Intermezzo (11 page)

While Diana had been a trifle confused by Adela’s role at the ball, her position today was quite intelligible to the earl’s daughter. Adela was simply the maiden aunt in most well-to-do homes who was retained to manage those thousands of little tasks too trifling for the lady of the house. One of those tasks was the supervision and care of children. Having conveniently classified Adela, she found it possible to welcome her graciously and simultaneously to consign her to the outskirts of existence. There remained some nagging doubt about this
piano
business, but Diana, who was not a
malevolent
creature, understood that even poor maiden relatives should be allowed some vestige of pride and accomplishment. Her own aunt Minerva Worthing was permit-ted to spend hours every week tending her roses when, of course, she was not needed for her other duties.

Then, turning the full force of her glacial smile toward his lordship, Diana invited him to sit beside her and take tea. She even went so far as to choose several choice pieces of pastry for Charles and to direct Adela to make quite certain that Rebecka had a generous selection of cakes.

Conversations were resumed on the weather and on the new changes in fashions until Sophia Spencer was announced by a butler so well starched in his manner as to make stiff Mr. Soames look limp. Aunt Sophia began by greeting Rebecka and Adela, who were off to the side of the room making conversation with the exceedingly meek little woman who introduced herself as Minerva Worthing. Then, after a few moments spent in acknowledging various acquaintances, Lady Spencer found her way to the centerpiece of the room—Lord Waterston and the beautiful Diana.

“Charles, Diana, I am the bearer of good tidings. I have just come from the Worthings—by the by that is why I was late—and I have the greatest news. Thomas Worthing and Nancy Owens are betrothed. Thomas Worthing particularly requested that I tell Lady Diana as they are cousins, you know. They make a delightful couple and I was so concerned last year that Nancy would not take.”

Diana’s mother was drawn into the conversation and said with just a hint of asperity, “Lady Spencer, are you quite certain of the betrothal? I know the Worthings held out much hope for Thomas in other directions.”

“Oh pooh, I know about the Miss Howard. That would of course have been an acceptable marriage, but this, I believe, is a true marriage of hearts and minds. Mr. Worthing and Miss Owens have a great deal in common.”

Lady Diana, who did not set great store by either hearts or minds, was not convinced. “Yes, but do you think that Miss Owens is quite
acceptable
?” By this time every other conversation in the room had stopped and all ears were pinned back, listening.

The butler announced another visitor and Lady Diana held her hand out to the newcomer. “Ah, here is my cousin William Worthing, Thomas’s brother. He will undoubtedly be more familiar with the details.”

Adela saw a tall fair young man with a sallow anemic complexion enter the room. She noticed at the same time that Waterston stiffened perceptibly and acknowledged William Worthing with frigid civility.

“Diana, Waterston, I see Lady Spencer has preceded me with the message. I was delayed by the necessity of fortifying myself before confronting the world.”

“Dear William, you have my sympathy. This betrothal must come as a blow,” Diana answered.

“Why a blow?” Lady Spencer interrupted. “Mr. Worthing and Miss Owens are both suited to each other and enamored.”

William Worthing looked a sneer. “Yes, Miss Owens, when of course she is not chattering away on subjects well beyond her ken, seems quite capable of sitting and staring at my brother for hours on end.”

“So I have observed and that is one of the reasons I did not expect the match,” Diana added. “I simply cannot imagine Thomas selecting someone so clingingly devoted.”

Sophia plunged on, “Is devotion as well as romantic love now out of fashion?”

William glanced at Sophia Spencer and then looked to his cousin with what passed in that family as
sympathy. “It has nothing to do with fashion,” William explained. “An excess of emotion in such situations is a sure sign of low birth.”

Lady Spencer bristled. “And so your sole objection to the match is Nancy’s background in trade?”

“No, that is not our
sole
objection, is it, William?” Diana answered. “Her birth is of course inferior, but it could have been overlooked if only she behaved with the reserve of a lady. In fact, she should be more reserved than most ladies because she must overcome the stigma of her inferior birth. Even her name ‘Nancy’ is common.”

“In any case it is quite clear that Nancy Owens is not a lady,” William added. “You can see it in her bones. One can always recognize a lady.”

“I am not so sure of that,” Lady Spencer persisted. “I work with the poor, as you must know, and I have seen more ladylike women in the disadvantaged classes than I have seen at Almacks.”

“Lady Spencer,” William Worthing responded quite sharply, “I’m certain you are allowing your feelings to interfere with your judgment.”

Charles, who knew of William Worthing’s well-earned reputation for petty brutalities among the cyprians, interrupted, “And I am certain, Aunt Sophia, that the women of the lower classes with whom Mr. William Worthing is occasionally associated are not your ladylike poor.”

William Worthing was temporarily silenced; Lady Diana was not.

“Perhaps, Lady Spencer, the difference is not physical but the result of breeding. Women of the lower classes are invariably immodestly emotional.”

Sophia was almost beside herself. “Nonsense. Highfliers, for example, are quite like wives except that they are, on the whole, less expensive.”

Almost chuckling, Charles Beaumont guided his aunt away from Diana. “Sophia, do not excite yourself. Come and have a cup of tea with Adela
—she
will soothe your nerves.”

“Yes, Miss Trowle,” Diana addressed her in a barely elevated voice, “I see that Lady Spencer is distressed, do run and fetch her my mama’s salts. No, no, of course you cannot know where the salts are. Aunt Minerva, you run and fetch them while Miss Trowle takes Lady Spencer.”

Miss Trowle “took” Sophia Spencer and retreated to their corner where they were able to share joyfully the news of Nancy’s betrothal.

“I should never mind what Lady Diana says,” Rebecka volunteered. “Nancy Owens is much grander than Lady Diana ever could be, Aunt Sophia.”

Sophia was not so easily calmed. “That young woman drives me to distraction. I cannot comprehend what Charles sees in her. As much natural affection as a dead herring.”

“I do not suppose his lordship is seeking an excessively passionate wife,” Adela answered. “Undoubtedly Lord Waterston prefers passion in a mistress and precision in a wife.”

“And intelligence in neither. I suppose,” Sophia suggested.

Adela nodded. “Aunt Sophia, most men want their women to be fools. You mustn’t scold your nephew. No sensible woman would ever achieve matrimony save that there are not enough fools to suffice.” Then Adela added, as she handed Sophia her tea, “Incidentally, if this, my dearest aunt, is an example of the ton, I am heartily relieved that I have avoided society thus far.”

“Dull, aren’t they, my dear? And since when have I become your dearest aunt? I believe you once insisted that we were only second cousins.”

“Nonsense, I have no other aunts and ‘dearest second cousin,’ you must admit, does not sound near so well.”

“What a splendid mill, Aunt Sophia,” Becka said, and then she asked almost plaintively, “What
does
one do at a very dull tea party to pass the time when one is
pledged
to behave?”

Sophia answered while sampling a tart, “I, Rebecka, try to think about very shocking make-believe things like the speech I would like to deliver in Parliament on election reform or what would happen if the woman pouring tea was magically divested of her clothing. Rebecka, Adela, shall we be wicked and discuss something
controversial?
Perhaps the French Revolution.”

“Or the Luddite Rebellion,” Adela suggested and then seeing Rebecka’s undignified reach for the sweets, “Becka not
another
tart.”

Lady Sophia reached for a tart herself, “Yes, we will be very controversial but sotto voce, my dear children. We do not want
you
to be accused of political radicalism.”

“I would actually prefer to discuss Ovid,” Becka suggested with the imp in her eyes dancing wildly. “There are still some things in Ovid I do not understand. Have a tart, Adela. They
are
delicious.”

“Mmm—these tarts are indeed delicious, but, Becka, perhaps we ought to restrict ourselves to
political
subjects. There are some things in Ovid that I do not understand.” Adela giggled. “And moreover, you would not wish to be accused of being
blue
.”

“As well as a number of other things,” Sophia added. “Now that you mention it, however, there are some things in Ovid that even I do not understand. Do you suppose we might include dear Charles in the conversation?”

At the thought, Adela colored and ceased smiling. “Dear me, no! I find, Aunt Sophia, that there are, on further consideration, many things that I would prefer not to understand.”

“Lovely children, I must invite you both to all my dullest teas and we will
never
discuss the weather.” His lordship’s eyes had for some time been drawn to the only sign of animation in the room. He had meant to signal his aunt that her exuberance, was showing, but as he was himself dreadfully bored, he excused himself to Lady Diana and worked his way, quietly, toward Lady Spencer’s corner.

“Oh yes, Aunt Sophia,” Rebecka was saying as she devoured her sixth forbidden tart, “but wouldn’t it be great fun if we let some of them overhear our discussion of Ovid and so on. Then we need never none of us be bothered by boring teas again.”

Adela patted her hand. “Poor Becka, you must learn to enjoy these occasions—‘boring teas’ are a necessary part of your assigned role in life.”

Lady Spencer could not agree. “Fiddle, Adela, let the child be. It may be her role in life but she need not
enjoy
it. Only an imbecile would
enjoy
it.”

“Please to remember, Cousin Adela,” Becka said in a very creditable imitation of her uncle, “you too are a lady and therefore you too were born to endure dreadfully dull teas.”

Adela grinned. “Dearest Becka, the truth will out. I am no lady but the child of wild Gypsy parents. On the day of my birth the true Miss Adela Trowle was stolen away and I was left in her place. By all rights, I should not be sitting here in Lady Diana’s drawing room; I should be dancing in the fields playing passionate Gypsy music in nightly orgies.”

“What’s an orgy, Adela?”

“Yes, Miss Trowle, what is an orgy?” Charles asked as he came up behind her, “and I was not aware that Gypsies favored the piano.”

“Silly, Uncle Charles, Adela would have to play a violin.”

Adela colored a brilliant red and began to cough in her embarrassment.

His lordship, positively enjoying the tea party for the first time, patted her on the back solicitously and sent Becka for some more tea.

Sophia, always one to fall into any sport, added in a voice which could be heard quite clearly, “Oh dear, Adela, not
sick
again. She really has been doing too much, Charles. We must take her home.”

Lady Diana, having noticed Adela’s coughing, came to render help but hesitated at the word “sick.” “Is Miss Trowle not well? Then by all means she should be sent home. Charles, please have your coachman escort the poor dear home. The coachman can return for you later.”

Minerva Worthing, usually the one to run and fetch in emergencies, added, “Yes indeed, Lady Diana, in fact I can find a hansom cab for Miss Adela. So unfortunate for a woman in her position to be prone to illness. I’m sure she is mortified at how much bother she is causing.”

“Naturally, Aunt Minerva, I think we can leave Miss Trowle in your capable hands. Come, Charles.”

Lord Waterston turned slowly to consider his betrothed, “No, really, Diana, I believe that all of us must be leaving. The servants have the influenza and there is a good possibility that we may be contagious.”

Lady Diana hesitated only a moment. “Yes, Charles, I’m certain you know what is best.”

Adela began to cough again as Charles helped her toward the door while Sophia and Rebecka followed meekly.

The three women made their bows and apologies, and with heads lowered, they walked meekly out, down the stairs, out the door, and into a waiting carriage.

No sooner had they turned the corner than three of the four occupants began to laugh. Only Adela restrained herself.

“I do not see what is so very humorous. I really don’t. It will take months for me to convince Lady Diana that I am definitely not sickly.”

“Why do you have to convince her of any such thing?” Becka asked innocently.

Waterston smiled warmly. “Not to worry, Cousin Adela, I assure you that I shall not allow the fair Lady Diana to throw you into the streets in midwinter under the mistaken illusion that you are consumptive.”