Plain Jane (13 page)

‘What was all that argy-bargying about upstairs?’ asked Rainbird.

‘I was buying two tickets to Astley’s from Luke,’ said Joseph. ‘He won them at the draw at The Running Footman. I got ’em half price. It’s not as if he paid for them.’

‘Who are you taking, Joseph?’ asked Alice, patting her golden curls. ‘I should love to go.’

‘So should I,’ chimed in Jenny.

‘But you was going to Vauxhall,’ complained Joseph.

‘But Astley’s is another thing,’ said dark-haired Jenny. ‘Come on, Joseph. Take one o’ us.’

Joseph sat down. The cat sprang on his knee and he absent-mindedly stroked its fur.

‘I’ll take Lizzie if she’ll go,’ he said gruffly.

‘Lizzie will go,’ said Felice in the silence that greeted Joseph’s announcement. Lizzie was clearly beyond speech.

‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Joseph, turning red under all the curious, staring eyes.

‘My boy,’ said Rainbird, standing up, ‘come with me. I have a bottle of port I’ve just decanted and I would appreciate your judgment.’

Never before had Rainbird asked Joseph’s opinion on anything. Joseph gave the cat a last affectionate pat and stood up. It was pleasant to be deferred to by Rainbird of all people.

‘I must have growed up somehow,’ thought Joseph in awe as he followed Rainbird into the butler’s small pantry. ‘Must be the cat. Like a father, I got responsibilities now.’

Euphemia’s courtship by the Marquess of Berry continued at a sedate pace. Jane envied her sister. She did not envy her the marquess but rather her level-headed and practical approach to marriage. Euphemia was sensibly prepared to settle for a title and fortune without bothering her pretty head about love and romance. Jane had tried to get her to talk about the marquess, hoping perhaps to find out that Euphemia was secretly dismayed and frightened, but Euphemia was so complacent, it was ridiculous to assume she was plagued by even one doubt.

Jane had thought long and hard about Lord Tregarthan. It was still hard to make the switch from the dream lover to the real and present man. The dream Lord Tregarthan now appeared strangely boyish. In her dreams, he had rescued her from all sorts of perils and each dream had ended with him taking her in his arms and depositing a chaste kiss on her mouth.

In every fantasy, the elation she felt was always caused by the look on the watching Euphemia’s face rather than by any passion engendered by the feel of his lips.

It was hard to picture Lord Tregarthan in reality as the giver of chaste kisses. He was too large, too virile, and too masculine for that. As the eve of the ball rushed upon her, Jane became tormented by new physical feelings she did not understand – an odd mixture of yearning and desire.

Under Felice’s tuition, she had learned to sit gracefully, how to hold her fan – by the end,
never
by the handle unless when it was unfurled – how to sit down on a chair without looking round, how to parry a ‘warm’ flirtation, and how to behave in a sweet and demure manner if addressed by one of the formidable patronesses of Almack’s.

The ballgown looked disappointingly simple to Jane, who nourished dreams of spangled gauze, which was what Euphemia would be wearing. Felice, however, crowed with delight when she finally slipped the dress over Jane’s head. She led Jane to the long glass. Jane thought she looked rather odd. Admittedly, the gown, with green-and-gold stripes, was very dashing and showed her bosom to advantage. Her tousled curls had the frizz pomaded out of them and they glinted with reddish lights in the candlelight. Felice had found a pair of long, jade earrings from somewhere and long gold kid gloves. ‘No ornament in your hair. You are so mondaine, you will be taken for a Frenchwoman.’

Jane looked at her doubtfully and then realized Felice was paying her a high compliment. But despite Felice’s warm and welcome praise, Jane could not help wishing that she, Jane, looked more like an ordinary debutante – someone with light brown hair and a pastel or white gown – someone, in fact, like Euphemia. All in that moment, Jane realized how much she wanted to look like Euphemia, how much she had always wanted to look like Euphemia.

The Harts had rented a carriage for the evening. Mrs Hart knew that they could well have walked – Berkeley Square was only just around the corner – but it was unfashionable to arrive on foot, so they all had to set out one hour early to move the small distance, waiting and fidgeting behind a long line of other carriages.

What would Lord Tregarthan think of her gown? wondered Jane. It was so hard to tell what he thought about
anything
, or if he thought much about anything
at all
. It was considered vulgar and unmanly to betray any feelings whatsoever. Although that did not apply to Lord Tregarthan, who did not affect the studied and wooden expression of most gentlemen of the
ton
, the gentle, mocking humour in his eyes was, in its way, as much a barrier to his real feelings as the current fashionable fish-eyed stare. How pleasant it would be if she could make just one pair of masculine eyes light up at the sight of her.

Mr Bullfinch would be there. Better to concentrate on the mystery of Clara, instead of longing for masculine adoration, which always seemed to be for Euphemia and never for Jane.

When they were finally arrived, Jane’s heart began to beat quick and fast. Even Mrs Hart and Euphemia fidgeted nervously as they mounted the steps to the ballroom. Only Mr Hart, wooden-faced as ever, stood patiently, seemingly unmoved and unimpressed by the grandeur around him.

Then Mr Hart turned and looked down at Jane. ‘I think, Jane,’ he said in a low voice, ‘you will create a sensation. You have become a most
tonnish
young lady.’

Tears of gratitude filled Jane’s eyes; she fumbled for her father’s hard, calloused hand and gave it a squeeze.

Perhaps her father actually loved her, thought Jane in wonder. She had come to believe that maternal and paternal love were only to be found among the lower orders.

And then it was her turn to make her curtsy to their hosts, Lord and Lady Quesne.

She had an impression of a stout, cross-looking woman and a choleric man, and then she was in the ballroom. Quizzing glasses were raised in their direction, hard eyes glared and raked Jane from the top of her curls to the bottom of her gown.

There were hundreds of candles lighting the ballroom. Jane had never seen such a
glare
of candles.

She felt small and naked.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to go back to Upper Patchett.

And then she saw Lord Tregarthan.

A public horse-whipping is an extremely disagreeable thing, and yet cases have been known when such have been administered by irate brothers or fathers, when the only fault committed by the young man had been to obey the commands of a forward and bold young woman – one of the sort to whom Hamlet would have said, ‘Get thee to a nunnery.’

MRS HUMPHREY
,
MANNERS FOR MEN

Jane looked at Lord Tregarthan and could not look away. He was like a rock in this desert of coloured, shifting society sand.

He looked very grand in an exquisitely tailored coat of dark blue wool. He wore a ruffled shirt above a white satin waistcoat, breeches of buff kerseymere and white silk stockings. His flat black shoes had real diamond buckles instead of the paste ones being worn by many of the other men at the ball.

Jane knew she was attracting attention by standing staring at him, but she wanted him to come to her side so that she might not feel so alone in this alien world.

A group of men and women came up to him. Soon more guests arrived and all Jane could see of him was the back of his golden head above the moving, jostling throng.

Jane had never been out anywhere in the evening that was so brightly lit as this. At her mother’s rout, there had been plenty of candles and lamps, but there had still been soft shadows in the corners. This was rather like being on stage.

She sat down next to Euphemia and looked at her fan. Euphemia was striking an Attitude and Jane thought it was very silly, so it was to cover her embarrassment as well as her fear that she kept her eyes down. One glimpse at her sister had been enough to show her that Euphemia had her hands clasped as if in prayer and her eyes were rolled up to the ceiling. Jane recognized the pose as Early Christian Martyr.

Several gentlemen came up to be introduced to Euphemia. Jane was aware of their presence, rather than seeing them, as her eyes were still on her fan, so she missed the fact that many masculine eyes were also on herself. Then she heard herself addressed and, looking up, saw that Lady Quesne was ushering forward a thin, pimply gentleman who did not seem to know what to do with his hands or feet.

She introduced him to Jane as a Mr Jellibee, adding that Mr Jellibee was just panting to dance, and then left them together.

Mr Jellibee led Jane on to the floor. It was a country dance, and Mr Jellibee had an odd way of leaping forward right onto Jane’s feet.

Jane did her best and was thankful when the set finally came to an end. Mr Jellibee asked her if she would like some refreshment. Jane, anxious to be rid of him, refused. She was turning away to rejoin her mother, who was sitting with the chaperones, when she saw Lord Tregarthan standing with an imposing-looking woman.

Jane forgot all Felice’s training. A quick glance behind her was enough to show her that Euphemia was happily engaged with the Marquess of Berry.

Jane marched up to Lord Tregarthan and said in a loud, strained voice, ‘I wish to speak to you, my lord.’

He broke off his conversation and gazed down at her in mild surprise. The lady with him looked furious.

Lord Tregarthan turned to his companion. ‘My lady, may I present Miss Jane Hart. Miss Hart, the Countess Lieven.’

Jane turned a fiery red and sank into a deep curtsy, wishing at that very moment she could sink through the ground. The countess was glaring at her.

Countess Lieven was a patroness of Almack’s and the most formidable female leader of the
ton
. She often said, ‘It is not fashionable where I am not.’

‘As I was saying,’ said the countess, pointedly turning a shoulder on Jane, ‘we must strive harder to keep mushrooms out of the opera house.’

Lord Tregarthan gave Jane a sympathetic smile, but she turned and scurried away, her face flaming.

‘And talking of mushrooms,’ went on the Countess Lieven, ‘we shall not be sending vouchers to the Hart family. I was in two minds about it, but if that sort of pushing behaviour is an example of that family, then we are better off without them.’

‘Miss Jane is very young,’ said the beau, ‘and she knows I wanted to discuss a certain matter with her. Besides, it is not her come-out, you know, but the sister’s.’

‘And which is the sister?’

‘Miss Euphemia Hart. Over there. Just taking the floor with Berry.’

Euphemia was laughing very loudly and flirting quite dreadfully.

‘Do you know,’ said the countess, ‘I do believe she’s worse than the younger one. Besides, the mother is most odd, as I recall. Tried to embrace Lady Jersey, claiming to have a mutual friend of whom no one has ever heard.’

‘You must do as you see fit,’ sighed the beau. ‘Perhaps the Harts will survive without an entrée to Almack’s.’

‘No one,’ said the Countess Lieven, ‘survives without an introduction to Almack’s. No one.’

Mrs Hart was busily engaged in talking to the lady next to her when Jane sat down on the other side.

Jane studied the toes of her silk shoes. She had behaved dreadfully, and she knew it. She could only be thankful her mother had not witnessed her behaviour. For any young lady to accost a man boldly in the ballroom, no matter how well she knew him, was beyond the pale.

She could feel herself burning up with mortification.

Then she saw a pair of smart black dancing pumps standing in front of her. Her eyes slowly travelled up a vista of silk stockings, knee breeches, waistcoat, and cravat to a dark, handsome face smiling down at her.

The gentleman half turned to her mother and said, ‘I have been searching for Lady Quesne to beg an introduction, but she is nowhere to be found. My name is Eprey, James Eprey. May I beg a dance with this beautiful lady?’