My Sweet Folly (22 page)

Folie curtsied, feeling blood rise in her face at Lady Dingley’s barefaced prevarication. She had not said a word to Sir Howard. “Please, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I deserve no esteem on that score, I assure you.”

“Mrs. Hamilton’s late husband was a cousin of the Cambournes,” Lady Dingley said quickly, placing Folie in her small plot on the social landscape. “We are staying at Cambourne House for the season.”

“Sit down, sit! Both of you—place a chair for Mrs. Hamilton,” Lady Melbourne ordered the footman. “She is connected to the Cambournes, you say?”

“Mr. Hamilton’s mother was Sir James Cambourne’s youngest sister,” Lady Dingley said. “Mr. Robert Cambourne is Miss Melinda Hamilton’s guardian.”

“Robert?” Lady Melbourne asked alertly. She patted her cheek with the fan. “That will not be Sir James’ direct branch.” She shot an inquiring glance at Folie. “No...Robert Cambourne would be Lady Ryman’s younger brother, I think. They are most of them out in Calcutta or some such.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Folie said. “Mr. Cambourne has only recently returned from India.”

“Direct him to call upon me, Mrs. Hamilton!” Lady Melbourne said. “The Company charter is up for renewal next session. I should like to hear his opinions on the matter of these conquests in—what, Sind, was it? Or Java?’’

Folie pressed her lips together. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I doubt Mr. Cambourne will have opinions on it.”

“Not a political animal, is he?” Lady Melbourne asked indulgently. “Well, he must call, at any rate, and speak to me of elephants and cobras; you are to tell him so.”

“Certainly, ma’am. I’ll be happy to do so, but—” She paused. “He has not been quite well, and remains in Buckinghamshire.”

Lady Melbourne shook her head. “Convey my best wishes for his full recovery. India! It has slain more good young men than any heathen place has a right to do. What is that upon your shoulder, Mrs. Hamilton?”

Folie’s cheeks burned. “It is a ferret, ma’am.” She glanced at Lady Dingley, who had pledged that her godmother would relish the circumstance of a caller with a ferret. Toot was seldom still, but popped back and forth, peering out from beneath one side of Folie’s bonnet and then the other.

“Yes, so I thought,” Lady Melbourne said. “I daresay it will not be parted from you.”

“It is loathe to leave my person, ma’am,” Folie admitted.

“Will you allow it into Almack’s, Emily?”
 

“I think not, Mama,” Lady Cowper said with a smile.
 

“But you will find my darling Belle some vouchers?”
 

“With pleasure. How many will you require, my dear?”
 

“How kind of you!” Lady Dingley exclaimed, as if it were the greatest surprise. “Only Miss Jane and Cynthia will be out in society, you know. They will be in raptures!”

“Three, then .. . and Mrs. Hamilton?”

Folie had hardly dared hope; she had lectured Melinda fiercely on the wisdom of cherishing no unwarranted expectations. If she had beauty, then Miss Jane and Cynthia had tickets to Almack’s; it was only just.

“You are too good,” she said faintly. “My stepdaughter Melinda would be so happy to receive one.”

“And you must be admitted too, of course,” Lady Melbourne said. “You will both be made acquainted with the proper society there.”

“Thank you, Lady Melbourne. I confess I know so few people in London that it is the greatest blessing I could imagine.”

Behind them, the door opened. The footman announced, “Lord Byron.”

“Ah!” Lady Melbourne’s eyes grew mischievous; suddenly it was clear where her daughter had inherited the gypsy sparkle. “Now, Mrs. Hamilton, you shall be made acquainted with the improper society!” she whispered.

A gentleman drifted into the room, moving so slowly that at first Folie thought him ill, for his pale complexion and weary air. But at the sight of Lady Melbourne, the derisive twist of his mouth transformed into a smile. He went forward without looking at anyone else, bowing deeply over her hand. “Madam! The day begins!”

Folie watched him curiously. She had no idea who he might be, but Lady Dingley showed considerable signs of agitation, glancing over at Folie and then down at her hands and up at Folie again. She seemed so flustered that for an instant Folie entertained the wild idea that there was some sort of secret connection between them.

“Our beloved poet,” Lady Melbourne said, laughing. “I entreat you to allow me to present you to these ladies.”

He glanced at Folie and Lady Dingley. “If you contract with me that they will not swoon,” he said coolly.

“Make no such pacts, ma’am,” Folie said, instantly on her mettle with this scornful stranger. “I have not yet had my morning fainting fit.”

He lifted his eyebrows. He looked Folie over, taking in Toot on her shoulder and her unfashionable gown in an impudent appraisal. “Now
that
one you must present to me, certainly.”

It was a condescending examination, but really, Folie felt that Robert Cambourne could have shown him the way when it came to an air of naturally aloof arrogance. A little too overdrawn, this poet.

“George, Lord Byron, my dears,’’ Lady Melbourne said. “Pay him no mind; his Childe Harolde is all the kick this week, and it has made him insufferable.”

He made a bow. As he straightened, he smiled at Folie— a sudden, startling charm. “Try me again next month. I shall endeavor to be humble by then.”

“You undeserving boy, I have the honor of making you known to Lady Dingley, my goddaughter, and Mrs. Hamilton,” Lady Melbourne said, with a graceful turn of her wrist.

“Very pleased,” Lady Dingley said in a stifled voice, rising. “Really we must go, Godmother. Lady Cowper. Sir. Pray excuse us.”

“Of course,” Lady Melbourne said. She accepted Lady Dingley’s kiss on the cheek. “Call on me again, Mrs. Hamilton. Any woman who can twist an unyielding Tory like Sir Howard about her finger must be esteemed here. And do bring your ferret. I prefer a little absurdity in my visitors.”

“Do not whisper a word of it!” Lady Dingley exclaimed as the carriage rolled away from Melbourne House. “Have mercy on us! Lord Byron!”
 

“Who is he?” Folie asked.

“He is—” Lady Dingley dropped her voice, “—a voluptuary.”

“A voluptuary?” Folie echoed.

“Yes, that is what Sir Howard says.”

“Oh!” Folie cleared her throat. “I am not quite sure—what is a voluptuary?”

“Well, I am not perfectly certain myself, but I assure you that he is a horrid poet and
not
a true gentleman. How rude and arrogant he was! I cannot comprehend why my godmother would receive him.”

“She prefers a little absurdity in her callers, as you know.”

“Did you dislike her?” Lady Dingley asked anxiously. “I know she is somewhat...quaint in her character.”

“Certainly not!” Folie smiled. “I liked her very much! I only hope I may be as engaging when I am equally seasoned in years.”

“She liked you also, or she would not have asked you back, you know.”

“I am honored. And Almack’s!” Folie stood Toot up and pretended to dance with his forepaws on her fingers. “I’m so sorry you cannot be admitted, sir, but your lineage is disgraceful. And I believe you have a reputation as a voluptuary.”

The ferret did not seem to find this overly amusing, gnawing on Folie’s glove instead of applying itself to a minuet. Neither did Lady Dingley appear to detect any humor; she put her hand on Folie’s wrist and said, “You must not say that word abroad, you know!”

“No, no,” Folie said meekly. She was too grateful to embarrass anyone. “I shall be very good! I am resolved!”

Lady Dingley gave her a dubious look. Folie returned Toot to his cage on the forward seat and gazed out at the street, watching the pedestrians. The Dingley’s carriage was picking and lurching its way across a busy intersection. Having two of Lander’s imposing footmen up behind to protect them from any highwaymen or French infantry to be found in Mayfair, they had earlier agreed to progress to Conduit Street after their calls, to seek out a milliner recommended by Lady de Marley. Lady Dingley thought that this was better done without the girls, at least on the initial visit.

After nearly a week in London, Folie was growing accustomed to the swarms of people out in the street at any hours, but she found it all endlessly fascinating to watch. So many strangers! In Toot-above-the-Batch a new face had been a cause for commotion—here she did not see a person she knew outside the house. But she had noticed that people seemed to come in types, with faces and forms that somehow resembled one another, though one might be the coal porter pouring his fuel into a hole in the sidewalk, and another might be the casually-dressed gentleman speaking to a maid on the corner. In profile and frame they both rather favored Sir Howard’s type, leaning forward, intent in their concentration.

The carriage halted in the middle of the intersection, while the driver shouted at some blockage. Folie watched the coal porter straighten, rubbing his back. He looked toward the corner, and she saw that in full-face he hardly favored Sir Howard at all. But the other man...in the moment she had to study him, he glanced up from under his hat.

Folie blinked. She sucked in her breath silently. Instinctively she looked away, just as he jerked his hat down and turned. With her heart pounding, she glanced at Lady Dingley, but she was gazing calmly out the other window. She had not seen her husband.

Folie looked back. The woman was still on the corner where he had left her. She had a shawl pulled over her head; she glanced about her, and Folie received another strange shock. Not only was her face red with weeping, but Folie knew her. Before that realization quite dawned, though, the girl had begun to hurry away in the direction Sir Howard had gone. The carriage lurched forward, leaving the intersection behind.

It all happened so swiftly and silently that it hardly seemed real. Sir Howard was in Buckinghamshire; having seen to the horses and stabling he had departed London, with a great show of relief, the day after their arrival. She could almost think she had imagined seeing him. Another gentleman, perhaps, with that sort of passing resemblance she had just been pondering. There were so many people on the street.

And yet—the look upon his face when he had seen the Dingley carriage. Folie frowned down at Toot, who was earnestly attempting to pick the lock of his cage. That girl...

She had a country look, her skirt showing her boots and her shawl tied under her chin, unlike these smart London maids. But Folie was quite certain she was not from Toot, or even Tetham, which pretty well covered the possibilities, unless she was a serving girl from Solinger or Dingley Court. Neither was impossible—it was not the housemaid who had tended their chambers at Solinger, surely, but another girl had once or twice served them tea in the library there, though Folie had paid her face little mind, and there were so many maids and nurses and laundresses at Dingley Court that Folie had made no attempt to sort them out.

“There! Hookam’s Library.” Lady Dingley exclaimed, touching Folie’s hand. “You were asking where it was.”

“Ah!” Folie said, leaning over to look out the window.

“Sir Howard has a membership there. I am sure you may use it if you like.”

“Thank you,” Folie said.

“I must say, I do not miss him at all.” Lady Dingley pulled her cloak about herself and lifted her shoulders. “I thought I would. But we are having quite a jolly time on our own, I think!”

“Yes. Consorting with voluptuaries.”

Lady Dingley giggled and slapped Folie’s wrist with the ribbon of her reticule. “Don’t you dare say a word!”

“Indeed not,” Folie said. She sat back straight on the seat. “No. My lips are sealed.”