First Season Read online

  “The attachment has disturbed me, too,” he confessed. “Not only because Courtney is in need of funds, many are. But because he is a bad sort, ruthless. The duns are after him, and I suspect he is getting desperate for blunt.”

  “I wish I could think of a way to show Miss Biddle the truth about Lord Courtney,” Emily said. “It is something she must come to herself, for she will not listen to words. And I fear Lady Hardwick is making matters worse by pressing her to accept Lord Satre as a suitor.”

  “Satre?” Jules asked in surprise. “That lecher? He is no better than Courtney. Worse, in fact. He is not in need of funds, but he has no morals whatsoever. I would not care to see any young woman in his hands. There are rumors he was involved in the Hell-fire Club in his youth.”

  Her brother’s words increased Emily’s distress. She was not entirely certain what members of the Hell-fire Club had done, for such things were not discussed in the presence of an unmarried lady, but she knew that some of the most notorious rakes in the country had been involved in the club.

  “We must do something!” she exclaimed in frustration. The fire crackled in the silence as Emily searched for a solution. “Jules, why not try to win Miss Biddle’s affections yourself?” she suggested daringly.

  “That’s a crack-brained notion if I ever heard one,” Jules scoffed. “Surely you would not wish me to hurt Miss Biddle by persuading her to care for me and then failing to offer for her.”

  “I do not think it would come to that,” Emily said thoughtfully. “If you could demonstrate to her that a young gentleman of breeding and wealth could find her attractive, perhaps …”

  “That horse won’t go,” Jules stated firmly. “I admit the logic of the plan, but I am not the one to carry it out. She will never forgive the one who first called her ‘Half-baked Hetty.’ ”

  “I suppose you are correct,” Emily admitted, remembering Miss Biddle’s words earlier that evening, “but I do dislike seeing her in the clutches of Lord Courtney or Lord Satre.”

  Jules smiled at his sister’s dramatization of the situation. “I promise to think on the problem, but I doubt there is anything we can do. Perhaps Miss Biddle will come to see Lord Courtney for what he is on her own,” he finished with an encouraging smile.

  “Perhaps,” Emily said doubtfully, rising. She gave her brother an affectionate kiss and left the study feeling little better about her friend than before she had entered it.

  After his sister left, Jules dropped into the chair she had vacated and frowned at the ceiling. The idea of Miss Biddle with Lord Courtney or Lord Satre troubled him more than it should. After all, Miss Biddle was nothing to him, just a green girl from the country to whom his younger sister had happened to take a liking. No doubt he was feeling guilty about giving her the nickname, and did not want to feel she was being driven to an unsuitable match because of it.

  Yet even as he tried to dismiss his concern Lord Wakeford knew he was not being honest with himself. The truth was that he had enjoyed her company when he had taken her driving and to the park for fresh milk. And to be even more honest with himself, his own feelings had been wounded when Miss Biddle had rejected his overtures after the rapport between them at the Arlington’s breakfast. Was his own hurt at being repulsed by a country miss causing him to refuse to do as his sister asked? Was he afraid of being rejected by Miss Biddle again if he did make overtures? He very much feared the answer to that question was “Yes.”

  That Thursday morning Hetty entered the Great Salon to find Sophie in a state of suppressed excitement. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled, and she had a satisfied, almost glowing look. Sophie even smiled at Hetty, and motioned her to take a seat next to her. Wondering why Sophie was being so friendly, Hetty complied.

  “Lord Lockwood is with Mama,” Sophie said importantly. “He is asking permission to offer for me. He indicated to me last night at Almack’s that he was going to call on Mama this morning.”

  “I thought you preferred Mr. Eastman,” Hetty let slip in her surprise.

  “Oh, Mr. Eastman,” Sophie said dismissively. “It is true I found his company congenial. But he is only Mr. Eastman, despite being an honorable. I shall be Lady Lockwood when I marry Lord Lockwood.”

  “But Mr. Eastman is the son of an earl,” Hetty protested.

  “Only a younger son and not likely to accede to the title. I would only be plain Mrs. Eastman.”

  Hetty thought of the florid and rotund Lord Lockwood, fully a score of years older than Sophie, and mentally compared him to the youthful, charming Mr. Eastman. However, it was her cousin’s choice to make, not hers, and she bit her tongue.

  Sophie, clearly disappointed that her announcement had not had the effect on Hetty she felt it should, tossed her head and moved to another chair. The young women waited there in silence until Lady Hardwick came to tell her daughter that Lord Lockwood was waiting to speak with her in the Small Salon. With a last triumphant look at her cousin, Sophie left to join her suitor.

  “Now I must marry you off, and my duty will be done,” Lady Hardwick said to Hetty with satisfaction as she sat down in her favorite armchair.

  “I am not certain I wish to marry,” Hetty replied, thinking that if she could not marry Lord Courtney she would rather remain a spinster. “At least not so soon.”

  “Of course you do,” Lady Hardwick said heartily in great good humor now that Sophie was to marry a lord. “Every young girl does. Why else did you wish to come to London and have a Season? Your mother wrote that it was to find a husband since there were no eligible gentlemen in Derbyshire.”

  Hetty was silenced by this truth, recalling her fear that she might never meet any suitors other than Tom Goodman. She had been no better than Sophie in her snobbishness, Hetty saw with sudden insight. It seemed years ago, not weeks.

  “I no longer feel that I must make a match my first Season,” she said aloud.

  “Fustian,” Lady Hardwick replied, an edge of impatience entering her voice. “This is not only your first Season, it is no doubt your only Season in London, as I shall have duties to my daughter after she marries and will not have the time to sponsor you in future years. Moreover, I have reason to believe you will be receiving an excellent offer very soon.”

  Hetty heard her aunt’s words with dismay. “If you refer to Lord Satre, I do not wish to marry him. Please do not give him permission to make me an offer if he approaches you.”

  “I most certainly shall give him permission, and if you know what is good for you, you will accept his suit if offered,” Lady Hardwick snapped, her good humor dissipating entirely. “I have already written to your mother and father to inform them of Lord Satre’s interest and advised them that his suit be accepted.”

  Hetty listened to her aunt’s words with growing horror. Surely her parents would not listen to her aunt and insist that she accept Lord Satre? Lady Hardwick could not force her to marry Lord Satre if she did not wish to, could she?

  Hetty began to protest more strenuously, but was forced to abandon her arguments as Sophie, her face beaming, reentered the salon in the company of Lord Lockwood. Lady Hardwick forgot her recalcitrant niece in the ensuing congratulations, but Hetty, although she tried to enter into the spirit of the occasion, had poor success. Yet Sophie did not appear disturbed by Hetty’s failure to be ecstatic over her betrothal. No doubt, Hetty thought, Sophie concluded her cousin’s poor humor was caused by jealousy, and the thought added to the triumph of her day.

  Hetty’s fears about an offer from Lord Satre were allayed over the next week when Lady Hardwick, immersed in plans for her daughter’s wedding, did not again bring up the subject. After a sen’night passed without word from Lord Satre, Hetty almost began to feel comfortable. She had made no serious social errors, and had even been able to converse with Lord Courtney at several entertainments without her aunt or cousin noticing. And several other gentlemen had also paid her the compliment of seeking her hand for dances, including Lord Wakeford.

  Only
a letter she received from Derbyshire caused Hetty any disquiet. Her parents would not approve her behavior in entering into a secret betrothal. Yet her mother and father did not know the whole of it, Hetty excused herself. They would surely understand if they knew what a fine gentleman Lord Courtney was and what Lord Satre was like. Her parents had not mentioned Lord Satre in their letter, and Hetty supposed they had not yet received the letter Lady Hardwick said she had sent about an impending offer.

  How she would like to tell her parents the whole, Hetty thought with a sigh. But she had promised Lord Courtney not to tell anyone he had offered until he himself had had the opportunity to speak to her father. Still, dissimulating to her parents was not proper, and Hetty determined to ask Lord Courtney’s permission to tell her parents of the betrothal the next time she saw him.

  Hetty’s chance to ask Lord Courtney for permission to tell her parents of their betrothal came that very night at a ball being held at the Docherty’s. Lady Hardwick left Hetty’s side to tell an acquaitnace about Sophie’s impending marriage, and when the viscount approached Hetty to ask for a dance she asked if they might sit it out.

  “Of course, Miss Biddle,” Lord Courtney agreed. He pushed his chair back so that it was isolated from the others by a large Doric column and a potted plant, giving them a modicum of privacy.

  “Lord Courtney,” Hetty began.

  “Stephen,” he corrected her. “We are betrothed, and it will please me if you would address me by my given name in private conversation.”

  “Stephen,” she began again, blushing. “I think we should tell my father and mother of our betrothal. You judge them by my aunt, but they are nothing alike. I am certain my parents will allow me to marry you when they see how necessary it is to my happiness.”

  “I understand that you wish to share the news with your parents,” Lord Courtney replied, “but we agreed to wait until after you return home at the end of the Season. If you tell them now, your aunt will oppose the match and present me in a bad light to your father. Besides, I should like to be the first to speak to your father,” he added, a tender expression on his face.

  “If you think it best,” Hetty agreed reluctantly. “It is only that I dislike keeping my parents in the dark.”

  “It will not be for long,” Lord Courtney assured her. “The Season will be over in a month. Now,” he said, “we had best rejoin the rest of the company before your aunt notices who you are sitting with.”

  Lady Hardwick had already noticed her niece’s tête-à-tête with Lord Courtney and frowned in disquiet. In her preoccupation with her daughter’s impending marriage, she feared she had let the situation with her niece and Lord Courtney get out of hand. She must take action before it got further out of hand. She noticed Lord Satre standing at the far side of the ballroom, and a plan materialized in her mind. She walked purposefully over to the peer.

  “Lord Satre, you are not dancing. Why do you not ask my niece?”

  Lord Satre looked at Lady Hardwick in surprise. “I have already danced with Miss Biddle twice this evening, Lady Hardwick. If I were to dance with her again, the guests would assume there was an understanding between us.”

  “Yes,” Lady Hardwick agreed, “but Hetty is very ignorant of the rules of polite behavior. I doubt she realizes that.”

  Lord Satre smiled at Lady Hardwick with comprehension. The quality of that smile made Lady Hardwick feel momentarily uncomfortable, but she shrugged off the feeling. It was for her niece’s own good that she was promoting a match with Lord Satre, she thought virtuously as she watched the peer approach Hetty, whether the girl realized it or not.

  Hetty was reluctant to dance with Lord Satre a third time, but she feared that if she were to refuse him, her aunt would be angry. Reluctantly, Hetty allowed Lord Satre to lead her onto the floor, thankful that the dance was only a boulanger. Her partner said very little to her during the dance, but his smile seemed to indicate he was the possessor of some secret knowledge, and Hetty was relieved when he did not stay to talk after returning her to her place. She sat and began fanning herself vigorously, wishing she could fan away all memory of the distasteful dance.

  “I am happy to see you took my advice about Lord Satre to heart,” Lady Harwick addressed her sweetly, causing Hetty to start and look at her aunt in surprise. “At least I assume you did so, for to dance three times in an evening with the same man implies the existence of an engagement, or the intent to become engaged.”

  Hetty looked at her aunt in dismay. “At home I have danced many times in an evening with the same gentleman and no such assumption was made,” she protested, although even as she spoke she realized that in London no man had ever sought her hand for a dance more than twice of an evening.

  “In the country there is a lack of partners and no doubt it is necessary. Unfortunately, as I have reminded you untold times, this is not Derbyshire. Your ignorance is no excuse. Unless you wish a great scandal to be brought upon us all, which I will not tolerate, you must accept Lord Satre as your intended,” Lady Harwick proclaimed with satisfaction.

  Hetty opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt motioned her to silence as Sophie and Lord Lockwood joined them. Panic coursed through Hetty, and she scanned the room for Lord Courtney, hoping to appeal to him for help, but she did not see him anywhere. No doubt he had left after dancing the permitted two dances with her, Hetty thought in despair. Who else could she turn to? She thought of Lady Emily, but before she could search out her friend Lady Hardwick declared she was fatigued and announced they would return home.

  After a long and sleepless night, Hetty determined to speak to Lady Hardwick about Lord Satre before callers started to arrive in the afternoon. She had had no opportunity when they had arrived home the night before, for her aunt had refused to speak to her, ordering Hetty directly to bed.

  She found Lady Hardwick in the Great Salon sorting through invitations.

  “Aunt Ernestine, please help me, for I cannot accept Lord Satre’s suit,” Hetty began an impassioned plea, ending, “Society knows I have made many blunders, Aunt Ernestine. They will think nothing of my dancing three times with Lord Satre. Please do not encourage him. I cannot marry him.”

  Lady Hardwick was deaf to Hetty’s appeals.

  “Henrietta, I have made my decision and you will abide by it. I cannot allow you to behave contrary to accepted social norms,” Lady Hardwick said implacably.

  “You cannot force me to become betrothed to Lord Satre when Papa and Mama do not know of it,” Hetty protested, using her last argument.

  “Your mother and father would expect me to do as I have done,” Lady Hardwick said, unmoved. “They would wish me to do whatever is necessary to avert a scandal.”

  “Lord Satre,” the footman announced, and the subject of their conversation entered the room. Hetty glanced at her unwelcome guest in despair.

  “I know I have called a bit earlier than one should, since it is barely twelve of the clock,” Lord Satre said after greetings had been exchanged, “but I felt some informality was acceptable given the relationship that exists between us.”

  “That is kind of you, Lord Satre. I feel certain Henrietta should like to get out of the house into the fresh air,” Lady Hardwick accepted for her niece. “Henrietta, you are excused to go below and get your hat and pelisse.”

  “Thank you, Lord Satre, but I am not feeling quite the thing this morning after the exertion of so much dancing last night,” Hetty prevaricated, hoping to escape the drive. “I should prefer to remain indoors.”

  “Nonsense, if you are feeling tired then the fresh air will do you good,” Lady Hardwick insisted, glaring at her niece.

  Reluctantly, Hetty left the room to get her hat and pelisse. Since she had been unable to escape the drive it occurred to her that perhaps she could use the occasion to tell Lord Satre she had been unaware of the implications of dancing three times of an evening with the same gentleman. Surely, if Lord Satre knew of her feelings, he would not press the
issue. He could not wish to be engaged to someone who was unwilling.

  Lord Satre was driving a small vehicle that morning that only seated two, the groom riding behind, and Hetty was forced to sit very close to the peer, although she moved as far over to the edge as she could. When they reached Hyde Park they joined the few early visitors in the promenade about the ring. Hetty felt her face turn crimson as she was forced to endure the knowing smiles of the people they passed, people who no doubt assumed the existence of an unannounced betrothal between her and Lord Satre. Hetty’s discomfort increased, finally moving her to boldness.

  “Lord Satre, might I speak with you?”

  “Certainly, Miss Biddle, but let us first go to a more private spot, where we shall not be overheard,” Lord Satre replied, directing his vehicle to a side path. He drove a little distance down the path and stopped beneath the shade of a large tree while the groom jumped down to attend the horses.

  “About what did you wish to speak with me, Miss Biddle?” he asked.

  “Lord Satre,” Hetty began uncertainly, “I did not know, when I agreed to take the floor with you a third time last night, that it was not acceptable to do so in London. I have been told that here the acceptance of a third dance implies—that is, I would not like you to be under a misapprehension as to my feelings,” she trailed off miserably.

  “I am sorry to hear you say that, Miss Biddle,” Lord Satre said slowly, “but at the time I took your action as a mark of favor and implied acceptance of my suit. Indeed, I had already spoken to your aunt and received her permission to pay my addresses to you. I thought that by your acceptance of a third dance you were indicating your intention to accept my suit.”

  “I am truly sorry if my behavior gave rise to false hopes,” Hetty said, “but I do not wish to be betrothed to anyone at this time.”

  “That disappoints me, but I think you must allow that I did nothing wrong,” Lord Satre responded smoothly. “Surely you do not wish me to look foolish in the eyes of Society because of your mistake. I am certain you know how uncomfortable that is,” he added slyly.