CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Laura was outwardly in command of herself in the days that followed, traipsing from one insipid social occasion to the next with a smile pasted on her face and a pleasant air of interest that was wholly spurious.
Any pleasure she might have been expected to feel at their continuing popularity was tempered with considerable disquiet on her pretty cousin’s account.
Time and furious cogitation had produced no inspiration pointing to a course of action that might resolve the situation.
The hope — never viable — that Sophia might confide in her was soon quashed each time it reared its feeble head.
Meanwhile Laura suffered all the mental discomfort of any well-intentioned soul possessing vital information about another that the person in question would not wish known.
Certainly there were fewer opportunities for girlish confidences these days.
Their recent schedules diverged more frequently as the cousins accepted invitations to drive out with various gentlemen and spent time with their own particular friends, Sophia with Dolly Chandler, and Laura with Lucy Cahill.
Evening entertainments typically were a medley of brief encounters with numerous persons during the course of the programme, the number depending on the style of entertainment offered.
Sometimes the girls barely exchanged any speech except in the carriage en route.
Strangely enough, Sophia seemed to be more fully engaged in the social round, scattering her favours impartially among a number of eager swains while trying unobtrusively — and unavailingly — to avoid the attentions of Sir Cyril Mildmay.
There was no outward indication that she was less than perfectly content with their hectic schedules.
After several days of discreet observation, Laura’s sense of impending trouble and fears for her cousin faded.
It struck her as ironic that, despite the looming possibility of future unhappiness from two separate sources, Sophia seemed to be enjoying the season more than she who had no bedevilling problems on her horizon.
In truth, Laura was becoming rather jaded with the repetitive nature of their activities.
The evenings, when graced by the element of music, were often delightful, and she continued to take real pleasure in dancing as her proficiency increased.
It was the days she found trying, having been accustomed to useful occupation, mostly out of doors on the farm.
When gentlemen she’d enjoyed dancing with had called and invited her to drive out with them, she’d been surprised into accepting at first. Invariably the gentlemen headed for the park and, though she welcomed the time outside, invariably the outings proved disappointing.
She learned that expertise in the ballroom did not necessarily imply equal skill at handling the ribbons; nor did dance floor conversation suffice for an hour in the confined spaces of a sporting carriage, even with frequent pauses to greet acquaintances with whom one exchanged the self-same formulaic remarks each time.
The fault must lie with herself, Laura concluded uneasily.
Was she such a scholar to expect to hear erudite philosophical dissertations or perceptive analyses of great literature from young men met in the course of a social event?
Obviously not, but even her simple questions about current events or political issues were given short shrift by her escorts, who then returned to the social calendar or horses for their inspiration.
Her escorts had been perfectly pleasant young men whom she had no objection to meeting in company, but closer association had never resulted in any desire on her part to pursue the acquaintance on a more personal level.
She’d felt her mother’s eyes on her last night at a reception for Miss Robbins when she had gently, in her own opinion, declined a second outing with Mr. Ambrose, a tongue-tied youngster whose patently adoring gaze made her feel eons older than the recent Cambridge graduate.
Fortunately, Mama had not mentioned it when they’d said goodnight, for her only reason for refusing was disinclination, which sounded ungrateful if not heartless.
Laura sighed as she tied a wide-brimmed straw hat under her left ear by its willow green ribbons.
She had noted the uncertainty in her eyes in the glass, but was blind to the charming effect of the hat perched at a dashing angle atop her honey-hued curls.
Her face cleared suddenly as she realised that any slight disappointment her mother might have felt at her refusal of Mr. Ambrose would be swamped in her delight that Lord Hastings was to be her daughter’s escort this afternoon.
Laura was well aware that her mother was excessively partial to Jack Hastings; in fact, she’d teasingly suggested that Annabelle had succumbed to the baron’s flattering tongue on the occasion of their first meeting just for the naughty pleasure of seeing her parent assume a mantle of ill-fitting primness in refuting the charge.
Twenty minutes later, having taken leave of her mother, who was reading in her room, and having passed a few minutes with Sophia playing the pianoforte until her own engagement to drive out, Laura smilingly accepted Huckston’s assistance in climbing into Lord Hasting’s curricle.
“Isn’t this a glorious afternoon for a drive?” she exulted, beaming at the driver.
“My sentiments precisely,” Jack replied, his smile outshining hers. “As I predicted, one has to be nimble and fleet of foot these days to secure the pleasure of your company. Do you have a particular destination in mind?” he asked quickly, as if sensing her slight mental withdrawal.
She shook her head. “No, except that I’d liefer go anywhere than Hyde Park.”
“You would prefer to dispense with the rituals of meeting and greeting?” he speculated shrewdly.
“Yes.” She was grateful for his understanding. “Why, I wonder, must every gentleman who invites one to drive out head straight for the park?”
“Some are not fit to drive anywhere except in a park parade,” Jack muttered, skilfully avoiding a collision with a youth in a high-perch phaeton with yellow wheels, who was making sad work of holding his showy pair together.
When they were safely past, he turned to her and suggested, “Since you are wearing a broad-brimmed hat today that should afford almost as much protection as a parasol, I wonder if you might like to visit the Physick Gardens in Chelsea, that are maintained by the Society of Apothecaries?”
“I’d love to.” Her interest piqued, she asked, “Shall we be allowed to walk about? Are the plants grown for medical purposes?”
“Yes to both questions, but there are other rare and exotic species represented there also. It is one of my mother’s favourite destinations.”
“Does Lady Hastings generally come to town for the season?” Laura ventured, trusting he would not consider the question intrusive since he had introduced his mother into the conversation.
“My parents always spent a few weeks in town every spring, but she has not been here since my father died. She was very devoted to my father — and he to her.” He shook his head, and his eyes clouded over.
“It is as if a light, the main light, went out of her life, and I cannot fix things for her. I admire the way your mother carries on so bravely in the same situation.”
Laura was beset by a flood of conflicting emotions. Her fixed conception of Jack Hastings as a carefree personality with a sunny but shallow nature, perhaps incapable of deep feeling, wavered and cracked like a reflection in a splintered mirror.
His affection and concern for his mother illuminated the simple statement he’d made about her bereavement.
She longed to offer him comfort and hope, and part of her wanted to explain that her own mother’s case was vastly different.
She struggled against the lifetime practice of hiding the true nature of her parents’ strained relationship from the world’s judgment.
After a long moment she said awkwardly, “Everyone reacts differently to grief and loss. A set period of mourning is merely a guideline according to the conventional wisdom of society for dealing with the loss. Circumstances alter cases,” she went on, embellishing a sudden insight.
“I am younger than you and female, so it is natural that my mother would be more involved in seeing to my welfare, including this come-out. Your mother perhaps has not such a compelling reason to resume an active life, nor as much incentive to put aside her grief.” She stopped abruptly, convinced she’d been babbling at random, but he was looking at her with an arrested expression.
“You are suggesting that my mother might make more of an effort if I needed help in my life?”
“Well … I was simply explaining that my mother is very involved at this time —”
“Exactly. Thank you, my dear beautiful, adorable Laura for making everything clear. What a fool I’ve been not to see — and I know just how to go about it, too!”
Laura considered objecting to his extravagant language in addressing her, but decided he was in the throes of some sort of revelation and therefore not really responsible for his behaviour. In any case, they seemed to have reached their destination, so she made no protest.
The gardens were absolutely delightful. Wandering about the paths at will, Laura enjoyed a sense of comfort like nothing she’d experienced thus far in London.
Jack was the perfect companion for such an outing.
He made no attempt to entertain her, but walked by her side and mostly kept a companionable silence until she directed inquiries or remarks to him.
“Oh, what wonderful lavender! Just look at the lengths of the stems, Jack.” Laura had removed her gloves at the outset, impelled by the need for tactile exploration.