an hour later when Caroline sat before the mirror in her dressing room and felt Martha remove the final pins from her hair.
The house was quiet around them. Her father had gone to dine with business acquaintances in the City, while Charles remained at Cambridge, and without Louisa's cheerful presence the rooms seemed too large for the few people occupying them.
Martha worked steadily, placing each pin in a porcelain dish before drawing the brush through Caroline's hair. Ordinarily Caroline found the familiar ritual soothing, but that evening her thoughts would not be quieted.
"Mr Penrose intends to call tomorrow," she said.
"And you do not like him?" Martha asked, her eyes on Caroline’s in the mirror.
Caroline looked away. Upon the dressing table, the emeralds lay beside her gloves.
They had been her father's gift shortly after their arrival in London, presented with such pride that she had not had the heart to tell him she found them too grand.
This evening Mr Penrose had looked at them with more warmth than he had shown her.
"He does not like me," she said.
Martha continued brushing. "He scarcely knows you. And you him. You may come to esteem each other."
Caroline watched her own face in the glass.
The modiste had declared her striking. Several gentlemen had called her beautiful, while others preferred elegant or accomplished.
The praise ought to have repaired something in her after the humiliations of the seminary.
Instead, each compliment seemed to leave her more conscious of how little any of them knew her.
"They all want the same thing," she said. "Some conceal it better than others, but it is always there. They know the amount of my dowry before they know anything else about me."
"Not every gentleman in London is a fortune hunter."
"No. Some are rich enough not to require a fortune and would not give me the time of day because my father is in trade."
Martha laid the brush down. "That is enough for tonight."
"I cannot stop thinking of it simply because you tell me I have had enough for one night."
"No," Martha said, her expression softening. "But you are tired, and everything feels worse when you are tired. Let me get you out of this gown."