Chapter Five
Gwendolyn paused for a moment to admire the pretty scene before her.
The garden of the Blythes’ London house was beautifully landscaped, with large oak and chestnut trees providing shade and flower beds filled with roses, dahlias, peonies, lilies, and other flowers bringing cheerful color along the pathways.
Long tables containing an array of tempting cold ham and chicken, scones with raspberry jam and cream, beautifully decorated cakes and piles of delectable fruit had been set out on the terrace.
A quartet of musicians played lively music and guests were seated at pretty tables scattered over the lawns.
The sound of low chatter and laughter filled the summer air.
“Come on, Gwenny. I see Grace and Bonnie over there near the pond,” Mariana urged as the two began to weave their way through the crowd.
They passed close to a table of young ladies who, just last season, had imitated Gwendolyn’s style of arranging her hair and had tried to mimic the way she fluttered her eyes when a man gave her a compliment.
Gwendolyn smiled at them, but they looked away and whispered to each other behind raised fans, while their mamas shot looks of severe disapproval at the fallen beauty who had disgraced herself and was now on the verge of being a pariah.
Gwendolyn sighed. More than two weeks had not been sufficient time for the members of the haut ton to find newer gossip to grind to grist in their rumor mills.
Instead, the stories of Gwendolyn’s indiscretion had been embellished with salacious and untrue details added by people who had not even been at the ball.
She was now rumored to have been caught seated on Robert Walker’s lap in a passionate embrace, her dress raised to reveal the scandalous sight of her calves, and to have laughed when confronted with the disgracefulness of her behavior.
Mariana gave her cousin’s arm a sympathetic squeeze but the sight of Lady Burroughs stalking ahead of the two girls, nodding regally at ladies and gentlemen with whom she was acquainted, gave Gwendolyn little comfort.
Her mother had hardly trusted her to walk down the stairs on her own since the scandal of the ball and she was growing more and more frustrated with feeling like a prisoner who might commit some heinous crime if she were not perpetually watched.
After what felt like an interminable walk, they arrived at the pretty table where the Blythes were seated with Freya and Isolde.
The girls greeted each other cheerfully, ignoring the glances from other guests.
Lady Burroughs was tight-lipped as she took her seat and immediately the chatter of the girls ceased.
Even the usually insouciant Bonnie was silenced by the icy disapproval exuding from Gwendolyn’s mother.
Gwendolyn sank thankfully into a chair that placed her back to most of the other tables. At least these ladies did not treat her as an outcast and she could almost convince herself that this was the kind of social event she had enjoyed the previous year.
But as she adjusted the green ribbon on her straw bonnet, she noticed a group of gentlemen gathered in the cool shade of a large ash tree.
They were only a few feet away and their discussion of the finer points of the favorites for the upcoming horse race at Newmarket carried clearly to where the girls were seated.
The men were engrossed in their conversation, and they didn’t seem to care about or even notice the bevy of girls seated at the closest table.
Gwendolyn’s shoulders relaxed just for a moment, until she, with dismay, felt the eyes of Lord Roland Montgomery staring directly at her. His supercilious air unnerved her and she tried to ignore him by giggling at something Freya said, even though she had not heard a word.
A quick, bright laugh from one of the other men drew her attention to Robert Walker.
She had not seen him since that fateful evening at Lady Wetherspoon’s ball.
It was a pity. He was a pleasant, amiable young man, very different from his austere, judgmental cousin and she enjoyed spending time with him, but to do so now would simply heap more coals of condemnation on her head.
She gave him a tentative smile which he returned gaily, as if he had not been part of her disgrace.
“Gwendolyn, behave yourself,” her mother hissed.
“You have already caused enough trouble from your unnatural interest in young men. Try to behave like a proper young lady. Take Miss Blythe as your example. She is engaged to Major Enderby and yet retains a proper sense of decorum, showing no unnatural interest in him.”
A faint flush colored Grace’s cheeks and Gwendolyn gritted her teeth.
She turned her head so as not to face her mother and found herself staring directly at the baron, whose disapproval was evident in every line of his face and figure.
She tilted her chin. She was not going to let either him or her mother spoil her enjoyment of what was meant to be a pleasant afternoon.
She gathered all her self-control and tried to behave as naturally as possible.
She turned to Grace. “Your mother is a delightful hostess, Miss Blythe. The garden is so delightful and the music is delightful, too.”
Grace nodded. “Thank you. Mama loves entertaining guests and we often have parties at our house in Sussex, although this is the first year we are spending enough time in London to have such gatherings here.”
Bonnie grinned. “Miss Saunders would scold no end if she heard you use the same word three times in the same sentence, Gwen. But you’re right.
Mama is very clever at making people feel welcome and arranging the decorations so prettily.
And Grace is too.” She smiled at her sister.
“Grace arranged most of the flowers for the tables. I tried one but I made such a mess, she chased me away.”
A footman placed a large platter with a selection of meats and fruits on the table, and Bonnie, showing she had imbibed some of her mother’s ability to be a gracious hostess, immediately served the others.
“I’m not sure why it’s called a Venetian Breakfast, though,” she remarked as they settled down to enjoy the refreshments.
“Three o’ clock is long past breakfast time and there is nothing Italian about the repast. I have read a lot about Italy, especially Venice.
I long to go there and Papa has business interests in Rome so he says when things are more peaceful on the continent, he will take us to Italy. ”
“Bonnie, do stop babbling on like an endless brook,” Grace interrupted her young sister with a laugh.
Bonnie was not deterred by her sister’s gentle admonition. “But anyway, this is a delicious peach. It comes from our orchards in Sussex. I’ve not had anything better at any of the grand dinners I’ve attended.” She took a dainty bite of the succulent fruit.
Isolde had just finished a plum and she nodded. “Your orchards must be wonderful. I wonder if I shall taste such delicious peaches and plums in the Cape.”
“Do you think there will be lots of balls with the officers stationed there?” Bonnie asked.
“There are likely to be fewer ladies than gentlemen so it will be fun.” Bonnie hardly noticed the way Lady Burroughs glared at her in an attempt to quell vulgar talk of the fun a young lady could have at a ball where there were more gentlemen than ladies.
Isolde’s eyes wandered to a different group of gentlemen, most dressed in crimson coats. “Perhaps. But I have never been very interested in balls and big social gatherings, so I will be content to keep house for my brother and attend the occasional ball or dinner.”
“Have you spent much time with Captain Mannering?” Mariana, risking the wrath of her aunt, ventured to ask. “It will be comfortable to be acquainted with someone else before you arrive there.”
Isolde’s eyes lit up. “He has dined with us twice and he danced with me at the Bathhurst’s ball last week.”
“He was certainly very attentive on Monday night at the opera,” Freya remarked. “He found it necessary to lean very close when he explained each aria to you.”
The girls all laughed as they enjoyed the little cakes that had been made by the famous Gunter’s Tea room.
“With you and Grace almost settled, it seems that two of us are going to be married before long. I hope the rest of you are in no hurry to find attachments. I don’t want to be left on my own just as I come out into society,” Bonnie said so mournfully that they all laughed again.
“Gwendolyn will be married by the end of this Season.” Lady Burroughs’ words fell like stones into the conversation. Gwendolyn shifted and looked down at her hands and the others shifted uncomfortably.
Bonnie unthinkingly cried out. “Surely you’re not going to insist that she marries Mr. Walker just because they were sitting together for a few minutes. That would be most unfortunate because I don’t think they are in love.”
Lady Burroughs bristled. “I do not consider it unfortunate for a young lady to make a proper match with a respectable young man of decent fortune. Love,” she gave a slight shudder as if the word repulsed her, “as your sister is well aware, is not a consideration in a respectable marriage.”
Grace focused on the clenched hands in her lap and Gwendolyn’s jaw tightened.
“Mama!” she whispered, not entirely sure which part of her mother’s speech she most resented.
She was saved from having to sort through her feelings by the arrival of Miss Saunders, looking summery and fresh in a pale yellow dress.