June Calvin (3 page)

“So young! And pray tell, how did Lord Stephen take that?”

“He took it very badly, as you can imagine, and not just because of his son’s age. Cousin Eleanor, like my father, was the offspring of a mere country squire, far below the notice of the heir to a dukedom. The match was forbidden. The duke introduced his son to many eligible females, and even tried to arrange a marriage, but without success.”

“For three years they waited for one another. On the day of his majority Viscount Barton had the banns cried in our parish church, and they were wed three weeks later.”

“Did his father come to accept her?” Pelham’s curiosity was obviously as great as his mother’s.

“Not for some time. He refused to even meet her until . . .” Davida’s cheeks pinked and she stumbled a bit. “That is . . . when she began increasing. The old duke was dying, and most eager for his son to have an heir, so he relented. He died before Sarah was born, however.”

“I suppose in a way that’s to the good.” At Davida’s questioning look, Pelham explained, “If he had not died, he would have been most disappointed in a daughter, I expect. And I believe Sarah is the only child?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, he would have been devastated if there had been no heir. But there is a younger brother, remember. By now he has three sons, so Harwood has no concerns about the succession.”

“That is a charming story, my dear, and it certainly sets my mind at ease about introducing you to Sally Jersey. The granddaughter of an earl and a near connection of a duke, with a war hero for a father, certainly need not fear to apply for vouchers for Almack’s.” Lady Pelham rang for tea, and asked Davida to pour.

Although it was quite unexceptionable for Pelham’s mother to ask a guest to pour when her own hands were so crippled, Davida was aware by the keen way Lady Pelham watched her that she was still on trial. However, after she acquitted herself gracefully at this task, the dowager seemed much satisfied. As she was rising to leave, Lady Pelham assured her, “I will ask Lady Jersey to call on me, and introduce you at the Stanhope ball. She will be quick to see your merit.”

Tears stood in Davida’s eyes at the kindness she saw expressed in Lady Pelham’s face. “Thank you, ma’am. I shall do my very best to deserve your patronage.”

“A very prettily behaved child, Monty. In future you must be more careful how you involve others in your lovers’ quarrels!” After this stern admonition, Lady Pelham waved them away with a smile.

When Lord Pelham had returned her to her anxiously waiting parents, Davida was pleased to be able to give them a favorable report. She had won over Lady Pelham. But still to be answered was whether that grande dame could win over the rest of the
ton
.

Davida’s father was quite perturbed when he learned that his daughter was in danger of being considered Lord Pelham’s fancy piece. He almost forbade her to have anything more to do with her new friend. Her mother had to exert herself considerably to talk him around.

With a good deal of trepidation Davida prepared herself as best she could for the Stanhope ball, where she might be received into the very highest levels of society—or where she might receive the cut direct from everyone!

Chapter Four

D
avida was promised to Lady D’Alatri that Thursday evening, to attend a lecture on mesmerism. When she returned, Perry informed her that her parents wished to see her in the library.

The library was her father’s sanctuary, away from the crocodile couches and sphinx chairs he disdained; to be summoned there was sufficiently unusual to make Davida uneasy.

“Yes, Papa?” she queried, nervously fingering a stray curl.

Sir Charles grinned at her. “Don’t look so alarmed, child. You’re not here for a scold. Your mother and I have been holding something of a council of war.”

“War, Papa?” She returned his smile and slid into the indicated chair. Her parents were sitting side by side on a leather sofa, and she had the strong feeling that just before she’d entered the room they’d been sitting much closer to one another.

“Yes, Davie, war! Petticoat doings, to be sure, but no less serious for all that. Now, about the gown you’ve chosen for the Stanhope ball. Your mother tells me you initially had some doubts about its modesty, but that fancy French modiste talked you around. Is that true?”

A blush spread over Davida’s cheeks. The gown was of a deep rose color which she favored because it was highly flattering to her coloring. But the bodice had alarmed her by its plunging neckline, especially when the modiste had virtually ordered her to wear one of the new “divorce” corsets to lift and separate her bosom.

“You have zee nice leetle figure, ma’amzelle,
mais certainment
not what will demand the
gentilhomme’s
attention,
non?
But with my design, you will be the cynosure of all eyes.”

To her mother’s demur she had responded forcefully,
“C’est le dernier cri
, I assure you,
madame.
”

“Your mother has confessed to me that she had doubts about that gown, and I see by those flags in your cheeks that you still do.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“We cannot risk anything daring now, Davie,” her mother explained. “I confess it was wrong in me to let Madam talk us into it. I think you should wear another gown instead. It is doubtless too late to have another one made, so we will have to select something very demure from your wardrobe.”

A happy thought occurred to Davida. “There’s the one that she has yet to complete. You know, the pale green lawn.”

“Yes, I had quite forgotten it. It is unexceptionable. We’ll call on her tomorrow and make sure it will be ready by Saturday.”

“Well, that’s settled then. Now that you have your uniform, my little soldier, what do you say to some reinforcements?”

Davida crossed the room and knelt in front of her father. “Oh, Papa, you’re thinking of going with us!” Her father detested balls and routs, and routinely avoided them if at all possible.

Sir Charles ruffled his daughter’s dusky curls. “If you don’t think I’ll spoil your campaign?”

She took his hand and held it to her cheek. “I’d like to have you there above all things.”

His voice was husky as he raised her. “Then your mother and I will take our carriage, as Lord Pelham’s will be quite full. Now run along to bed and get some rest. A well-rested soldier fights best!”

Davida hugged both parents fervently and dashed up the steps, tears in her eyes. Her prayers that night were that she not let her parents down, but somehow be a credit to them.

***

The Stanhope ball was, in some ways, anticlimactic after all the nervous excitement leading up to it.

Davida had urged her seamstress to finish the new gown of pale mint green lawn, with a demure smocked bodice, high waist, and tiny puffed sleeves. The hem was caught up in scallops to reveal a lacy white underskirt. Worn with the pearls her father had given her for her eighteenth birthday, it was all that was proper for a young lady in her first season.

Madame Poincarré had designed it for her rather disdainfully, as suitable for evenings with elderly maiden aunts and the like. Now it loomed as the single most important gown in Davida’s wardrobe!

She spent an unusual amount of time on her toilet that night, nearly driving her maid frantic with requests to try her hair, first one way, and then another, before settling on her usual simple style of curls brought forward around her face, anchored with a ribbon that matched her gown. A matching plume was artfully pinned to the ribbon to curl enticingly along her left ear.

Davida, Sarah, and Sarah’s aunt, Lady D’Alatri, were accompanied by Lord Pelham and his mother, as planned. Even as agitated as she was, Davida could not help noticing and sighing over the handsome figure her escort cut in his evening clothes. He looked wonderful in black, and the form-fitting evening britches and knit hosiery emphasized his muscular, well-shaped legs. Once again Davida must needs firmly remind herself that Lord Pelham was not free.

His friendly manner and his mother’s graciousness did much to put her at ease on this night of trial by
ton.
Still, her heart raced frantically as they began the ascent of the stairs leading to the Stanhope ballroom. So
much
depended on this!

She looked behind her and gathered courage from her father’s encouraging wink.

The Stanhopes greeted Lady Pelham most courteously and gave Davida a warm welcome as she followed. She was dimly aware of their cordial greetings to the rest of the party as she moved into the crowded ballroom to meet her fate.

“Stay close to me awhile, child,” Lady Pelham admonished Davida. “I wish to introduce you to Sally Jersey and several other of my friends.”

As Davida was introduced about, flanked by Pelham on one side and his mother on the other, it quickly became apparent that the
ton
had made up its collective mind that here was no fancy piece, but a very respectable young lady. Her dance card began to fill, and her father was gratified by the number of titles represented on that tiny scrap of paper.

Lady Elspeth and her mother, Lady Howard, had already arrived when the Pelham party made their entrance. Davida had been aware, from Pelham’s manner, that he knew exactly where they were, as did she. At last their party made its leisurely, apparently random, way to the Howards.

“I wish you to know Miss Davida Gresham,” Lady Pelham informed them in a commanding tone.

Lady Howard inclined her head graciously. “May I present my daughter, Lady Elspeth Howard.” She laid her hand on Elspeth’s arm, calling that blond beauty’s attention from the small court of admirers standing in a half circle around her.

Davida braced herself for hostility, but either Lady Elspeth felt none, or had herself too well in hand to show it, for she greeted Davida cordially, acknowledging that they had met briefly before. “Was it not at the Wilberforce’s musicale?”

Davida nodded. “Yes, where you sang so charmingly that difficult aria from
Orfeo ed Euridicer.
”

“I feel that we neglect Gluck too much now, in favor of the newer composers, don’t you?” Lady Elspeth beamed at Davida as she nodded in agreement. Her pleasure seemed genuine at the compliment, and she turned with perfect ease to Pelham, who was standing stiffly by Davida’s side.

“Oh, do stop looking so grim, Monty!” She tapped him on the arm with her fan. “I’m sorry that I spoke so rashly the other night. Your friend is indeed all that is respectable, and excessively pretty besides.” She smiled at Davida and pulled her over to introduce her to the young men standing nearby.

While they clamored for a dance, Davida noticed from the corner of her eye that Lord Pelham was writing his name on Elspeth’s dance card. She suppressed a brief twinge of pain and told herself stoutly that she was glad to see the reconciliation.

Sometime later she stood with her mother near Lady Pelham’s chair. Her father had long since taken himself off to the card room. They watched Pelham and Elspeth dance a waltz as if they had practiced for hours. Davida declined all offers to waltz, not wishing to give any cause for rejection by the autocratic patronesses of Almack’s.

Though Lady Pelham’s rheumatism must have been causing her pain, she smiled mistily as she watched the waltzing couple. She lifted a crippled hand to grasp Davida’s. “Many thanks, my dear. It looks as if your notion of making Elspeth jealous has worked. How good to see them together again, where they belong.”

“If I was of assistance, I am extremely glad, my lady. It is clear that he adores her.”

“Yes, and she is so good for him. Such a moral and dutiful girl. She’ll cure him of his wild starts and settle him into an excellent husband.”

Davida couldn’t help feeling that it would be a pity to tame Lord Pelham too much. He wasn’t so very wild, after all, and she liked that little touch of the rogue about him.

Just then Sarah’s aunt, Lady D’Alatri, strolled up, leading none other than Lady Jersey, who also commented with pleasure on seeing Lord Pelham and Lady Elspeth together again. Lady Pelham made the introductions, and after a few moments of desultory small talk, Lady Jersey turned her full attention on Davida and her mother. “I would like to call upon you next week, if I might?”

Heart pounding, Davida heard her mother assure the patroness that they would be at home on Tuesday afternoon. As Lady Jersey left, Lady Pelham looked up at Davida and winked. “You’ll soon have vouchers for Almack’s, my dear. Not a bad night’s work at all, hmmm?”

Lady Jersey called on Tuesday afternoon as promised, bringing with her Mrs. Drummond Burrell. When Davida, nervously chatting with two young men with whom she had danced at the Stanhope ball, heard Mrs. Burrell announced, she nearly fainted. As if it was not enough to have the talkative, seemingly affable but often unkind Lady Jersey. Oh, no! She also had to pass inspection by the haughtiest, most top-lofty of the patronesses, Mrs. Burrell.

To her surprise, her mother brightened when this exalted personage was announced. All became clear when, after the usual stiff courtesies, Lady Elizabeth reminded Mrs. Burrell that the Westburys were related to the Duke of Ancaster, who was Mr. Burrell’s uncle.

The two patronesses and Lady Elizabeth quickly became involved in a convoluted genealogical discussion from which Davida was largely excluded. Finally Mrs. Burrell turned to her just-discovered connection’s daughter. “Now I think of it, you have something of the look of the Ancasters,” she informed Davida.

Davida was suitably thrilled to be informed that her heart-shaped face had such a distinguished lineage.

“But the Ancasters always have a widow’s peak,” Mrs. Burrell intoned dismissively.

“Amazing. We have often wondered from whence Davida got hers. Dear, push the curls off your forehead and let Mrs. Burrell see.”

Davida suppressed a surprised laugh. Her parents had often told her that her heart-shaped face and pronounced widow’s peak were an inheritance from her paternal grandmother. Now her mother was attributing it to the very distant maternal relationship with the Burrells!

Dutifully Davida exposed her widow’s peak for the patroness’s interested evaluation. “Just as I said, blood will tell,” the grande dame announced pugnaciously. “You should style your hair to show off that distinguished feature, young lady.”

Davida assured the patroness that she would do just that.

The three older women, now bosom beaus, began to discuss Princess Charlotte’s interesting condition, while Davida turned back to converse with her young gentlemen callers.

When their distinguished guests had left, and the last gangly, eager suitor had inhaled the last piece of lemon cake, kissed her hand, and departed, Davida looked anxiously to her mother.

Whether they had succeeded or failed with the patronesses of Almack’s, Davida could not guess, but her mother was supremely confident. “We’ll have the vouchers in time to attend tomorrow, mark my words!”

Davida’s father was regretful at what he regarded as Davida’s folly in “tossing back” Lord Pelham. But when the coveted vouchers for Almack’s arrived as her mother had predicted, sent by special messenger Tuesday evening, he grunted in satisfaction. He was equally pleased that many of her partners at the Stanhope ball had not only paid duty calls on her, but sent her flowers, and she was besieged with invitations to go driving or attend various events.

“Any of those young bucks catch your fancy, Davida?” He looked hopefully at her across the dinner table as they discussed her increasingly full social calendar.

“I don’t know any of them well, yet, Papa.” That sense of panic that Davida often felt rose up, closing her throat.

“The season is passing swiftly, m’dear.”

Davida crumbled a croissant restlessly. “Yes, Papa, I know. But two or three months is not long to choose something so important as a husband. You would not wish me to err by acting in haste?”

“No, but I would not wish you to dally, either. This season business costs the earth, and your mother and I detest all these balls and folderol. I hope to see you safely riveted so I don’t have to endure a second season.”

“Charles.” There was a warning note to her mother’s voice.

Anxious to avoid a confrontation, Davida essayed a mischievous grin. “Why did you not just sell me to old Lord Tarkington, then?” That ancient roué had astonished them all by offering for Davida at the first of the season. At the time her father had swiftly declined; he wanted a title for his daughter, but not at such a price.

“The nerve of that old, disease-ridden rake,” he had exploded, half apoplectic at the thought of giving his beloved daughter to such a creature, titled or not.

But tonight he chuckled and reached across to tousle Davida’s short black curls. “Don’t tempt me, you cheeky little baggage,” he growled.

Davida was surprised and pleased when Lord Pelham called the next afternoon. “I understand you have your vouchers for Almack’s,” he began, a rather impish look on his face.

“Indeed I do, my lord, I thank you. And do you have your
belle idéal
safely in your pocket again?”

“No, because she persists in trying to put
me
in hers! I think she needs another dose of medicine.”

“I hope you don’t intend
me
as physic, sir!” Davida had decided she did not relish the false role she had been playing. It was dangerous for her, as the near disaster they had just weathered clearly showed. And it might be dangerous for Lord Pelham as well, for he could have been worse off than before with Lady Elspeth. And she could not like her father’s continued notion that Pelham should be considered a suitor. But Pelham evidently didn’t share her doubts.