The Waltzing Widow (5 page)
"Which must be Mercury the Winged Messenger, do you not agree, Agatha?” asked Abigail, pressed close to the window to keep the object in question in sight as their carriage was leaving the great square.
"I do not recall my mythology as well as I should, Miss Abigail, but that does seem to fit,” agreed Miss Steepleton.
"I cannot imagine what Mercury has to do with bakers,” Abigail said, sitting back again against the seat squabs.
Just out of the Place Royale, in la Rue du Musee, the carriage stopped before a respectable town house. The carriage door was opened and a footman in unfamiliar livery set the iron step so that the ladies could descend. The carriage carrying their servants and baggage drove up as Lady Mary and Abigail stepped onto the sidewalk. Miss Steepleton closely followed on their heels as they went up the stairs and entered the modest residence.
The town house was well enough, being both spacious and tastefully furnished in eighteenth-century Flemish furniture, original Brussels tapestries, and Oriental carpets. Lady Mary gathered in the front hall to greet them. The staff spoke French, though the butler and housekeeper welcomed the British ladies in softly accented English. Since landing on the Continent, Abigail had been at once struck by the strangeness of hearing tongues other than her own. She was never more glad than at this moment, when she realized that the household that would be serving them did not speak English, that she had attended to her French-language lessons so well.
After the ladies had settled into their rooms and bathed and changed from their traveling dresses, which had become sadly creased from that day's long drive, they enjoyed a quiet dinner of roasted chicken, tomatoes stuffed with small shrimp, and various other side dishes of vegetables, ending with a bowl of sweet grapes. They discussed their new surroundings in an overall pleased fashion, all three having been especially struck by the numerous bowls and vases of magnificent and fragrant blooms in every room.
"My room is so pretty, and more than adequate, Lady Mary. Why, after unpacking, I had an entire wardrobe left over. I am sure I do not know what to think of such luxury,'’ Miss Steepleton said with a tittering laugh.
"Indeed, I think that we shall be very comfortable here.” Lady Mary smiled across the table at her companion.
"Oh, quite, Mama! I saw ever so many shops as we drove into the city,” Abigail said enthusiastically, her thoughts turning naturally to one of her favorite activities. She had always adored visiting the shops, with the eternal anticipation of discovering some wonderful trinket or other treasure.
Lady Mary laughed at her daughter. “Can you think of nothing but acquiring quantities of Belgian lace, Abigail?” she teased, knowing well Abigail's love of the delicate and expensive stuff.
"Of course I do. I am looking forward to meeting all sorts of elegant officers as well."
"There are a great many historical sights that you will be interested in visiting too, Miss Abigail,” put in Miss Steepleton with a hopeful smile. She thought of her light duties as companion to be sacrosanct, and though usually pleasant enough, how much nicer it would be if Miss Abigail could be persuaded to participate in some of her own particular interests.
Abigail shrugged her slim shoulders, dismissing her former governess's suggestion. “Old buildings are the same everywhere. I surely saw enough to last me a lifetime during, our journey."
"Whatever has happened to your poetic soul, Abigail? Was it perhaps left in Ghent?” Lady Mary asked, arching her brows in exaggerated surprise.
Abigail giggled, aware that she had left herself completely exposed to such teasing. “I think that it must have been, Mama. Now that we have at last arrived, I wish to spend every moment in whatever amusements may be had. I am sorry, Aggie. I am afraid that tours of Gothic cathedrals have been quite cast in the pale by expectations of all sorts of marvelous things."
Miss Steepleton appeared quite crestfallen. Lady Mary said soothingly, “Never mind, Aggie. I shall not require you to run about with my frivolous daughter to every social function. You may consider yourself on holiday and wander about as much as you like, guidebook in hand."
"I am most grateful, my lady,” Miss Steepleton said, completely overwhelmed by her own extraordinary good fortune. She could not now recall why she had accepted the position with Lady Mary all those years ago, but at such sublime moments as this, she was extremely grateful that she had done so.
After the coffee was served, the ladies did not linger downstairs. The day had been a long and exciting one for them all, so they made an early evening of it and went directly up to bed.
After breakfast the next morning. Lady Mary met with the Belgian housekeeper and cook to relay her wishes on how the house should be managed to best suit her tastes and to discuss such menus as she wanted. The housekeeper and the cook were friendly enough, but distant in their manner, as though assessing their new mistress. However, after a few minutes they swiftly began to warm to Lady Mary as her firm, frank manners and her excellent French won them over. When they discovered that Lady Mary intended to entertain extensively in order to bring out her lovely daughter—"Ah, like an angel, that one!” the housekeeper had rhapsodized privately—they volubly assured Lady Mary of their complete and utter cooperation.
Once the domestic tasks were completed and she had sent a message off to her son to request his presence for dinner, Lady Mary asked that Abigail meet her in the front hall in twenty minutes so that they could begin their round of introductory morning calls. Lady Mary had been given, by her London friend Emily Downing, several letters of introduction to various personages.
When Abigail joined her mother, she was dismayed to see that Lady Mary had chosen to wear one of her largest matron caps under her bonnet. “Mama, must you wear that thing?” she asked with a grimace. “You know how very much I detest it when you do so."
Lady Mary glanced in the hall mirror. “It is quite respectable, Abigail,” she said firmly, pulling on her soft kid gloves.
"But it is not at all complimentary to one of your perfect features,” Abigail said as she eyed the offending article.
Lady Mary laughed, surprised and touched. “That is a very pretty compliment, Abigail, though I suspect somewhat biased in source. Now, let us be off. No, I will not remove my cap. I am firmly entrenched in the matron circles and quite content to be so."
"Well, I would not be so content if it were I who was supposed to give up all sense of fashion only because I had a daughter to present,” Abigail said frankly. “You know that is the only reason you took up those detestable caps, Mama, you know it is!” She continued in her attempts to persuade Lady Mary to lay aside the cap until the moment that an antique coach was brought around from the stables. Breaking off in mid-word, Abigail stared at the vehicle, aghast. “Mama, surely we are not going in
that."
Lady Mary firmly steered her daughter to the carriage door. “Not another word, Abigail. No, not one! I am wearing my cap and we are making use of this wonderful old coach. At least we shall until I can arrange to procure a landau. Good heavens, there are actually holes in the seat leather!'’ And so Lady Mary and Abigail set off on the first of their morning calls, which was to a Lady Cecily Wilson-Jones.
That morning Lady Cecily was in to visitors. Shortly after sending in their letters, Lady Mary and Abigail were shown into the drawing room. Lady Cecily reclined on a settee and she looked up with friendly curiosity at the entrance of her unknown callers. She saw a well-dressed woman endowed with a fine pair of frank gray eyes and attractive features and neat figure. There was something so pleasant and easy about the woman's smile that Lady Cecily took an immediate liking to her. The lady was followed by a younger female who was a striking porcelain-blond beauty.
Lady Cecily assumed that the stunning young miss was a cousin or niece, and she held out her hand to the older woman, whom she had guessed at once to be Lady Mary Spence, if from nothing more than her carriage. “I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Lady Mary. Pray do forgive me for not rising to greet you. My physician has decreed that I must rest in a reclining position at least twice each day, and you have caught me during my morning habit."
Lady Mary regarded her hostess with interest. Lady Cecily was a pretty brunette with laughing brown eyes, a rosy complexion, and in a most obvious condition. “I do not regard it in the least, Lady Cecily. I well remember how fatigued one may become, which happened particularly with my daughter, Abigail. She was a lively infant and her character has not changed since, to any great degree,” Lady Mary said with a teasing glance toward her daughter.
Abigail blushed, slightly embarrassed. “Really, Mama!” she said with a small laugh.
Lady Cecily regarded her two visitors in the greatest astonishment. “Why, I assumed that Miss Spence was your niece, Lady Mary! I did not credit you to be much older than I am myself."
"There you are, Mama,” Abigail said in some satisfaction. “Did I not tell you that it is ridiculous for someone as pretty as you to wear that monstrous matron's turban?"
It was Lady Mary's turn to feel embarrassment. She said gently and reprovingly, “I hardly think that Lady Cecily is at all interested in such a mundane topic as my headgear, Abigail.''
At once Abigail threw a glance in Lady Cecily's direction. She bit her lip in vexation, aware that she had committed a
faux pas.
She had so wanted to appear up to the mark and sophisticated upon these first morning calls, and already she had made herself appear childish.
Lady Cecily noted with interest that Lady Mary's blush was vastly becoming, as was the daughter's subsequent confusion over her mother's mild reminder, and she decided that this pair of unknowns was just what she needed to put at bay the feeling of
ennui
that had seemed to hover over her so much the past few weeks. There was an intriguing frankness in their relationship that was quite out of the common way. “Pray do not scold, Lady Mary. Miss Spence is quite right. When one looks hardly older than one's own daughter, one should take advantage of such a kind stroke of fate,” Lady Cecily said, smiling.
Soft color stole into Lady Mary's face yet again. She shook her head. “Thank you, my lady.'’ Unable to think of anything else to add, she threw a laughing glance at her daughter, who could not contain the flash of triumph that crossed her face.
Lady Cecily saw that her guest was somewhat out of countenance and she gently turned the subject. They talked of England and of the electrifying news, which Lady Mary and Abigail had heard but that morning from their butler, that Napoleon Bonaparte had escaped from Elba and was even then making his way through France. “When I first heard it, I could not quite believe it true, and naturally I wondered whether I had made an error in bringing Abigail to Brussels at this time,'’ Lady Mary said.
"Oh, no, Mama, surely not. Why, the whole British army occupies the Low Countries, and everywhere in the streets this morning we saw so many of our brave fellows in their neat uniforms. I am positive that Bonaparte would not dare show his long nose anywhere near,” Abigail said.
"I, too, have the greatest confidence in our army, Abigail. However, one must certainly pause for reflection when one hears that men are positively flocking to Bonaparte's banner,” Lady Mary said.
"I think that the most shocking thing of all,” Lady Cecily agreed. “The man is nothing less than a bad penny come back to haunt us all."
The drawing-room door had opened as she spoke, and a tall gentleman stepped in. “Who is that, Cecily?” he asked, going up to Lady Cecily and placing his hands on her shoulders as he bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head. He bowed slightly to the visiting ladies, who had watched his approach with curiosity.
Lady Cecily greeted him with an affectionate smile. “Why, Bonaparte, of course, Robert. He was soundly beaten, and here he is back again. It is positively indecent."
"I agree, Cecily. His manners are quite appalling,” the gentleman said, nodding.
Lady Cecily twisted her head to stare up at him reproachfully. “Now you are teasing me again. What a horrid thing to do so early in the morning.” The gentleman laughed as she allowed her own winning smile to break out. She indicated her visitors. “Robert, I do not believe that you have met my guests, Lady Mary Spence and her daughter, Miss Abigail Spence. My brother, Robert, Earl of Kenmare."
The ladies indicated how pleased they were to make his acquaintance. Lady Mary spoke in the easy, frank way that was characteristic of her, while Abigail responded to his polite greeting with an uncharacteristic hint of shyness. She had not been so long out of the schoolroom that titles were not still intimidating to her. However, she did send his lordship an appraising glance from under her lashes when he returned his attention to her mother, wondering with some surprise at an earl who was not bent over with age. She thought that making a splendid marriage to someone as handsome as the Earl of Kenmare would be a pleasant triumph indeed.
As for Lady Mary, she was struck at once by the earl's strong virile looks and his quiet air of authority. Lord Kenmare was attired in a tight-fitting morning coat and buckskins, which set off to advantage his broad shoulders and lean length. His features were even, his eyes a deep sea-blue, and his well-molded mouth quirked at one corner in a most fascinating fashion when he smiled. Lady Mary was surprised by the turn of her thoughts, and she concentrated instead on the affectionate and sensitive manner in which his lordship treated his sister.
Talk returned to the escape of Bonaparte and his extraordinary reception in France, but the earl seemed not to place much weight upon it. Lady Mary asked, “Do you not regard Bonaparte's return as a threat, my lord?"
Lord Kenmare reflected a moment. “I would not disregard him, Lady Mary. The man has proved himself to be an able, charismatic leader. Let us say that I have the greatest confidence in his grace the Duke of Wellington and in our own gallant army,” he said.
