‘It won't do so, my loved one: I never lay myself open to snubs! Or are your snubs reserved for Dukes?'
A ripple of appreciative laughter broke from her. ‘Wellington? But he tried to violate our rules, which you, I am persuaded, would never do!'
‘Much you know about it! Ask my loving sisters!'
‘No need! I know the answer. How they did snub me – Augusta and Louisa, not my dearest Eliza, be sure! – when they were young ladies, and I a scrubby schoolgirl! Will it vex them to death if I sponsor your wards? Oh, goodness me, of course it must! Maria!'
Lady Sefton, her attention thus peremptorily claimed, turned an amiably enquiring gaze upon her friend.
‘Shall we admit Alverstoke's wards to Almack's?'
‘Oh, yes, I think we should do so, don't you? Such pretty-behaved girls – don't you agree? Poor Fred Merriville's daughters, too! Oh, I think we should do what we can for them!' agreed Lady Sefton, turning back to Mr Moreton.
‘Well, I will,' said Lady Jersey. ‘Oh, but how provoking! Oh, goodness me, what a pea-goose I am! I shall never know now whether that was why you invited me, or not!'
‘Never mind!' Alverstoke replied consolingly. ‘Think how much you will enjoy putting my sisters all on end!'
‘Very true!' She sent another glance down the table. ‘The Beauty will become the rage, of course. The elder has more countenance, but – What's their fortune, Alverstoke?'
‘Respectable.'
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Ah, that's a pity! However, one never knows! With that face the younger at least need not despair of achieving an eligible alliance. We shall see!'
Eleven
One part at least of Lady Jersey’s prophecy was swiftly realised: Miss Charis Merriville could truly be said to have become the rage overnight. Long before the last of the guests had been received by Alverstoke and his sister Louisa, her hand had been bespoken for every dance; and young gentlemen of high fashion, arriving late, were denied the felicity of encircling her waist in the waltz, and even of leading her into a set of country dances. She would not stand up more than twice with anyone, but she allowed Endymion to escort her down to supper, yielding to his earnest assurance that their relationship made all as right as a trivet. He added, reading doubt in her face: ‘I’ll beg your sister to join us, hey? There she is, with young Greg – m’cousin, you know! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, yes! How very comfortable! And do, pray, beg your sister to join us!’
He did not care very much for this suggestion, Chloë being squired at the moment by young Lord Wrenthorpe, who was one of the latecomers who had failed to secure a dance with Charis. One of Endymion’s fellow-officers, he had not hesitated to express his opinion of sneaking rascals who stole marches on their friends; and as he was a prime favourite with the ladies, being as audacious as he was lively, Endymion was not at all anxious to include him in the supper-party. He said: ‘Oh – ah – yes, but she’s with Wrenthorpe, y’know!’
‘Wouldn’t he wish to join us?’ she asked innocently. ‘Your mama introduced him to me, and he was so agreeable, and so droll, too, when I was obliged to tell him I couldn’t stand up with him! Your mama said that he was a friend of yours: isn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes! Yes, of course! Best of good fellows!’ said Endymion. ‘Just thought you might not like – family party, y’know! Not one of the family!’
But the matter was then taken out of his control by that best of good fellows, who descended upon them at that moment with Chloë on his arm, having been struck by the same happy notion of forming a cosy supper-party. In this he was warmly seconded by Chloë, who had conceived a youthful admiration for her wonderful new cousin, and was shyly hoping to be admitted to the ranks of her friends. It was useless for Endymion to talk about family parties; his insouciant friend retorted gaily that families always came to cuffs unless a stranger were inserted into their midst. So Endymion had nothing to do but find Frederica and his cousin Gregory, and to bid them to the feast: sped on his errand by his perfidious friend, who adjured him to: ‘Bustle about, Noddy, or we shan’t be in time to snabble all the lobster patties!’
Lady Buxted had expressed the fear that a ball held at short notice,
and before the season’s various entertainments were in full feather, might be thin of company, but by the time she went down to supper she knew that not one of the forthcoming routs, balls, or assemblies would excel this one in magnificence or distinction; and she was torn between pride and resentment. Her odious brother had lifted a finger, and the ton had flocked to his house, precisely as he had foretold. That was, naturally, exactly what she had wanted, but it infuriated her nevertheless: it would have done him a great deal of good to have met with a few crushing rebuffs. He had admittedly granted her the opportunity to launch Jane into the highest and most fashionable circles, but that had not been his object: he had meant to launch the Merriville girls into those circles, and he had done it. At least half-a-dozen hostesses had begged her to bring her charming protégées to their projected parties – her protégées indeed! – and, to crown all, Sally Jersey had promised them vouchers for Almack’s, and had had the effrontery to adjure her – her! – to bring them to the Assembly Rooms! ‘And your own – Jane, is it? – of course!’ had said Lady Jersey, with a graciousness which had made Lady Buxted yearn to box her ears. ‘I’ll send a voucher – yes, truly I will! And if I don’t, remind me, Louisa! You know how shatter-brained I am!’
When Lady Buxted remembered impertinent little Sally Fane, a wretched schoolroom miss to whom she had administered a number of well deserved set-downs, the delicacies her brother’s French cook had prepared for the refreshment of his guests turned to ashes in her mouth. At that moment, nothing would have afforded her more pleasure than to have given Sally yet another set-down. But, whatever rage might possess her soul, at no time did Lady Buxted lose sight of the main chance. No mother with a daughter to dispose of eligibly could afford to disdain the patronage of Lady Jersey, the acknowledged Queen of London’s most exclusive club, known to the irreverent as the Marriage Mart. So Lady Buxted, her appetite destroyed, had felt herself obliged to accept Sally’s offer with a smile as false and as sweet as the one lilting on Sally’s mouth.
Only one annoyance was spared her on that night of mingled triumph and chagrin: Alverstoke invited neither of his wards to stand up with him. Other eyes than Lady Buxted’s were watching curiously to see what he would do; but their owners were relieved or disappointed, according to their dispositions, to see that the only ladies he led on to the floor were those of rank or seniority. He did, indeed, pause to exchange a few words with Frederica, but there was nothing to be made of that, for he managed, in spite of his indolence, to speak to every one of his guests.
‘Satisfied, Frederica?’ he enquired.
She replied impulsively: ‘I don’t know how to thank you! Indeed I am satisfied!’ Her sudden smile dawned. ‘It’s my night of triumph, don’t you think? I knew Charis had only to be seen to be appreciated!’ She added anxiously, as he said nothing: ‘It isn’t just my partiality, is it? She has made a hit, hasn’t she?’
‘Decidedly. Do you ever spare a thought for anyone but Charis?’
‘Why, of course I do!’ she exclaimed, rather shocked. ‘I think about all of them, only at this present time, you know, I do think about her more than about the others, because she is my most pressing concern.’
He looked curiously at her. ‘Have you no concern for yourself, Frederica?’
‘For myself?’ she said, wrinkling her brow. ‘Well, if there were any need for me to be concerned I should be – naturally! As it is –’
‘I should have said, any thought for yourself,’ he interrupted. ‘You’ve called this your night of triumph merely because Charis has made a hit; but it appears to me that you have been solicited to dance quite as often as Charis.’