Chapter Twenty
“Of course we will attend Lady Radnor’s ball, Phoebe,” Aunt Fanny declared, fixing her niece with a gimlet stare.
“You cannot possibly turn down such a prestigious invitation. I certainly cannot, and it would be the height of ill manners if I were to only bring Matilda with me. Look.” And here she waved the offending invitation under Phoebe’s nose.
“You are specifically mentioned on the invitation. I’m sure Lady Radnor is well aware of your status as an heiress, as she possesses at least two sons who are not yet married.
And, as you know, I’m determined to get both of you girls married off this Season.
Just think how lovely it would be for you to become sisters-in-law as well as cousins. ”
The horrible thought of Aunt Fanny joining with the as yet unknown Lady Radnor for a spot of heavy-handed matchmaking curdled Phoebe’s insides.
“If I were ill, it would be bad manners to take me with you and risk everyone else also becoming ill,” she said, from her position in the window seat overlooking the garden at the rear of the Hill Street house.
It was raining and the view was not impressive.
Even the early daffodils and crocuses seemed to have given up trying to look bright and cheerful.
From their drooping heads it seemed they were emulating her feeling of despair that Gabriel had firstly just abandoned her to Cecilia after their adventure in the rookery, and secondly not deigned to call upon her on either of the days since.
More and more she was inclining to the conclusion that her very much heat-of-the-moment proposal had been met with shock and disgust rather than pleasure.
He must have decided he didn’t like such a forward young lady as her at all and never wanted to see her again.
She’d been trying hard not to think about it, but could feel unwelcome tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
It was all very well to indulge in tears of sorrow in the privacy of one’s own room, but she must not do it in public.
She dug her nails into the palms of her hands in the effort to stop the tears falling, and clenched her teeth.
“If you were truly ill I would send your apologies,” Aunt Fanny said, her firm tone suggesting she’d completely missed Phoebe’s distress.
“But you are not. So we are going. We are all going, and you will make the best of it and be polite to all the young men who will no doubt wish to dance with you. Your fortune will make you a most popular dance partner.” She paused.
“And you will endeavor not to trample their feet into bruised lumps of flesh. In fact, to that end I have procured the assistance of a new dancing instructor for you girls. He will be here tomorrow and you, Phoebe, will try your best to learn to be less clumsy.” She heaved a deep sigh.
“If I didn’t know you better I’d swear you did it on purpose to put young men off. ”
Mattie, who’d been diligently stitching at a handkerchief, looked up.
“But cheer up. Once you’re married you won’t need to dance again if you don’t wish to.
You’ll be stuck at home producing little heirs for your husband while he goes off and dances with all the pretty debutantes and gets himself a mistress. ”
Aunt Fanny’s face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger.
“Matilda Nicholson! How dare you speak like that. Like a…like a hoyden. Have I not brought you up to be more polite? To know your place and what you are most certainly not allowed to say?” She paused in her tirade.
“And how do you even know what a mistress is?” Her voice had risen steadily to this final crescendo of accusation.
Thank goodness, as this would distract her attention admirably.
Had Mattie done so on purpose? Phoebe liked to think she might have.
Mattie stuck out her lower lip in defiance.
“Of course I know men have mistresses, Mama. Do you think I walk around with my head in the clouds? You can’t deny that it’s true, can you?
Look at the Marquis of Buckland. His wife is about to produce his first heir, but he’s gadding about Town with that awful Lady Matcham on his arm.
And he was most flirtatious with me the other day at Sherborne House, while you were engaged in conversation with the fat old Duke of Hexham.
” This last was said with a hint of spite.
Did Mattie resent the interest the old duke was now showing her mother?
After all, Phoebe had suspected Mattie of having designs on becoming a duchess and now it looked as though her mother might pip her to the post.
Aunt Fanny’s outraged face contorted wordlessly.
Mattie managed to flounce even in a seated position.
“Don’t think that just because I’m supposed to be a sweet and innocent debutante I don’t see what’s going on under my nose.
And the Marquis isn’t the only one. I daresay most of the men attending Lady Radnor’s ball will have mistresses tucked away somewhere, even though they’re paying court to us debutantes and hinting they want us as wives.
We all know a wife doesn’t have as much fun as a mistress. ”
Aunt Fanny gave a strangled gasp and her fan leapt into operation.
She batted it back and forth in front of her face with such rapidity Phoebe felt the waft of it over by the window.
“Oh my goodness,” she wailed. “I think I’m going to faint from shock.
You should not know such things, Matilda, and if you do, as it appears, then you should never speak of them.
I’ve half a mind not to take you to Lady Radnor’s ball out of fear you’ll say something shocking and disgrace me.
What would people say if they knew my daughter was such a…
such a hoyden. Where are my smelling salts? ”
“In your reticule, Mama, where you always have them.” Matilda met Phoebe’s astonished gaze and winked.
Aunt Fanny, now delving in her reticule in a state of panic, must have missed that.
“The Marquis of Buckland asked me to dance at Lady Caithness’s ball, don’t you remember?
I don’t recall you objecting, even though you know he’s married and should not be dancing with debutantes.
Perhaps he’s looking to exchange his old mistress for a new one. ”
Aunt Fanny fluttered her fan, her cheeks ashy pale beneath her powder.
“Mark my words, young lady. You are most certainly forbidden from dancing with him at Lady Radnor’s, or with any other married man.
If he asks, you will tell him your card is full, or you have sprained your ankle, or… or something like that.”
Mattie burst out laughing, and Phoebe had to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid joining in.
Did Aunt Fanny realize what she’d just said?
“I most certainly won’t tell him I’ve sprained my ankle.
Whatever would he think?” And to illustrate exactly what the Marquis would think, she gestured with both hands to indicate a swollen stomach that reached nearly to her bent knees.
Her mother clapped her hands to her cheeks with a shriek of horror.
“My smelling salts! Quickly!” She finally succeeded in scrabbling them out of her reticule and proceeded to waft them under her nose in a most distracted fashion.
“Oh good heavens above. I did not mean to say that. Of course you mustn’t say it.
My mistake. I misspoke. Oh dear, oh dear. ”
Her hand still covering her mouth, Phoebe hid another smile.
Mattie’s outspoken behavior, while not out of character, was most distracting.
And she wouldn’t put it past her naughty cousin to do everything she’d been told not to in order to see what the consequences might be.
Which would not be a good thing at all. Or perhaps it might be, if it stopped Aunt Fanny taking them out into society. Maybe she should encourage Mattie…
Aunt Fanny took another deep inhalation of her smelling salts, which only brought about a violent coughing fit.
“Enough of that sort of talk,” she managed, tears streaming from her eyes.
“If I hear it again from you, daughter or not, I’ll ask Mrs. Graves to prepare a dose of brimstone and treacle for you to cleanse your blood.
You clearly need it.” She shot an equally fierce look at Phoebe.
“And if you try telling me you are too ill to attend the ball, you will receive the same dose to rectify your sickness. Mark my words. I will not tolerate insubordinate girls.”
*
The only thing of note that occurred before the evening of Lady Radnor’s ball, three days later was the advent of Senor Felipé Rodriguez.
This gentleman of Spanish origin turned out to be the new dancing instructor Aunt Fanny had engaged in the faint hope of preventing Phoebe from damaging gentlemen’s toes.
Perhaps she hadn’t spoken to him face to face and had only engaged him by letter, as he turned out to be both young and dashingly handsome, with the most attractive of Spanish accents.
And while Phoebe, her head still full of Gabriel, was immune to his charms, Mattie most certainly was not.
The dancing lesson thus went well for both girls, as Mattie, unsupervised by her mother, monopolized Senor Rodriguez’s attention and Phoebe was able to sit in a window seat and daydream about Gabriel and what might have been had she not been so headstrong.
An activity not conducive to improving her dancing, but undoubtedly of benefit to Senor Rodriguez’s feet.
On the evening of the ball, and after an early light dinner, both young ladies retired to their rooms to prepare themselves. Or rather, for their maids to do the majority of the work while they sat calmly gazing at themselves in the mirror.