Jane Ashford (19 page)

Julia Warrington’s gathering was to take place only three days later, and there was something of a flurry in Lady Fanshawe’s household as a result. The countess bemoaned the fact that there was no time to get Euphie a new dress; the girl insisted that she would wear her pale green once again, scandalizing her employer thoroughly. The maids ran here and there with laundry and mending, and somehow, on the night in question, Lady Fanshawe and Euphie met in the drawing room after dinner completely outfitted for the party.

Euphie was wearing her pale green gown, and it looked as lovely as before. The countess, very grand in lavender silk and silver lace, had to admit that the girl looked well. “We shall simply hope that no one of consequence noticed your dress at the play,” she said. “You can be sure that some odious cat did so, however. And I shall be astonished if it is not mentioned.”

Euphie shrugged, further trying Lady Fanshawe’s sensibilities.

The carriage had been ordered for nine, and they went down to it a few minutes after. After considering the matter, the countess had rejected her son’s escort, saying that he would more than likely be late and they could perfectly well go alone. Euphie had the impression that Lord Fanshawe was not at all displeased by this decision.

At the Warrington house, they left their wraps with a footman and walked up the staircase. At its head stood two women, one obviously the daughter of the other. Both were tall, with dark hair and eyes and exquisite ivory skin. “Arabella!” exclaimed the older one. “How wonderful to see you. You cannot know how flattered I am that you have come out of seclusion to attend my party.”

“Hardly seclusion, Julia,” responded the countess dryly. “Allow me to present a young friend, Miss Euphrosyne Hartington.”

The three greeted each other politely.

“And this is my daughter, you know, Arabella. Charlotte, this is one of my oldest friends. I am bringing Charlotte out this season.”

To these rather confused remarks, Lady Fanshawe replied only, “How I hate that phrase, ‘one of my oldest friends.’ Surely you have some friends who are older, Julia?”

“But, my dear, I did not mean—”

“No, no, I know it. Come along, Euphie. We are blocking the entry.”

They walked on, into the drawing room, where the countess was welcomed by several people at once. She went to sit on a sofa by the far wall, and Euphie followed. She was duly introduced to a number of guests, most of the countess’s generation, and she took up her station behind the sofa and settled to watch the proceedings with a lively curiosity.

It was a spectacle worth observing. Several groups stood about the room talking and laughing, and Euphie studied them interestedly. There were the young girls just out, and their admirers; Charlotte Warrington came in to join this circle after a while. They were a mass of pale colors and nervous shiftings. A little farther along were the young matrons and a sprinkling of gentlemen of obvious sophistication and address. A knot of older men held the far corner. Euphie smiled at their patent boredom. Unless she was much mistaken, they were about to decamp in search of a card table and a bottle. Their wives were in the group surrounding Lady Fanshawe; this stretched along the side of the room, and from the glances that were often cast across the floor, it was clear that it included the mothers of all the debutantes present. Euphie stifled a giggle; she had never seen anything half so amusing.

Lord Fanshawe came up to greet his mother. He nodded to Euphie and started to turn away, but she was so taken up with her observations that she didn’t notice. “It is better than a novel,” she told him, “watching the way they speak to one another and move about the room. That woman there”—she discreetly indicated one of the most dashing of the young married women—“is excessively bored. I have watched her try this group, then that, in hopes of finding someone amusing to talk to, but she has not succeeded.”

The earl looked startled. “Have you indeed?”

“Yes, and that poor young girl there is terribly shy and frightened. I almost went to speak to her a moment ago, but then that young man rescued her. Do you know who she is?”

Lord Fanshawe looked around without marked interest. “The one talking to young Warrington?”

“If he is the tall dark young man, yes.”

He nodded. “One of the Deming girls, I think. I haven’t met her, but she has the look of the family. They are all hopelessly shy.”

“She looks very nice.”

Fanshawe shrugged. “If you will excuse me, I must say hello to our host.”

“Of course.” Euphie watched him walk away, a bit puzzled. He seemed very different this evening from the man who had sat with them at the play and had so enjoyed her music. As he reached the center of the drawing room, the young matron who had been so bored accosted him.

The woman did not look weary now; rather, her eyes sparkled as she put a hand on Lord Fanshawe’s arm. He stopped, smiled, and said something that made her laugh, and she slipped her hand through his arm and went with him toward the card room. Euphie frowned unconsciously and turned back to listen to the countess’s conversation.

Some time passed in this manner. Refreshments were offered, and a small band of musicians began to play quietly in an alcove. Lady Fanshawe was obviously having a splendid time, and Euphie was content to stand behind her and observe the party. The earl did not approach them again, but moved among the other guests, chatting now with one, now another.

About midway through the evening, Lady Fanshawe abruptly remembered Euphie. “Here,” she said, turning round to peer at her. “What are you doing there? You must mingle with the young people, get to know them.”

“I am happy where I am, Lady Fanshawe.”

“Happy? Nonsense!” The countess looked around, caught Charlotte Warrington’s eye, and beckoned imperiously. The daughter of the house obediently came over. “Charlotte, take Euphie and introduce her to the young people,” ordered the countess. “I don’t know any of ’em.”

Charlotte bowed her head and motioned Euphie to follow her.

“I really don’t…” faltered Euphie, but Lady Fanshawe pointed sternly, and she was forced to go along.

Taking her to the younger group, Charlotte reeled off a list of names that Euphie immediately forgot. Appearing to think that her duty was done, she returned to her conversation with a tall thin freckled boy in amazing yellow pantaloons.

Euphie swallowed and looked around her nervously. No one seemed to be paying her the least attention; all of them were engaged with one another, talking of things she knew nothing about. She looked at the floor and tried to pretend that she was part of a threesome on her left.

A striking blond girl came through an archway and joined Charlotte and her friend. Her rather hard blue eyes swept over the group, stopping briefly at Euphie, and she turned to ask Miss Warrington a question. Charlotte answered, and the blond girl looked surprised. Pulling peremptorily at Charlotte’s sleeve, she strode over.

“This is Miss Euphrosyne Hartington,” said Charlotte then, with poor grace. “Miss Hartington, Lady Agnes Crewe.”

“How do you do?” said Euphie. Charlotte lost no time in slipping away again.

Lady Agnes did not answer. She merely stared at Euphie in a very disconcerting way.

“Is… is something wrong?” asked Euphie finally.

“Have you a sister who is a schoolteacher?” replied the other.

Surprised, Euphie smiled. “Yes. Do you know her?” She was delighted at the notion that she might have found a friend of Thalia’s.

Lady Agnes gave a hard little laugh. “Know her!” And without another word she turned away to whisper to Charlotte.

“Come with me,” murmured someone. Euphie turned to find the shy girl she had been watching earlier standing beside her. This slight dark person pulled at her arm, and she followed her willingly to a settee by the wall. “Oh, how horrid she is,” the stranger went on. “I wish I could slap her!”

Euphie was bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

Her companion lifted large brown eyes to her face. “Didn’t Miss Hartington tell you?”

“Miss Hartington? You mean my sister? Tell me what? Do you know her too?”

The girl flushed bright red. “Yes. I am sorry. My name is Mary Deming. I should have told you sooner. I was at school with Lady Agnes, and your sister. She was a teacher there, I mean. A wonderful teacher! We just came down to London two days ago. Lady Agnes and I, that is. We took the same coach; it was hateful! We are both coming out this season. This is my first party.”

In response to this rather disjointed statement, Euphie frowned. “I see. But what was it that my sister did not tell me? And why was Lady Agnes so rude?”

Mary Deming shook her head. “If Miss Hartington hasn’t told of it, I shan’t.”

“What?”

But the other shook her head again.

“I assure you my sister
will
tell me whatever it is. We have always shared everything.”

“I am sure she will. But I shan’t.” Miss Deming turned to watch the group they had left. “Lady Agnes is spreading some horrid lie. I must go and stop her.”

Euphie looked from the arrogant blond across the floor to the obviously terrified Mary. “How will you do that?”

The girl shivered. “I don’t know. She is so horrid. But I must try. Miss Hartington was so kind to me.” And with this, she rose and went back.

Euphie watched the group curiously for some time. A new excitement was evident in it; some news was clearly being passed. But Euphie was preoccupied with the idea of her sister. What had happened to Thalia to make Lady Agnes act as she had? Euphie wanted to hurry home immediately to write to her sister, or better yet, to go to her, but she knew this was impossible. Frowning, she walked back to the sofa where Lady Fanshawe sat and took up her station behind her. She could do nothing but wait, with as good a grace as she could muster, for the evening to end.

It seemed interminable. The countess did not notice at first that she had returned, so Euphie was left to herself. She watched the group of young people continue their lively discussion. Lady Agnes Crewe and Mary Deming seemed to have gotten involved in a fairly public dispute, and the rest were reacting with varying degrees of amusement, embarrassment, or discomfort, depending on their characters. The rest of the party went on, oblivious.

Finally, at eleven, Euphie could stand it no longer. She bent over Lady Fanshawe and murmured, “Are you not getting tired, ma’am? Perhaps we should go.”

The countess started and turned to stare at her. “Euphie! What are you doing here? I sent you off to enjoy yourself with the other young people.”

The girl grimaced.

“What is the matter?”

Euphie did not want to explain what had happened, at least not until she could communicate with Thalia, so she said, “I have the headache. I couldn’t endure the chatter.”

Lady Fanshawe surveyed her with narrowed eyes. “Headache? You never feel ill.”

Euphie shrugged and looked at the floor. It was all she could do to stand quietly when she wished only to rush from the party and find out about her sister.

“Do you really want to leave?” asked the countess.

Euphie nodded emphatically.

The older woman continued to look perplexed, but she shrugged slightly and rose. “It is true I am a bit tired. I am not used to this dizzy gaiety. Very well, then. We shall go.”

They said their good-byes to their hostess and then went in search of Lord Fanshawe. The countess insisted she must bid him farewell also. He was not in the cardroom, as they expected, but when they came back to the drawing room, they saw him in the far corner, talking once more to the dashing young matron Euphie had noticed earlier. They walked toward them, reaching the earl just as another older woman and young girl did so. Euphie saw that it was Mary Deming, and a woman so like her that it must be her mother.

“Lord Fanshawe,” said Mrs. Deming. “May I present my daughter Mary to you. She is my youngest, you know.”

The earl’s back was to his mother and Euphie, so they could not see his face, but the tone in which he replied was so blatantly discouraging that Euphie flushed in sympathetic embarrassment. Lord Fanshawe sounded unutterably bored at the idea of meeting Miss Deming, and he also managed to convey the impression that they had interrupted a much more agreeable conversation to push themselves upon him.

Mary herself blushed fiery red, and even her mother showed spots of color. The young matron beside the earl suppressed a smile.

For a moment, no one spoke. Euphie, though she very much wished to ease the situation somehow, could think of nothing to say. She was transfixed by Lord Fanshawe’s rudeness. How different he was tonight!

Finally the earl himself drawled, “You are coming out this season, I suppose?”

“Y-yes,” stammered Mary. She opened her mouth to continue, but only a strangled sound emerged.

Lord Fanshawe sighed. “It is amazing; there seem to be more debs each year. I cannot account for it.”

Mrs. Deming’s eyes flashed, but before she could speak, the countess moved forward. “How abominable you are, to be sure, Giles,” she said. “You make me blush for you. Hello, Mrs. Deming. This is your daughter Mary? Charming. Have you met my young friend, Miss Euphrosyne Hartington?”

Mrs. Deming greeted Euphie, and the two girls managed to convey the idea that they had met.

“We are going, Giles,” continued Lady Fanshawe. “We came to say good-bye, though I almost wish I hadn’t. So nice to have seen you, Mrs. Deming.” And with this, she and Euphie moved off, followed almost immediately by the Demings. Euphie noticed that the countess had ignored the other woman in the group completely, and wondered why.

Once they were in the carriage and headed home, Lady Fanshawe leaned back with a long sigh. “Well, it was an interesting evening. I enjoyed myself, but it also reminded me of all the things I hate about society. People are so artificial.”

“Lord Fanshawe seemed very different,” ventured Euphie. She could not reconcile the two pictures of him now in her mind.

Lady Fanshawe sighed again. “Yes, he is always so, among the ton. He is on the defensive, you see, and he does it so badly.”