First Season Read online

  FIRST SEASON

  Lucy Muir

  Chapter One

  “Please, Papa, may I go to London for the Season this year?” Henrietta Biddle begged. “What is the purpose of having a fortune if I may not spend it?”

  Squire Biddle shifted his heavy bulk in the velvet-upholstered chair, turning to look at his wife. Gwendolyn Biddle laid her embroidery on the window seat and spread her hands out with palms up, indicating that the decision was up to her husband. Their daughter’s plea was not a new one. Since she had inherited the considerable fortune of fifty thousand pounds from her paternal aunt two years earlier, Hetty’s only thoughts had been of a London Season. Such a dream was understandable in a girl of eighteen in this Year of our Lord 1803, but London was far from the Derbyshire countryside in more ways than distance.

  Squire Biddle turned back to his daughter, sighing heavily. Hetty stood quietly before him, hands clenched behind her slim frame, her blue eyes entreating, waiting eagerly for his answer. For a moment Squire Biddle stared unseeingly at the dark oak-beamed parlor ceiling, clearly trying to avoid those eyes and come to a considered decision. Finally he spoke.

  “I know every young girl must long for a London Season,” the squire said carefully, “but the reality may be very different from your hopes. You must consider, Hetty, that you have been raised entirely in country society. You have not once been to London, or even a large town. You may not find the city comfortable. You would also be among strangers. Your mother and I do not have the proper connections to present you in Society. You would need to stay with your aunt, if she were willing to sponsor you.”

  “Aunt Ernestine is Mother’s sister, so she must be agreeable,” Hetty interrupted. “I know London would be very different from Derbyshire. That is why I wish to go.”

  Hetty took a deep breath and quickly marshaled her arguments in favor of a London Season, silently willing her parents to understand.

  “I am all of eighteen years, Papa. I shall be too old to be presented if you do not allow me to go this year. If I stay here in Derbyshire, how shall I meet any eligible gentlemen? There is only Mr. Goodman,” she finished, referring to the son of a prosperous farmer in the district.

  Hetty’s father and mother exchanged helpless looks. They had no forceful arguments to present in favor of their daughter staying, although they would have preferred to bring Hetty out in their quiet society. It was true there were few eligible gentlemen in the district, and none of high social status. Lord Woodburn was already married, as was Sir Archer. Was it fair to deny Hetty a London Season when she had the money to finance it and her aunt would probably be willing to take on the responsibility of presenting her?

  “Very well, Hetty,” the squire said rather dispiritedly. “You may go if your aunt agrees to sponsor you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Papa,” Hetty cried, flinging herself at her father and embracing him, adding to the creases in his collared vest and linen shirt.

  “And you, too, Mama,” she said, turning to her mother and kissing her cheek. Mrs. Biddle returned the kiss, looking at her excited daughter indulgently as Hetty almost danced with happiness at the prospect of her dream of a London Season coming true at last.

  “If Ernestine agrees fo sponsor you,” Mrs. Biddle cautioned her daughter. “And if she does you must remember to obey your aunt as you would us. She will stand in our place during your stay in London.”

  “Of course,” Hetty agreed happily, turning about the room, a faraway look in her eyes. “I must go tell Daisy,” she exclaimed suddenly, remembering that the news would be as welcome to her young maid as it had been to her. With a final word of thanks to each of her parents, she ran out of the room.

  Squire Biddle arose from his comfortable armchair and joined his wife on the window seat, his usually placid face exhibiting an uncharacteristic gravity.

  “I did not see how we could continue to refuse her. It is not an unreasonable request for one of her age and fortune, particularly when your sister resides in London,” he began almost defensively.

  “No, we could not,” Mrs. Biddle agreed. “I only hope the Season may live up to her expectations. My sister Ernestine is not of the most congenial temperament, although she may have changed. I have not seen her for years.”

  Not since my marriage, Gwendolyn Biddle thought to herself, remembering. Her sister had considered a marriage to a simple country squire to be beneath the granddaughter of an earl. Although she had received no other offers in her four-and-twenty years, both her sister and mother would have preferred Gwendolyn remain single than marry Squire Biddle. Ernestine had attended the wedding, but she had never made an effort to visit her sister again, nor had she invited Gwendolyn to London to visit when she herself had married and moved there eighteen years before.

  “I believe Ernestine’s daughter Sophie is to make her come-out this year,” Mrs. Biddle continued aloud, “so she should be willing to bring out Hetty as well. It would not be that much more trouble.”

  “She will agree if we foot the bill for both girls in order to recompense her for any trouble,” Squire Biddle said rather cynically.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Biddle sighed, her husband’s words bringing another problem to mind. “Hetty’s fortune. That is a worry. I am afraid the combination of Hetty’s wealth, beauty, and innocence will make her tempting prey to fortune hunters. We shall have to depend upon Ernestine to protect her from them.”

  They were both silent, wondering anew how they had produced a child like Hetty. Squire Biddle was a short, stocky man of florid complexion and rough features, and Mrs. Biddle, while she had an air of definite refinement, was not a handsome woman. Perhaps the Fates, to make up for giving them just the one child, had made her everything they could have asked. Even allowing for their natural prejudice, they knew Hetty was an enchanting young girl; small and slight, with lustrous dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, and delicate features set in a classically oval face. A generous spirit and captivating manners enhanced her natural beauty.

  “I do have control over Hetty’s fortune until she is of age,” the squire said, responding to his wife’s earlier comment. “That should keep some of the fortune hunters at bay.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Biddle agreed. “I shall ask Ernestine to make that fact generally known.”

  Squire Biddle frowned. He did not like the idea of the protection of his daughter being in another’s hands, even if that other was his wife’s sister. Sometimes he almost wished his sister had not left her fortune to Hetty. Mary Biddle had married a wealthy factory owner in Manchester who had died in an accident only a year later. Mary, having no children of her own, had chosen to leave her entire fortune to her niece. It had been exceedingly generous of her, but having too much money could cause problems. One did not need a great deal of it to be happy, the squire reflected philosophically. He himself had had a very happy life with his hunting, fishing and farming, never feeling a desire to go to London to indulge in the amusements found there.

  Mrs. Biddle could guess the direction her husband’s thoughts were taking by the frown. “Do not concern yourself overly about Hetty,” she said reassuringly. “Ernestine will keep her safe if for no other reason than Society would hold her responsible if she did not. For the rest, we must trust to Hetty’s common sense and upbringing.”

  “You have the right of it, I know,” the squire said with a rueful smile. “I suppose I am hesitant because I shall miss Hetty. This will be the first time she has left us for an extended period of time.”

  Mrs. Biddle put her hand over his and squeezed it affectionately. “I shall miss her, too, but we must let her go.” Feeling tears starting to form in her eyes, she stood up abruptly. “There is no point in delay. I shall write Ernestine directly,” she proclaimed, and departed
to fetch her letter-case.

  Several days later, Ernestine Hardwick sat in the Great Salon of her London town house perusing the morning’s post. A frown creased her brow as she finished an especially lengthy communication from her sister.

  “What is it, Mama—bad news?” her daughter Sophie asked from her chair nearby, where she was embroidering a fine linen handkerchief.

  Lady Hardwick looked up at her daughter and laid the letter on a small round table next to her gilt chair.

  “No, it is not precisely bad news. I have a letter from my sister Gwendolyn in Derbyshire. She wishes me to present her daughter along with you this spring.”

  “Oh, no, Mama,” Sophie protested, a look of dismay coming over her face. “It is my come-out. I do not wish to be presented with a country cousin. Think how it would lower my credit.”

  “In the ordinary course of events I would not consider such a scheme,” her mother agreed, “but there are some extenuating circumstances. Henrietta was left a large fortune by her paternal aunt some two years ago. Regrettably, it is from trade, but it is a considerable fortune nonetheless —fifty thousand pounds. Members of the ton who would usually not invite us to their entertainments would do so if Henrietta were to stay with us this Season. Money always opens doors, wherever its origins. Moreover, Squire Biddle offers to stand for the entire cost of presenting both of you if I take on the responsibility of his daughter. This would allow us, among other benefits, to have our gowns done by a better modiste and to engage more servants.”

  Sophie, whose slightly plump face had been taking on a sulky aspect at the idea of being presented with a provincial cousin with a fortune from trade, brightened at this last.

  “Yes, that would be helpful, Mama,” she said slowly, “but what does Henrietta look like?” No matter how rich her cousin was, Sophie would refuse to be presented with anyone who cast her into the shade.

  “I do not know,” Lady Hardwick admitted. “I have not ever seen her. But neither my sister nor Squire Biddle have even passably handsome features, so it is extremely unlikely Henrietta would be either. Squire Biddle is a heavy, coarse-looking man, and my sister is large and horse-faced. It was the reason that although my mother and I deplored Gwendolyn marrying a simple squire, we knew she was unlikely to receive a better offer.”

  Lady Hardwick lapsed into silence, thinking with satisfaction of her own marriage to a baron. Although it did gall her that her title of Lady, as the widow of a baron, was one only of courtesy and not one to which she was entitled, a baron was a great deal better than a squire. And her daughter, she was determined, would marry high enough to have the right to the title “Lady.”

  Lady Hardwick looked at her daughter with satisfaction. Sophie had the slightly plump good looks presently in vogue. It was a pity her hair was not of a lighter shade of brown, but washes of chamomile tea and careful choices of the colors of Sophie’s gowns made her hair appear lighter than it was. And no fault could be found with Sophie’s features; even though her face was a little round, judicious choice of hair styles minimized it.

  Sophie continued speculating on the potential benefits that might be created with access to more funds for her Season. “Could we buy a new carriage, Mama? Our barouche is sadly out of fashion.”

  “I do not see why we could not,” Lady Hardwick replied, smiling indulgently at her daughter. “One’s mode of transportation is noticed by Society and must be in keeping with one’s rank, so it would be a legitimate expense to charge to the squire.” She saw that her daughter was becoming reconciled to sharing her come-out with her cousin, and pressed her advantage. “Henrietta’s presence will hardly be noticed, much less detract from yours. Indeed, far from detracting from your appearance, I believe Henrietta will enhance it. How much more pleasing your appearance and manners must appear when compared to an awkward country cousin’s. It will only be necessary to see that Henrietta’s behavior is not so outrageous that it mortifies us. That would do us all harm.”

  “What about her fortune?” Sophie questioned, a disquieting thought occurring to her. “Will not the eligible gentlemen be more interested in Henrietta than in me because of her fortune? I have very little more than a competence.”

  “You must remember that while Henrietta’s fortune is large, it comes from trade. Gentlemen who are willing to overlook that fact will most likely be those pressed for money, and they would not be among your court to begin with. It will present a problem in getting her acceptably married off, though,” Ernestine mused. “Gwendolyn requests that I protect Henrietta from fortune hunters, but they are very likely the only ones who will be interested in a country chit with no beauty. I suppose I can marry her off to a wealthy cit or an elderly gentleman of the minor nobility who will be attracted by her youth and not be overly concerned about her lack of breeding and looks.”

  “Perhaps you have the right of it, Mama,” Sophie began, and then suddenly exclaimed in distress, “Almack’s, Mama! Henrietta would never be given vouchers, and if I am not able to attend the assemblies there, I shall never meet the most eligible gentlemen.”

  Lady Hardwick frowned. Her daughter had a valid point. Henrietta Biddle would never be given a voucher to the exclusive “marriage mart,” and if the patronesses knew Miss Biddle would be staying with Lady Hardwick for the Season, they might choose not to approve Sophie either, rather than admit only one of a pair of girls sharing a come-out.

  “I believe we may be able to solve that dilemma,” she said slowly. “I shall not tell anyone I plan to sponsor Henrietta until you have already received your voucher. That way the patronesses will not be put in the position of having to consider awarding only one voucher to a household with two girls making their come-outs. Henrietta’s come-out will only be informal in any event, since she will not be presented at Court as you will be. I will arrange for you to have your presentation before Henrietta comes to London. Then, when your cousin does arrive, I believe Society will understand if you attend and your cousin does not. Surely they would not expect you to refuse after you have already been awarded a voucher.”

  “Very well, Mama,” Sophie agreed after considering her mother’s arguments. “I suppose it will do no harm to share my Season with Henrietta so long as you do not expect us to become bosom-bows.”

  “No, indeed.” Lady Hardwick smiled, pleased to have won her point. “We shall put Henrietta in the small bedchamber on the ground floor, out of our way.”

  The matter decided, Lady Hardwick retired to pen a reply to her sister, leaving Sophie to dream of all the things she would be able to purchase for the Season with her cousin’s money.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, look, Daisy, have you ever seen so many carriages?” Hetty asked, looking excitedly out the window of their coach as it clattered slowly through the streets of London.

  “No, miss,” replied Daisy, who was gazing out the window with as much fascination as her mistress. Neither girl had ever been out of Derbyshire before, and they had spent the entire trip glued to the passing scenery, suffering from none of the boredom that commonly afflicts more seasoned travelers. “It do smell, though, don’t it?” Daisy added, wrinkling her freckled nose as the less than salubrious odors of London invaded the carriage.

  Hetty, however, was not willing to admit that anything could be wrong with London. “I am sure we shall become accustomed to it,” she said dismissively. “London! There are so many people, just look.”

  The two girls continued to watch the passing scene with wonder, neither noting the ragged clothes on some of the passersby, nor the despairing faces. They saw only the color and bustle of the great city, so different from the quiet Derbyshire countryside. Street vendors raucously called their wares, post boys in bright coats rang their handbells, sedan chair carriers jostled pedestrians on the sidewalks as they made way for their rich passengers, and carriages finished in lustrous lacquer clattered over the streets.

  “Oh, I just know the Season will be wonderful,” Hetty enthuse
d, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  “Yes, miss. Who would have thought we’d go to London for a Season?” Daisy marveled.

  After a while the girls noticed the streets were becoming less crowded, and the sidewalks cleaner. Buildings of wood and brick made way to rows of neat gray Portland stone town houses, differing from each other only in the style and color of their front doors.

  “These look like fashionable residences. We must be nearing my aunt’s,” Hetty conjectured, straightening her blue merino dress and plain brown traveling cloak. “Do I look presentable, Daisy? I do so wish to make a good impression.”

  Daisy looked her mistress over critically. The days of travel had left no trace of fatigue on Hetty’s young face, and her clothes, if a little creased, were clean and neat.

  “You look that fine, miss,” Daisy reassured her mistress as she smoothed her own dress, not wishing to appear too provincial to the fine London servants.

  Hetty’s guess that they were near her aunt’s proved to be correct, for the carriage presently rolled to a stop. A groom opened the carriage door, lowering the steps for the passengers, while a postilion knocked at the door of the town house. Hetty descended from the carriage carefully, surveying the house with interest. It looked rather small, being only three windows across and three floors high, but then, the others in the street were just as small, she noted. She walked slowly up the few steps to the front door, admiring the decorative iron railings and the ornate stucco designs adorning the pilasters.

  The door had opened to the postilion’s knock, and Hetty, followed closely by her maid, stepped into a small but attractive entrance hall.

  “This way, if you please, Miss Biddle,” a liveried footman said, relieving Hetty of her cape and ushering her into a small parlor that opened off to the right of the hall.

  Hetty, feeling a little apprehensive for the first time since she had left home, looked regretfully after Daisy, who was being led away into the interior of the house by another footman. Resolutely banishing the feeling, Hetty stepped past the footman into the room.