CHAPTER ELEVEN
On the evening of Lady Bentley’s card party the Mount Street ladies presented a uniform picture of pulchritude and poise to the casual observer.
The beauty was authentic, but in one member of the triumvirate a keener eye would discover that the poise was suspect.
Laura’s expression of cool civility was a mask imposed to conceal a newly born and swift-growing apprehension that she would say or do something gauche that would brand her a country bumpkin and embarrass her mother.
She did not normally suffer from shyness, but even limited exposure to town manners and conversation had shown her that her interests did not closely march with those of the women she’d met thus far.
She had deplored her father’s reclusive habits in Hertfordshire, but here in London Laura was forced to entertain a lowering suspicion that her own nature might be similarly retiring.
Of course, she could always pretend an interest she did not share, nod and agree with whatever was said.
This might keep her safe from egregious errors, but the idea of figuring as a ninny, a nonentity with nothing to say for herself, was scarcely appealing.
Common sense told her that this was the lesser evil, however, so she gave herself a final critique in the mirror, satisfied that her appearance at least would conform with the unwritten requirement for modesty in one’s first season, and sailed down the stairs with head held high in unconscious preparation for social battle.
Laura’s dithering having retarded her progress, she was the last to appear in the saloon.
Her eyes winged to her parent, who was standing near one of the sofas chatting with her brother while Sophia tinkled idly on the pianoforte.
“Mama, you look so beautiful,” she exclaimed impulsively, the apology for her tardiness vanishing in a rush of emotion.
“I’ve never seen you wear that lovely peachy rose colour before.
It is vastly becoming, do you not agree, uncle? ”
“Your mother looks very well,” Sir Oswald said in his ponderous manner, “although if my opinion had been sought, I would have recommended a less frivolous colour, one more in keeping with her role as duenna.”
“You will have to wear a sign proclaiming yourself a chaperone when we go to Almack’s, Aunt Annabelle, or you will steal all the girls’ dancing partners,” Sophia declared gaily, quitting her post at the pianoforte.
Her cousin’s timely intervention, bolstered by a warning glance from her mother, enabled Laura to master the resentment her uncle’s criticism of his sister’s judgment had aroused in her breast as she responded politely to his measured approval of her own appearance.
She grinned at Sophia, who sauntered over to give her cousin an all-over feminine appraisal before declaring, “That willow green shade suits your colouring, and I like the matching ribbon threaded through your hair.”
“May I return the compliment? Yellow is very becoming to you, especially that rich jonquil shade.”
“Yes, you both look lovely, girls, and together you are the very breath of spring, do you not agree, Oswald?”
Sophia overbore her father’s civil assent to implore, “I do understand that you could not renege on a previous engagement to accompany us tonight, Papa, but you won’t forget that you promised to escort us to Almack’s next week?”
Sir Oswald was reassuring her on this point when Jimson announced that the carriage had arrived to transport the ladies to their party.
The short drive to the Bentley residence was enlivened by Sophia’s joking speculations on the likely age of their fellow guests at the card party.
Her improbably high estimates were received with smiling indulgence by her aunt and increasing dismay by her cousin.
Correctly interpreting the alarm on her daughter’s face, Mrs. Marsh said cheerfully, “My dear Sophie, Helena Bentley is near my own age and I assure you, though she may indeed number some valetudinarians amongst her acquaintance, she is more likely to invite those friends from our youth, many of whom will have sons and daughters whom you will meet during the season.”
Happily, Mrs. Marsh proved correct in her supposition.
Their host, whom they had not previously met, was a tall, heavy-set man with a pleasant face surmounted by an untidy wealth of grizzled ginger curls.
He beamed a smile at all three women, told Mrs. Marsh that he’d eagerly anticipated making the acquaintance of one long held in deep affection by his dear wife, and enthusiastically predicted that two such beautiful young ladies were bound to become the toasts of the town.
Within the hour Laura and Sophia had been presented to two young men and three girls near their age, including one who was also to make her initial appearance at Almack’s in the next week.
Laura had the pleasure of seeing her parent warmly remembered by the mothers of two of the young ladies.
Observing that Annabelle was caught up in a spate of happy reminiscences, she allowed herself to be included in a group being propelled by Lady Bentley toward a large round table.
The young people were still getting settled, arguing the merits of speculation versus silver loo when Lord Bentley appeared at Laura’s elbow, declaring jovially, “Here are two more dedicated gamesters eager to join the fray, my dear. May I present Lord Hastings and Mr. Castle?”
Laura’s start of surprise went unnoticed in the flurry of introductions that ensued. When the momentary hubbub subsided she found herself beside a smiling Lord Hastings.
“You are looking rather bemused, Miss Marsh,” he said with a lifted eyebrow.
“Well, I am,” she replied frankly. “I was unaware that you were acquainted with Lady Bentley, sir.”
“Dear me, do I detect a note of censure? Is there some reason why I should not be acquainted with Lady Bentley? Shall I go away again?”
“No, of course not. I was just … surprised to see you here, that’s all,” she said hastily, hoping the heat she felt in her cheeks was not visible to the company.
Lord Hastings took pity on her discomfort, saying in a confiding tone, “You may find it difficult to credit, but Barney and I are those most desirable ornaments to society — extra men. We are invited everywhere,” he declared with exaggerated pride.
“How nice for you both,” she replied, her composure restored by his nonsense.
Speculation having been decided upon during this private exchange by dint of more vocal adherents, the young people arranged themselves around the table.
As Lord Hastings pulled a chair out for Laura, Miss Thurlston, a young woman with a statuesque figure and a faintly equine cast of countenance, directed a toothy smile at him, begging prettily, “Oh, Lord Hastings, I am persuaded I shall never know how to bid without someone to advise me. Would you be so terribly kind as to sit here and keep me from making foolish bids?”
“I would have been delighted, Miss Thurlston, had I not already promised to assist Miss Marsh, who is an even worse case than yourself, having never played any card games as a child.”
Miss Thurlston’s rather bulbous eyes shifted from Laura’s blank expression to Lord Hastings’ face of smiling apology and back before she said, “Naturally I shall defer to Miss Marsh’s greater need.” Her cool tone did not quite accord with the slight flounce with which she took her seat.
Sinking limply on to the chair being held out by Lord Hastings, Laura demanded in a hissing whisper, “How did you know I have never played cards?”
“Your mother confided your dark secret to me when I paid my respects a moment ago.”
Laura was not disarmed by his guileless expression, but took the prudent decision to desist from further questioning though she noticed the subtlest nuances of his mood and behaviour, a tightened lip, a sucked-in breath, a muscle twitch.
The trick was to keep in mind that one’s own peculiarities were equally exposed to interpretation.
After Lord Hastings’ masterful manoeuvring to sit beside her, Laura had experienced a fleeting apprehension that he would render her conspicuous by continuing his flirtatious overtures, but she had misjudged him.
Early in the game her cousin had begun a breezy flirtation with one of the gentlemen, something looked on with silent but patent disfavour by one of the other young ladies.
Realising this within a few moments, Sophia subsequently switched her attention to Mr. Barnaby Castle, who proved an able partner in the art.
Lord Hastings’ conduct, on the other hand, was everything that was admirable.
His good-natured acceptance took the sting out of Miss Thurlston’s barbs.
He had words of encouragement for the timid Miss Robbins, who was soon to make her first appearance at Almack’s, accompanied by the delightful smile that made him so likeable, and he initiated or abetted all efforts to keep the conversation light-hearted and inclusive.
After observing his social adroitness over the course of the evening, Laura had no difficulty in crediting his joking claim that he was invited everywhere.
There was one other occurrence that contributed to Laura’s enjoyment of Lady Bentley’s party. Completely absorbed in the noisy contest at the young people’s table, she was startled to hear her name sounded above her ear, and glanced over her shoulder into the smiling face of Lord Exton.
“Well met, Miss Marsh. Good evening, Miss Albright,” the earl added with a bow toward the lovely brunette, who dimpled in response.
“I am delighted to see you here, sir,” Laura said warmly, breaking into a smile that, did she but know it, brought an additional brilliance to her changeable greenish eyes and an arrested expression to Lord Hastings’ genial countenance as he glanced from the girl at his side to the distinguished stranger addressing her with a twinkle in his eyes.