Louise M. Gouge (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I
n the afternoon of Maundy Thursday, Lord Greystone’s caravan arrived in London along with countless other conveyances bringing Society to town for the Season. Anna stared out the window—gawked, actually—at the masses of people and many carriages crowding the narrow, dusty streets. She had never seen such a beelike swarm. Varied odors poured in through the windows, but unlike the country no fresh breeze dispelled the city’s unpleasant stench of sewage and unwashed bodies. She did catch the scent of honeysuckle as the carriage passed a flower vendor, but most often she held a scented handkerchief to her nose, as did her fellow travelers.

Most people went busily about their work, whether buying or selling or hawking their wares. A few well-dressed gentlemen pushed through the throng, endeavoring to clear a path for the delicately dressed ladies on their arms. Boys and their dogs created their unique forms of chaos, not unlike village children.

With the carriage’s numerous turns through the streets, Anna could not keep track of their direction. Should Lady Greystone send her on an errand, she would no doubt become lost. But her concerns disappeared when the carriage rolled into a wider avenue. Soon they reached a large open square and pulled to a stop in front of a three-storey brick town house. Anna counted seven bays across the front of the edifice.

“Here at last.” Lady Greystone’s eyes brightened, something Anna had never before observed. “Oh, do hurry, Greystone.” She waved her hand toward the door, which a footman had opened.

“At your service, madam.” Lord Greystone exited the carriage and rolled his shoulders, then held out his hand to his mother. With the grace of a much younger woman, she slid past Anna and stepped out onto the cobblestone. Holding on to her tall blue bonnet, she tilted her head back as if looking toward the upper floors. Anna could not see the viscountess’s expression, but she could hear the lilt in the lady’s voice as she spoke to her eldest son. How grand it would be if this indicated the lady had at last found something that pleased her.

“Permit me.” Major Grenville took his turn stepping out of the carriage and assisting Anna. “If you are wondering where you are, this is Hanover Square.” He nodded toward the park across the street. “And this,” he said as they followed the others into the town house, “is Greystone Hall.”

In the large, airy vestibule, Lord Greystone passed down the row of servants who had gathered to welcome him: a housekeeper, a butler, six or seven footmen in blue livery, eight or so black-uniformed maids with starched white aprons. Lord Greystone called each by name, but Anna doubted she would remember who was who. With wigs on the men and mobcaps on the maids, they seemed to have no distinguishing features to help her remember them.

Once the greetings were completed and the servants dispersed, Lord Greystone excused himself. Lady Greystone beckoned to Anna. Before she could speak, a commotion rose up at the front door.

“Ah, here you are, my dear.” A short, stout lady, wearing an orange gown with a paisley sash and a purple turban with several ostrich feathers bouncing above it, hurried in and embraced the viscountess. “At last you’ve arrived. I know you’re not
at home
yet, but I could not wait to see you.”

Anna questioned Major Grenville with one lifted eyebrow.

“Mother’s oldest friend,” he whispered. “She lives in the town house next door.”

“Julia, dear.” Lady Greystone had suffered the other woman’s embrace and even appeared to return the gesture with a slight hug. “How have you weathered this dreadful winter?”

The two ladies chatted like chirping birds for several moments, then Lady Greystone beckoned Anna again.

“Julia, this is my new companion, Newfield.”

“Ah, what a lovely little thing.” The lady reached out to touch Anna’s chin with her lace-gloved hand. “So different from poor Miss Peel. How do you do, my dear?”

“Very well, thank you, Lady—” Anna stopped in confusion. How she wished Major Grenville had supplied a name.

But the lady laughed with a merry tinkling sound. “Oh, no, dear. Not
Lady
anything, but
Mrs.
Parton. My father was a mere baron, and my husband had no title at all.” She leaned toward Anna as if confiding a secret. “But they were both very, very rich.” She laughed again, and the lines in her round face gave evidence of a smile permanently etched there.

“Discussing money?” Lady Greystone scowled. “Do not be vulgar, Julia.”

Mrs. Parton gave another laugh so delightful Anna had to smile. She glanced at Major Grenville. His lips were pulled in a tight line as if he was blocking a chuckle.

“Major Grenville.” Mrs. Parton scurried over the marble tiled floor to grip his hand. “My, my, how handsome, how heroic you look in your uniform.” Her adoring maternal gaze affirmed her words. “You will delight all the ladies this Season, you may depend upon it.”

“You are too kind.” The major bowed gallantly, but doubt filled his eyes. Or was it another emotion Anna saw? His own mother had not made such a fuss over him when he returned home. She looked away from the scene lest her own eyes betray her.

“Now, Frances.” Mrs. Parton returned to Lady Greystone’s side. “I cannot wait to tell you my news. I’ve hired a companion, too. She will be in London in a few weeks, and I cannot wait for you to meet her.”

“Indeed?” Lady Greystone sniffed. “And why should meeting a mere companion excite such interest?”

Again Mrs. Parton’s merry laugh rang throughout the vestibule. “Just you wait and see.”

Despite Lady Greystone’s indifference to the prospect, Anna’s heart skipped. The new companion would live next door. Perhaps she would become Anna’s friend. They could go on errands together, perhaps with Major Grenville as their guide and protector.

“Newfield.”

Anna jolted from her daydream. “Yes, my lady.”

“This is Esther.” She nodded to a dark-eyed maid of perhaps thirty years. “She will take you to your room and be responsible for anything you need.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Her own maid. What a wonder that was. Anna would miss Mrs. Hudson’s kind attentions, but no doubt she would be far more occupied in attending to Lady Greystone during the Season.

After the viscountess dismissed Anna, Esther led her to a third-floor suite, which was even lovelier than her room at the Lodge. The door opened upon a small sitting area furnished with a striped purple settee, two lavender chairs and an occasional table. Anna could imagine entertaining Mrs. Parton’s companion on her day off. That is, if they had the same day off.

Just inside the bedchamber stood a white writing desk. Above it a tall window faced east and would let in the morning light. The cozy bedchamber boasted cream-colored wallpaper with blue periwinkles and a white marble fireplace, while the bed’s white counterpane added to the air of lightness. In all ways, this house seemed brighter and happier than the Lodge, and she vowed to enjoy every minute. At least for the time being. Once Major Grenville returned to his duties, she doubted either place would hold much happiness for her.

But for now, she would think cheerful thoughts, enjoy the time with the major and remember all that the Lord had done for her. After all, this was Eastertide, the best time of the year, when every Christian recalled Christ’s death and resurrection. Anna reminded herself that she had much to be thankful for, the most important being the promise of eternal life.

The Sunday morning service at St. Paul’s Cathedral was more beautiful than anything Anna had ever experienced, exceeding even
Papá
’s descriptions. Of course the liturgy was the same, but the clergy wore bright, elegant vestments, the altar held ornate furnishings, and the choir sang so beautifully she almost wept. How she longed to share the joy of this worship time with a kindred soul. Without intending to, she glanced down the pew toward Major Grenville. What she saw made her soul sing. His gaze was fixed on the cross above the altar, and devotion was written across his strong features and beaming from his eyes, just as when they worshipped in the little Greystone Village church. They had not spoken deeply about their faith, but in his face she saw the same devotion
Papá
and Peter had displayed not only in worship but in their everyday lives. A tiny ache stung her heart. Major Grenville might be a kindred soul in matters of faith, but he was still far beyond her reach.

What an odd discrepancy. She could sit here in this grand cathedral beside the family of an important viscount and enjoy all the spiritual privileges of being a daughter of the King of Kings, and yet she was unacceptable as an aristocrat’s bride. But then, such were the ways of mankind.

* * *

Edmond followed the liturgy with deepening joy. The last time he had worshipped in St. Paul’s five years ago he had been filled with shame over his scandalous behavior, things he refused to bring to mind in this holy place. For now he could bask in Christ’s forgiveness, bought at such a dreadful price yet given freely. But while gratitude lifted his heart in worship, he could not resist requesting two blessings from the Lord. Should God grant him Uncle Grenville’s sponsorship, he would always seek to honor Him in his law career. Should God grant him the means to marry Miss Newfield, he would love, honor and keep her with lifelong devotion.

Yet as he prayed, thoughts of Christ’s prayer in the Garden nudged aside the desperation in his plea.
Not my will, but Thine be done.
This was the only true prayer of faith any Christian could offer, for God alone knew what was best. This realization brought joy pouring from his heart to fill his entire being. In this moment, he knew without doubt that all would be well, whether his petitions were granted or he returned to the army. And he must credit Miss Newfield and her brother for this realization, this surge of faith.

Drawn by thoughts of her, he glanced down the pew. She was gazing toward the cross above the altar, and her exquisite features shone with a reverent glow. Clearly no petitions cluttered her worship. Following her example, Edmond turned his thoughts back to the One whose goodness and mercy had brought the gift of salvation for all who would receive it.

* * *

On Sunday afternoon Major Grenville accompanied his brother on an outing, and Anna felt his absence keenly. How she had longed to discuss the bishop’s lovely Easter homily with him. But Lady Greystone had guests, which no doubt would prove diverting, especially with the merry Mrs. Parton in attendance.

“The tea tray is beautiful.” In the back hallway behind the drawing room, she gave Crawford, the butler, an apologetic smile. “But Lady Greystone wishes for me to taste the cucumber sandwiches before you serve them.”

“Indeed?” The elderly man lifted his chin and glared at her, one perfectly groomed grey eyebrow twitching at the apparent insult. “I have served the Grenville family since Lord Greystone’s father was a young man. I have never permitted anything inferior to be set before Her Ladyship.”

“No, of course not.” Anna tried to think of some way to soften the offense. “But I have noticed she has developed a dislike for hothouse cucumbers after this long winter. Perhaps she is eager to have something grown out of doors.”

“Ah, yes.” Crawford furrowed his brow. “I understand. But of course normal cucumber harvest is some months away.” He lifted the tray. “Please taste one.”

Anna took one of the tiny sandwiches and bit into it. “Delicious. No one could tell they were not picked in a field. You make them with dill, if I am not mistaken.”

His eyes twinkled and he leaned toward her. “And my secret ingredient, which I hasten to say not even Cook knows about.”

“Ah, aren’t you the clever one?” Anna did not mean to flatter the man, but his beaming face indicated his pleasure at her compliment. “Very well, then, I shall join Lady Greystone and her guests, and you can follow in a moment with the tea.”

In London Lady Greystone insisted upon a stricter form of etiquette than she had in the country, causing Anna no little concern. She missed Mary, whose friendly warnings had saved her from errors at the Lodge. Yet here her employer seemed less inclined to scold, especially when her friends came to call.

She returned to the drawing room and sat in her designated chair, wondering whether Lady Greystone would pour the tea or call upon her to do it. Crawford stood in the doorway for a moment, then brought in the silver tea service.

Mrs. Parton and Lady Blakemore, the third member of Lady Greystone’s triumvirate, gave the appropriate praise for the elegant presentation and set upon the sandwiches with little ceremony. Anna did pour the tea and received compliments from the two guests for her grace. She tried to still the pleasure their kindness incited, to no avail, for it reminded her of home.

“Now, we must make plans for our Season.” Mrs. Parton nibbled on her third sandwich. “Will you provide us with some entertainment, Grace?”

Lady Blakemore, a still-beautiful, golden-haired countess of perhaps fifty years, delicately sipped her tea. “As I have no one to present to Society, I shall probably have only my usual ball. And you, Frances?”

“Indeed I will.” Lady Greystone’s slender face, usually so dour, was now animated. “Greystone will turn eight and twenty in May. I plan to surprise him—” she glanced around the room and apparently decided the footmen were too far away to hear her “—with a ball.”