Two Corinthians (19 page)

“Do watch your tongue!” she whispered pleadingly to Lizzie.

Skipping down the stairs, her sister nodded in jubilant acquiescence.

“We shall go first to visit a dear friend of mine,” said Lady Caroline as they settled in the barouche. “I was at school with Anne, Lady Marchmont as she is now, and we correspond regularly. She is bringing out her eldest daughter this Season, so she will know who else is in Town at present.”

Lady Marchmont's daughter was a lively brunette, with whom Lizzie was soon laughing merrily.

“May I hope you will bring your sister to a little party we are having tomorrow, Miss Sutton?” said Lady Marchmont with a fond glance towards the dark head and the gold, bent now over a fashion magazine. “Just an informal dinner and perhaps a few country dances later on. My Nell finds many of her contemporaries somewhat insipid, I fear.”

Lady Caroline, looking distinctly complacent, whispered to Claire, “A very good start, my dear. I cannot deny that it is just what I hoped for.”

They soon moved on to a round of calls that took them all over the fashionable part of London. To Claire's relief, Lizzie's behaviour was perfectly unexceptionable, even when she found herself on the edge of a group of gossiping matrons with no younger companions present. She answered politely when spoken to and otherwise held her tongue. Two elderly ladies even complimented Claire on her pretty-behaved sister.

Gentlemen were on hand in several drawing rooms, relatives or suitors of the debutantes of the house. Lizzie had been introduced to one or two of these by George or Bertram in the park, and they hurried to her side now that she was under Lady Caroline's wing. Claire was amused by her demure composure, which dancing curls and dancing eyes rendered unconsciously flirtatious. She herself was glad to fade into the background, enjoying her sister's success without envying it in the slightest.

Lady Caroline left her card at a few houses where the ladies were not at home. These included Maria Sefton and Emily Cowper.

“They are the two best-natured of the Almack's patronesses,” she explained to Claire at a moment when Lizzie was otherwise occupied. “Unfortunately, though we are of course acquainted I am not on sufficiently intimate terms to ask for favours. I am sorry to say that I may not be able to procure vouchers for the two of you.”

“I assure you, ma'am, that we do not aspire so high. Why, we already have five or six invitations, and all due to your kindness. I cannot thank you enough, for I confess I was quite in despair about poor Lizzie's come-out. I don't know how to thank you.”

“I'd like to know what the world is coming to if country neighbours cannot lend each other a hand,” said Lady Caroline comfortably.

Claire was itching to know whether Lord Pomeroy had anything to do with his sister's unexpected arrival in Town and still more unexpected assistance. If so, it must indicate a serious interest in Lizzie, and Lady Caroline's approval of her as a sister-in-law. She could not ask outright, though, and rack her brains as she might, she could come up with no subtle way of finding out.

Lady Caroline dropped them in Portman Square.  As they entered the front hall, Mrs Rumbelow surged up from below, followed by Molly, Enid and Alfie.

“Well,” she demanded, “'ow did it go then?  These silly wenches din't think nuffink of it but I set 'em right. 'Aving lordships call is one thing, and very nice too, and I knows as 'ow it's all 'ighly respectable what wiv Molly playing gooseberry when called for. But 'aving a ladyship visit's summat else again, innit now?  That's summat to write 'ome about, if you like!”

Claire laughed, and Lizzie skipped up to the housekeeper and kissed her round cheek.

“We've been invited to a dancing party tomorrow night!” she crowed.

They had just time enough for a bite to eat before Bertram arrived to take Claire driving in the park. Lizzie looked up from her embroidery to bid them goodbye.

“We could walk, if you would like to join us,” he said to her uncertainly. “That is, if you have no objection, Claire?  There is not room in the curricle for three.”

“Lud, no, I'd not ask a Corinthian to walk!  No, thank you, Bertram, but I must finish these bluebells. We are invited to the Marchmonts tomorrow,” Lizzie informed him with a carefully careless air.

Bertram looked smug, but his voice was equally casual.  “The Marchmonts?  I know Lord Marchmont slightly.”

“Will you be there?” asked Lizzie eagerly.  “It would be comfortable to have a friend present, though Miss Marchmont and I are in a way to be intimate already.”

Bertram shook his head regretfully. “I have not received an invitation.”

Claire was almost certain her suspicions were correct. Had it been George, she would have asked him outright, but her relations with Bertram were much more formal.  Only with Lizzie did he lose his stiffness, and Lizzie seemed to like him well enough. It would be a highly gratifying match for the daughter of an obscure country baronet, and with her lack of dowry she would be unlikely to find another as good.

Still, Claire did not mean to count her chickens before they hatched. Though Bertram unbent with Lizzie, it frequently led to quarrels. He might well not come up to scratch.

She enjoyed the drive more than usual. Not only was she conscious of looking her best, poor as that was, but several of the ladies she had met that morning deigned to acknowledge her. Mrs Rumbelow was right, lordships were all very well in their way yet it took a ladyship to lend countenance to a young miss without the proper connections.

Bertram's gratification at the greetings of her new acquaintances was evident.

“Might I ask whether you received any other invitations?” he enquired as they left the park. “I know that sounds shockingly impertinent, but I should not like to miss any occasion to which we have both been invited. As Lizzie said, you will be more comfortable with a friend to hand. At least, I hope you too regard me as a friend?”  He pressed her hand.

Claire murmured a confused assent, and hastily enumerated their invitations.

When she and Lizzie arrived at the Marchmonts next evening, she had to admit that he was right. Lady Marchmont greeted them kindly, but she was too busy with her score of guests to do more. Lizzie was welcomed rapturously by Miss Marchmont, and the two were soon surrounded by a circle of young gentlemen. Claire exchanged a couple of words with a mother and daughter she recognised, then, at a loss, she took a seat in an inconspicuous corner.

To her dismay, the next arrivals were Lady Harrison, Amelia and Horace. Horace hurried to her side, dispensing fulsome compliments on her evening gown of sea-green sarcenet. She was unable to reciprocate: his purple and orange striped waistcoat left her struggling not to laugh.

Claire was taken into dinner by a gentleman of middle years. He told her that had he known that launching a daughter meant doing the pretty to any number of tedious females, she might have mouldered at home for all of him. Since he then addressed himself to his food, without another word in her direction, she was given no opportunity to prove that she was not tedious. The only comfort was that his antipathy was clearly anything but personal.

Fortunately the youthful sprig on her right had better manners. Though clearly taken with a pretty young lady on his other side, he nobly did his duty by Claire during alternate courses, and she thought she kept him tolerably amused.

Claire's only pleasure for the rest of the evening was watching Lizzie dance. Horace Harrison joined her as soon as the gentlemen left their port, and did not stir from her side thereafter. He did ask her to dance, but she avoided taking the floor with him by pointing out that she was there strictly as a chaperone. Of course this meant that she had also to refuse the two pleasant-looking older gentlemen who asked her to stand up with them. Horace's presence at her side dissuaded anyone else from attempting conversation.

She was puzzled by his behaviour. She had attributed his frequent visits to Portman Square to his efforts to throw Amelia and Bertram together, but that did not explain his exasperating persistence that evening.

Lizzie's first ball was two days later. Neither she nor Claire had any fears of her being a wallflower, for several of the young men she had met at the Marchmonts' had come to call in the interim. Claire thought she looked utterly delightful in her new gown of lace over blue satin, and when Bertram came to pick them up he gazed at her as if he had never seen her before.

As he helped Claire arrange her shawl over her own new gown of figured silk, he murmured in her ear, “If I didn't know your sister for an imp of mischief I might take her for an angel tonight.”

Lady Caroline awaited them in the carriage outside.  As they drove through the gas-lit streets of Mayfair, Claire felt a rising sense of anticipation. She had hated every ball she had attended during her own Season, but now Mama was not there to denigrate her looks and her every action. Even if she did not dance herself, she meant to enjoy every moment of Lizzie's success.

“Remember you must not dance with any gentleman more than twice,” she reminded her sister as they put off their wraps in the ladies' dressing room. “If you cannot find me or Lady Caroline, go to Lady Marchmont between dances.  And you must not waltz until one of the patronesses of Almack's gives you permission.”

“That may be never,” Lizzie responded, “but there are so many other dances I do not mean to repine. I am so excited I could die!”

“Don't do that!”  Claire kissed her and tidied her golden ringlets.  “There, you are bang up to the nines, as Enid would say.”

When they reached the ballroom, Bertram quickly put his name down on Lizzie's card for two country dances, before she was swept away by Nell Marchmont and their own group of beaux. He took Claire's card and studied it.

“May I beg the honour of the first waltz and the supper dance?” he requested.

“Oh, but I do not mean to dance, sir. I am here to chaperone Lizzie.”

“Gammon,” said Lady Caroline roundly. “I certainly mean to dance, though I daresay my poor feet will give out after a waltz or two. I'm putting you down for the second waltz, Bertram, so you are not to disappear into the card room after dancing with Claire. You must stand up with Cousin Amelia for at least one set, too.”

Bertram groaned. “That will only put ideas into Aunt Dorothy's head,” he protested.

“It would be excessively unkind in you not to,” said his sister with considerable severity. “Claire, persuade this wretch he must do his duty by his cousin. I am going to speak to Mrs Wrigley.” She went off and was absorbed into a circle of chattering matrons.

“Pray do not let me keep you from the card room, my lord,” said Claire shyly.

“You must not let Caroline make you think me a hardened gamester!  I mean to dance this evening, even with poor Amelia.” He smiled ruefully.  “However, between my terror of Aunt Dorothy and Amelia's terror of me, that is not likely to be a scintillating success.”

“If Mr Harrison asks me to dance, I shall have to do so,” Claire pointed out. “It is only fair that you should ask Miss Harrison.”

“I had not considered it before, but you are right. It is most unjust that a gentleman can choose his partners while a lady must accept all comers or be thought ill-bred. “

“It is possible for the quick-witted to think up plausible excuses, but I am not so ready of tongue, I fear.”

“Say rather you are too honest. But I have a way to foil Cousin Horace. We must see that your card is full before he approaches you.”

Bertram looked about the ballroom. Claire watched, fascinated, as he caught the eye of a fellow Corinthian and drew him to his side with a slight wave. Somehow, without overt persuasion, he had his friend begging to sign her card in no time. She graciously allowed him to engage her for the first dance, a quadrille.

“How did you do that?” she whispered to Bertram, as Mr Ferguson cast a hunted glance at the door to the card room.

“The art of the diplomat,” he whispered, grinning. “I did learn the odd trick from my stint with the Foreign Office. Ah, Fergie, this is your dance.”

Mr Ferguson, a wiry gentleman in his late twenties, had only the sketchiest idea of the figures of the quadrille. Rather than suffer his bumbling, Claire hissed instructions at him at every turn, and they made it through without any major disasters.

“By jove, ma'am,” he said, wiping his forehead, “if I always had a partner to coach me like that, I'd take to the floor more often. Always been afraid to make a cake of myself, don't you know. Have you any more dances free?”

She wrote him down for a simple country dance, then smiled as she watched him bolt for the card room. She was looking around for Lizzie and Lady Caroline when Bertram came up.

“Sorry about that,” he apologised.  “I didn't realise Fergie was such a duffer on the dance floor. You are something of a miracle-worker, Miss Sutton, to steer him through.”

“I hope you too are a miracle worker.”  The successful outcome of the quadrille had boosted Claire's self-confidence. “I did not dare confess it when you asked me, but I have never actually danced the waltz. It was much frowned upon when I made my début.  I do know the steps,” she hastened to assure him.

“We shall brush through,” he promised, and led her out onto the floor.

As she might have guessed, considering his athleticism and his polished manners, Bertram was a superb dancer. Following his firm lead, she whirled about the room with never a hesitation.

The music drew to a close. Sweeping a curtsy to his bow, she smiled up at him as she fanned her hot cheeks.

“I never knew a dance could be so enjoyable,” she said, slightly breathless from the exertion. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Miss Sutton.” His blue eyes held an arrested look. “I have seldom had so light-footed a partner.”

“I forgot that you must have waltzed with the ladies of Vienna,” she said, suddenly shy. “A mere Englishwoman cannot hope to compare.”

He laughed. “It is true that my duties at the Congress consisted largely of attending balls and fêtes, but one chose one's partner by nationality and likely knowledge of the current intrigue. Dartford, fetch Miss Sutton some lemonade, there's a good chap.”