Bluestocking Bride (9 page)

"Oh, I think for most of the Season. My cousin has some unfinished business that needs his attention before we drive down to
Fotherville
House." Catherine looked at him keenly, but his gaze was so bland that her mind was soon put to rest.

"Are you always so obliging, Charles?"

"Obliging?" He looked baffled.

"I was merely observing that your cousin is uncommonly fortunate in having a friend who is so willing to subordinate his own wishes to fall in with whatever he desires!"

"Oh, it's nothing like that, Catherine.
Rutherston
is a good fellow—and capital company. He'd as soon fall in with my wishes, if it came to the push." She looked doubtful, and he protested, "He would!"

"I'm sure that you are right, Mr. Norton," said Lucy, giving her sister a forbidding look. "Lord
Rutherston
has always shown himself most obliging to all his acquaintances." She looked at her sister for confirmation.

"Oh, quite."
But the disbelieving tone in Catherine's voice did not deceive Norton.

"He will be glad to hear you say so, Miss Lucy." Then, with a gleam of mischief in his eyes, "Not all his,
er
, acquaintances would agree with you, but he can be devilish agreeable to anyone he wants to charm."

Catherine was stunned. She wondered if Mr. Norton were giving her a warning.

"Shall we see anything of Lord
Rutherston
? Perhaps his business will occupy most of his attention when he's in town?" Lucy's question was uttered out of politeness, but Catherine's ears pricked to hear the answer, and she despised herself for it.

"Not see the Misses Harland? Miss Lucy, what a poor opinion you have of my cousin! However pressing his business, I'm sure that he will always find time to renew the acquaintance of those who made his stay in Breckenridge so agreeable." He was looking at Lucy, but Catherine was sure that the message was for her and she felt puzzled and confused.

The door opened and Lady Margaret entered. She noted with approval that her nieces were both in attendance to receive a gentleman caller, for country- bred girls sometimes forgot the stricter etiquette of the ton. That austere lady was soon won over by Mr. Norton's engaging manners and in a little time had discovered that he was residing at his cousin's house in Berkeley Square. Her astonishment on learning that Lord
Rutherston
was also acquainted with her nieces knew no bounds, and she visibly warmed toward Mr. Norton.

"I had hoped, ma'am," he said, "that I might take the Misses Harland in my cousin's curricle for a spin in the park this afternoon, if you have no objections."

What her ladyship's answer might have been if Mr. Norton had not disclosed his relationship to the Marquis of
Rutherston
, Catherine was not to
know.
Lady Margaret answered graciously that she had neither objections nor fears, since she was sure that if the marquis trusted his horses to him then she was certain he knew how to handle so unsteady a means of transportation as a curricle, and Catherine and Lucy were engaged to go riding in the park, with Mr. Norton at the fashionable hour of five o'clock that afternoon.

It was a warm spring day, and it seemed to Catherine that half of fashionable London had joined them in-Hyde Park. Carriages of every description crowded the drives, and so congested was the traffic that Norton held the grays to a slow trot. The Misses Harland were having a grand time nodding to all their acquaintances, occasionally stopping to exchange a word or two, and from time to time Catherine surreptitiously peeped from behind her open parasol to glance at certain ladies whose loud behavior and gaudy costumes proclaimed them to be the Fashionable
Impures
.

As one of the carriages going in the opposite direction pulled up beside them, Catherine had the pleasure of introducing Mr. Norton to Mr. John
Ranstoke
and his sister Emily, whom she considered a particular friend. They were engaged in only a few moments' conversation when Miss
Ranstoke
, looking past them, exclaimed, "Isn't that your cousin, Mr. Norton, in the phaeton with the splendid bays?"

Mr. Norton turned in his seat to look back in the direction of her gaze and his face froze. Catherine looked quickly over her shoulder to see what had caused the stunned alarm on Norton's face. Seated in the phaeton was
Rutherston
, with the most dazzling woman that Catherine had ever seen. She was laughing into
Rutherston's
face, one gloved hand resting lightly on his sleeve, and her mode of dress was such that Catherine, in her new bonnet and pelisse, felt like a
dowd
. As the phaeton came abreast of the curricle, Catherine was sure that
Rutherston
had recognized them, but he turned his back toward them, shielding his companion from their interested gaze. She turned back to her friends and was struck by their utter confusion. Mr.
Ranstoke
was intent on removing a speck from his lapel, Miss
Ranstoke
and Lucy were covered in blushes, and when she looked into Mr. Norton's face she found him gazing at her with the oddest expression which she could not read.

"I was mistaken," Miss
Ranstoke
managed at last, not daring to look anyone in the eye. Catherine opened her mouth to contradict her friend, but felt herself pinched by Lucy and fell silent. She was at a loss to know what it might all mean.

It was Mr.
Ranstoke
who finally retrieved the situation by asking the Misses Harland if they planned to attend Lady
Castlereagh's
ball the next night. This welcome change of subject helped ease the embarrassment that everyone, except Catherine, seemed to be feeling and after some desultory conversation on the coming entertainments of the Season, they parted company. Before long Catherine and Lucy returned to Mount Street.

It was the practice of the two sisters, before retiring to bed each night, to closet themselves in their adjoining dressing room to talk over the day's events, and tonight Catherine found herself particularly impatient to be rid of their maid so that she could talk privately to Lucy.

"Lucy," she began when Becky had taken herself off, "I know that was
Rutherston
we saw in the park today. Why did Miss
Ranstoke
deny it, and why was Charles so put out? Surely there is nothing uncommon in a gentleman riding in the park with a lady?

Can you explain why everyone looked as if Emily had committed some dreadful solecism, or are you as ignorant as I?"

Lucy, who had wished to avoid this topic, but without much hope, now began with some hesitation.

"You remember, Catherine, what mama told us the night before we left
Ardo
House, when we sat with her in her dressing room?"

Catherine cast her mind back
to the night in
question, but had only a vague recollection of admonitions and threats of the doom that might befall a girl who was so unwary as to forget that she had been raised a lady.

"I miss your meaning, Lucy. What has that to do with anything?"

Lucy sighed. Catherine was her elder by two years, so much more confident and more intelligent, but in many
Ways,
less worldly.

"Dearest," she said, knowing that the blow could not be softened, "I believe the lady in Lord
Rutherston's
carriage was what mama would call 'a fallen woman.' "

Catherine digested this piece of information for a long moment.

"Are you saying that she is his mistress? But that can't be right! She was beautiful, so elegant,
so
. . . ladylike!" Catherine's voice rose in astonished incredulity. She waited for Lucy's denial, but it did not come.

"His mistress!"
She spat the words out. "And he had the effrontery to bring her to a public place for the whole world to see? The man is a scoundrel, worse than a scoundrel, a knave, a shameless debaucher of women —a devil." She was helpless to stop the tears brimming over and wiped them angrily away with the back of her hand. Lucy took Catherine's hands in hers, having a fair idea of how things stood with her sister.

"Catherine, it is the way of the world. Mama told us so. Men and women are not the same in this respect. The love and affection that a man feels for his wife is different from the love that he feels for . . . these other women," she finished lamely.

"Fustian!"
The word was out of Catherine's mouth before she had time to think.

"Oh Lucy, I didn't mean to scold. Forgive me. But I don't accept what mama says or what the world thinks. Women have been taught to believe that nonsense. It isn't so! Oh Lucy," she went on despairingly, "I think that I shall never marry, for I yearn to give more than mere affection, and I fear that a man's affection will never be enough for me."

Lucy's face showed all the alarm that she felt at her sister's
confession,
and Catherine hastened to reassure her. She forced her voice to a lightness that she did not feel.

"I dare say I shall get over it. A woman always has her home and her children, and these pleasures must surely make up for any want in a husband's regard. I know that our sister Mary believes herself to be the luckiest woman alive, and if I am half as happy I shall count myself very fortunate indeed."

She rose and kissed Lucy affectionately. "Don't worry about me, little sister. Perhaps I shall meet my knight in shining armor at tomorrow's ball. And if I behave myself and mind my tongue, perhaps he will carry me off and we shall live happily ever after."

The following evening saw Catherine in her room preparing for Lady
Castlereagh's
ball. Acting as lady's maid was Becky, who had accompanied them from
Ardo
House. Becky was a maid of all trades, being accustomed at home to turn her hand to many occupations. She could adequately fulfill the duties of cook's help, children's nurse, and now, to her great delight, lady's
abigail
in a grand house in town. The
Harlands
, like most country gentry of comfortable means, put their money for servants' wages where it was most needed—the stables. Mrs. Harland might often have thought that the comforts of
Ardo
House could be improved with an extra maid or two, but it would never have occurred to her that Mr. Harland should deprive himself of one
stablehand
or groom to ease her household responsibilities. Her maids were versatile to a degree. His retainers were specialists to a man.

Becky was a robust, no-nonsense woman of three and thirty who had been in the
Harlands
' employ since she was a child of fourteen years. When the Harland girls were merely children, it appeared that their mother would lose "her treasure," for Becky became betrothed to a young footman on the
Branley
estate. But tragedy had struck when her young man, impatient for fortune and adventure, had sailed with Nelson to drive the French from Britannia's shores.

He had never returned, and word was brought to Becky that her James had lost his life at some faraway place named
Aboukir
Bay. From that time on, she had devoted herself to the
Harlands
and had gently but firmly depressed the romantic attentions of any swain who thought to see himself in the role of suitor.

On the afternoon of the ball in question, Becky had taken the greatest pains in preparing a soothing concoction that was to be used to smooth the ladies' complexions so that they might appear at their radiant best. She would have preferred to have used fresh strawberries as a base, but since these were hot in season, had substituted a cup of fine-rolled oatmeal that had she had taken from a stone crock conveyed all the way from
Ardo
House. She added milk, honey, and a drop of oil of roses to make a thick consistency. Her ladyship's personal
abigail
, Agnes, watched in growing wonder, for it was evident to her that Becky's store of country remedies placed her far above the common run of domestic servants. Becky shyly disclosed that most of her recipes had been handed down from her grandmother, a lady who had lived in the wilds of Scotland.

Until that moment, Becky had found herself relegated to the lowest rung on the domestic ladder, at the beck and call of every other maid and manservant in her ladyship's household. Henceforth she climbed rapidly to a respectable position, since she was found to possess an unrivaled knowledge of those herbs and substances which, when applied externally or taken internally, could gratify the most demanding wishes of fashionable ladies for an improvement in beauty.

On the afternoon of the ball, the Misses Harland
were
persuaded to submit to Becky's ministrations as an interested Agnes looked on. Their faces were smeared with porridge to soften the complexion; they were induced to sip spiced tea to sweeten the breath; they were made to dash herbal water in their eyes to cool and refresh; they were bathed, scrubbed,
pum
-
meled
and anointed until they were finally permitted to take their rest. In the early evening they were wakened and allowed to take a mild beef tea. It was Agnes who now took charge, instructing Becky in the fine art of dressing a lady's hair. She wielded scissors and tongs with precision till the hair curled just as she willed it. With fine-toothed comb, she teased diminutive ringlets to lie demurely upon the brow, and for the finishing touches, she adorned her creations with silk ribbons and fresh flowers. Both mistresses and maids owned that the results were highly rewarding.