First Season Read online

  “Certainly, Lord Wakeford,” Lady Hardwick said with a thin smile. “Hetty,” she prodded, fixing her niece with a basilisk stare.

  “Thank you, Lord Wakeford, I should be delighted,” Hetty said, speaking the prescribed words in a flat voice.

  Jules held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. Miss Biddle’s high color and stiff manner showed Jules she was aware of the solecism she had committed in wearing the dress, but she held her head up proudly, and he admired her spirit. It must be an extremely humiliating situation for a young girl. Miss Biddle had pluck.

  “Smile,” he commanded her in a low voice as they took their places on the floor.

  Miss Biddle obediently stretched her lips in the semblance of a smile. Jules could see its hollowness, but knew it would not be discernible from a distance. He smiled in turn, to make it evident to all watching, that he, Jules Tarrant, Marquess of Wakeford, found Miss Biddle’s company both acceptable and agreeable.

  Jules kept his eyes on Miss Biddle when the movements of the dance brought them together, but when they were apart he carefully observed the reaction of the other guests to his partner. He was pleased to note that she was no longer receiving the contemptuous regard she had been upon her entrance into the ballroom, for it showed his plan was working. By the time he returned Miss Biddle to her aunt at the conclusion of the dance, he had no doubt that his attention to her had had the desired effect, and that other gentlemen would also ask her to dance.

  As Jules walked away from the Hardwicks, it occurred to him that there was something else he could do to help Miss Biddle. The Duchess of Grimwold was at the ball, and a word in her ear might persuade her to help Miss Biddle by proclaiming her an original. After all, the duchess was an original herself.

  Although it had only begun, the evening already seemed interminable to Hetty. Her aunt had been furious at her for wearing the dress. Observing the gleeful expression on her cousin’s face, Hetty knew she should have listened to the voice that had urged caution at Sophie’s unusual willingness to help her. Hetty wondered sadly what she had ever done to make her cousin dislike her enough to intentionally place her in such a humiliating position.

  She turned away from Sophie and Lady Hardwick, unable to decide whether it was better to sit silently by her angry aunt or to dance with gentlemen she was sure were secretly laughing at her or thinking she was fast. Like Lord Wakeford. Remembering what Lord Courtney had told her at the breakfast, she had not wished to partner the marquess for that first dance. No doubt Lord Wakeford had been diverted by her disgrace. Although, she recalled, Lord Wakeford’s smile had appeared almost genuine, and his eyes had expressed understanding. At least he had been better than her second partner. Lord Satre had leered at her more than ever, his insinuating glances making her feel the harlot her aunt had told her she appeared in her new dress.

  “Miss Biddle”—a voice interrupted her thoughts —“if you do not have a partner for this next dance, may I have the honor?”

  “Thank you, Lord Courtney,” Hetty replied, a smile of pleasure and gratitude transforming her face. She ignored Lady Hardwick’s angry glare as she took the viscount’s hand.

  “I wish I had seen you before you entered the ballroom, Miss Biddle,” the Lord Courtney said as they walked onto the floor. “I would have warned you that your gown was inappropriate for one of your age and you could have returned home to put on a different one.”

  “I had not intended to wear it,” Hetty confided, “but my cousin told me it would be acceptable to wear this late in the Season. Clearly she had hoped for my disgrace,” Hetty finished in a wistfull voice. “I cannot think why she dislikes me so.”

  “Miss Hardwick knows you cast her into the shade,” Lord Courtney replied as they took their places in the set.

  “Are you aware, Miss Biddle,” he continued, “that married women are not bound by so many rules? Were you married you might wear the gown whatever your age,” he said with a meaningful glance.

  Hetty felt her breath quicken at the viscount’s words, and she covered her confusion by changing the subject. “It appears to me it must be easier for the gentlemen than the women in London society, Lord Courtney. You do not have so many rules.”

  Lord Courtney accepted her conversational lead. “I suppose it is true there are more conventions for ladies, but we gentlemen have rules, too. For instance, a gentleman may not ask a younger sister to dance unless an older one already has a partner. And we must be certain that we dance with the daughter of our host at least once of an evening, no matter how fubsy-faced she may be.”

  Hetty smiled gratefully at the viscount as the figures of the dance separated them, appreciating Lord Courtney’s efforts to lighten her spirits. She made an effort simply to enjoy the dance, and within minutes had forgotten what she was wearing in the sheer pleasure dancing always brought her.

  “Would you care for a breath of fresh air, Miss Biddle?” Lord Courtney asked when the dance ended. “If you would care to escape the crush for a moment we can step out on a balcony.”

  “Thank you, Lord Courtney, I would like it of all things,” Hetty agreed thankfully. It would feel good to get out of the heat of the ballroom and away from curious eyes.

  The viscount escorted her from the room, and Hetty leaned over the edge of the balcony, lifting her face to the breeze. A touch on her shoulder caused her to turn and she found Lord Courtney close behind her. He took her hands in his.

  “Miss Biddle,” he said, “We have been speaking of rules tonight and I know I am violating one to speak to you before I have spoken to your father, but the strength of my feelings demands that I do so. I think you are not unaware of the regard in which I hold you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Hetty looked down in confusion. She was not surprised at his words; she had felt for some time that an offer might be forthcoming from the viscount, but she was surprised to find that she felt a faint doubt. Why did she not feel overjoyed and immediately say yes?

  “Miss Biddle?” Lord Courtney asked. Hetty raised her eyes to his and melted at his soft glance. The viscount was the only person who had been unfailingly kind to her in London. How could she hesitate to accept his offer? It was of a moment like this she that she had long dreamed.

  “Thank you, Lord Courtney,” she replied. “It would be an honor.”

  The viscount lifted Hetty’s hand to his lips, and then, clasping it between his hands, began to draw her toward him, when their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the arrival of another couple seeking fresh air. Lord Courntey immediately stepped back from Hetty.

  “I think it is best you not tell your aunt of what has passed between us quite yet,” he advised softly as he ushered her back into the ballroom.

  “No, I should like to tell my mother and father first,” Hetty agreed. “I shall write them tomorrow.”

  A shade passed over Lord Courtney’s face. “I think it would be better, Miss Biddle, if you were not to tell your parents yet, either. I should prefer to inform your father myself.”

  “Of course, if that is what you wish,” Hetty acquiesced as the viscount escorted her back into the ballroom, thinking it a sign of his character that he wished to be the one to tell her father of their betrothal.

  Hetty passed through the rest of the evening in a state of increasing euphoria, her initial hesitation forgotten. She would soon be free—free of her aunt and cousin’s dislike, free of the censure of Society. She would have a home and place of her own, secure in Lord Courtney’s love. Even thoughts of the dressing-down she knew she would receive from her aunt as soon as they left the ball did not cast her down.

  Immediately upon the carriage doors closing for the ride home that night, Lady Hardwick began the harangue Hetty had known would come.

  “You have disappointed me greatly this night, Henrietta. You have been foolish and deceitful, ordering new gowns without my knowledge. You will wear no more clothes that I have not selected,” Lady Hardwick proclaimed.
“You see what comes of attempting to select your own wardrobe. You have no idea what is suitable.”

  “It was Sophie who told me I should wear this red gown to the ball tonight,” Hetty responded defiantly. “She looked through the new gowns I had ordered and suggested it.”

  “That is not true, Mama!” Sophie exclaimed in outraged tones. “I saw the gowns and told Hetty that you would not approve of her ordering her own and that she should NOT wear them.”

  Hetty looked at her cousin in contempt. “You are not telling the truth and you know you are not, Sophie.”

  “Mama! Hetty is accusing me of telling lies,” Sophie protested.

  “You will not accuse your cousin of telling falsehoods, Henrietta,” Lady Hardwick ordered. “You undoubtedly misunderstood what Sophie said.”

  Hetty remained silent, determined not to back down.

  “And you are not to see Lord Courtney again,” Lady Hardwick continued. “I saw you go out onto the balcony in his company, Henrietta. I have warned you before that he is a fortune hunter. Lord Satre is a much more acceptable suitor.”

  “Lord Satre? Hetty protested. “He must be over two score years my senior. And I do not like him. He makes me feel uncomfortable.”

  “You should be thankful to Lord Satre for saving you from disgrace this evening when you appeared in that red gown,” Lady Hardwick said, looking at her niece in disapprobation. “It was his dancing with you that saved your reputation.”

  “He was not the only one who danced with me,” Hetty contradicted. “Lord Wakeford was the first, and Lord Arlington, Mr. Alcock, and many others also asked me to dance. I did not sit out a single set.”

  “They danced with you only because Lord Satre asked you to,” Lady Hardwick said insistently. “I am seriously displeased with you Henreitta. I had thought you were making more of an effort this past week, but the events of tonight show me I was wrong. You are quite unrepentant. I forbid you to see Lord Courtney again. If he calls here, he shall be told you are indisposed, and if you meet him at entertainments, you are not to speak to him except in my presence. I shall ask Sophie to watch you as well and to make certain you obey my instructions.”

  “But—” Hetty began.

  “Silence! That is enough out of you for this night! As soon as we arrive home you are to go to your room and think upon your disgraceful behavior,” Lady Hardwick ordered.

  Hetty’s heart sank as the carriage rolled up Adam Street and stopped. What would she do now? If she was not allowed to speak to Lord Courtney he would think she had changed her mind and did not wish to marry him. Whatever would she do?

  Chapter Eight

  Lady Hardwick carried through her threat to order that Lord Courtney be told Hetty was indisposed the very next time he called, and Hetty sat in the Great Salon feeling very put upon. Sophie, looking especially smug and superior when her two favorite suitors, Lord Lockwood and Mr. Eastman, were announced, smiled complacently at her cousin. The attentions of both gentlemen had been very marked toward Sophie, and Hetty supposed it would not be long before Sophie received an offer.

  Hetty looked away from her cousin and her guests, pretending to be absorbed in her fancy work. She needed time to concentrate on the problem created by Lady Hardwick’s refusing to allow her to see Lord Courtney. How would she get word to Lord Courtney that she was forbidden to see him? She had no idea how to go about sending him a message without Lady Hardwick hearing of it. Daisy was not familiar enough with London to take a message and Hetty knew no one else she could trust.

  A few moments later, hope came from an unexpected source. A servant entered the salon with a note for Hetty from Lady Emily Wakeford, who, remembering that Lady Hardwick left Hetty home Wednesday nights while she and her daughter attended Almack’s, invited Hetty to join her and her mother the dowager marchioness at a play that night. Perhaps Lord Courtney would be present at the theater, Hetty hoped as she asked permission from Lady Hardwick to attend.

  How she had changed from the meek, eager-to-please niece she had been when she first arrived in London, Hetty thought with a smile as she once again picked up her fancy work. But although she felt a tiny prick of conscience when she remembered her mother’s admonitions to obey her aunt, it was quickly smothered by recollections of her aunt’s injustice.

  To Hetty’s delight, Lord Courtney did attend the theater that evening and came to their box during the first interval.

  “I am happy to see you are recovered, Miss Biddle,” Lord Courtney said after he had paid his respects to the marchioness and Lady Emily. “I called upon you today but was told you were indisposed.”

  Seeing that the dowager and Lady Emily were involved in conversation with another visitor to their box, Hetty dared to tell Lord Courtney the truth.

  “My aunt has forbidden me to see you and has given instructions that you are to be told I am indisposed when you call,” she explained in a low voice. “I have been quite overset, not knowing how to get word to you.”

  “Do not despair,” Lord Courtney comforted Hetty. “I shall still be able to see you at any entertainments to which we are both invited. Your aunt cannot forbid you to be civil to me in public.” He pressed her hand reassuringly, and then, apparently noting that they were attracting the dowager’s attention, began to discuss the play.

  Lady Emily returned to her seat next to Hetty’s after the visitors left.

  “I notice that Lord Courtney often seeks your company, Miss Biddle,” Lady Emily ventured to say.

  “Yes, he has been most attentive,” Hetty confessed, wishing she could confide the whole in her friend. “But my aunt has forbidden me to receive him at home. I do not know what to do, for I find Lord Courtney very congenial.”

  “Is it wise to defy your aunt’s wishes?” Lady Emily asked. “She may have reasons for her action.”

  “What reasons?” Hetty asked, feeling piqued that her only friend seemed to be taking the part of her aunt. “Lord Courtney is the only gentleman who has been truly kind to me here in London.” At Lady Emily’s questioning look she attempted to explain more fully. “Oh, there are others who have been kind to me, at least outwardly, but I always feel they are laughing at my provincial manners behind my back. I never feel that with Lord Courtney.”

  “Miss Biddle,” Lady Emily said slowly. “Lord Courtney may have his own reasons for appearing kind.”

  “You mean that he is poor,” Hetty said defensively, remembering to keep her voice low less the dowager overhear. “I know, for he has told me of his situation. That does not make him a fortune hunter. Why is it,” she continued, a note of frustration entering her voice, “that everyone supposes any gentleman who shows me attention is interested only in my wealth? Is it not possible that someone might like me for myself, even should he chance to be poor?”

  “Of course it is,” Lady Emily reassured Hetty. “But at times it may be difficult to distinguish between the two. If a gentleman who wishes to pay you court already has wealth, one knows that one’s fortune is not the attraction.”

  “Perhaps such a gentleman simply desires more,” Hetty said cynically. “I suppose you would have me encourage Lord Satre. That is what my aunt wishes me to do.”

  “No. I do not think Lord Satre would be a good choice for you,” Lady Emily countered. “But there are many other gentlemen of wealth and breeding closer to you in age.”

  “Such as Lord Wakeford, I suppose, who gave me the name ‘Half-baked Hetty.’ “

  A stricken look crossed Lady Emily’s face and Hetty was immediately contrite. “I beg your pardeon, Lady Emily. I should not have said that. Please forgive me,” she begged.

  Lady Emily smiled to show no offense was taken. “It is true Jules did give you the sobriquet. I cannot defend him, for it was wrong. I do know, though, that he did not intend to cause you pain. They were the thoughtless words of a moment, for which he is truly sorry.”

  “Perhaps,” Hetty replied, “but the name stuck nevertheless.”

  �
��I am sorry if my words have upset you,” Lady Emily said, placing her hand over Hetty’s. “It is only that I am concerned for you and do not wish you to make a mistake in something as important as your choice of marriage partner. It is not something easily changed if one makes an error in one’s choice.”

  “I understand,” Hetty said, knowing her friend had her best interests at heart. “But you need not be concerned about Lord Courtney’s motives. He is not what you fear, I am certain.”

  After she and her mother returned Hetty home that evening, Lady Emily resolved to question her brother about Lord Courtney. Miss Biddle’s interest in the undeniably charming viscount gave her serious feelings of disquiet, and she was not as sanguine about his motives as was her young friend. Perhaps Jules would know something about Lord Courtney that would ease her mind. Emily bade her mother good night and went directly upstairs, hoping to find her brother at home. A light from under Jules’s study door told her he was there and still awake, and she tapped lightly.

  “Enter,” her brother called, and Emily let herself in, advancing to his desk where Jules sat, absorbed in his accounts. She took a chair before the desk.

  “Jules, what do you know of Lord Courtney?”

  “Lord Courtney?” her brother asked, looking up from his work.

  “Yes, I am concerned about Miss Biddle’s increasing interest in him.”

  “Miss Biddle’s affections are none of our concern,” Jules replied rather shortly, looking back down.

  “I believe they are our concern,” Emily contradicted him. “It was the nickname you gave Miss Biddle and the stories you spread about her provincial manners that robbed her of her self-esteem and made her easy prey to an unscrupulous fortune hunter like Lord Courtney.”

  Jules pushed his accounts aside and stood, going to lean against the fireplace mantel where he stared into the flames thoughtfully.