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  Hetty thanked Lady Hardwick and walked slowly downstairs to her room. Was what Sophie had said true? Was it because of her fortune that so many gentlemen had sought her out, and not because they found her likable or attractive? When she had first come to London, she had not paid much heed to her aunt’s constant references to her as an heiress, but now she recalled them. Was that why she was being accepted into the haut ton, despite the fact she was only a squire’s daughter? She had never really thought about the extent of her fortune and its effect on others, but she did now, and the idea that she was accepted only because of it was very lowering.

  Chapter Four

  The afternoon following Hetty’s ball the gentlemen who had danced with Hetty and Sophie the night before made their obligatory calls to Adam Street, stopping for a short visit or leaving their cards and flowers. The girls sat formally with Lady Hardwick in the Great Salon to receive their visitors. Sophie, dressed in pale blue muslin, appeared unusually animated and attractive. In contrast, Hetty’s naturally high spirits were subdued, and she felt as colorless as the drab beige dress she wore. She found herself looking at the young men who came to call on her with a suspicion that made her feel uncomfortable but which she could not shake. Sophie’s words of the previous night made her doubt their sincerity. Did the gentlemen like her for herself, or were they only thinking of her fifty thousand pounds? Her doubts as to their motives caused her to reply to their conversational efforts in monosyllables, and they soon turned their attention to the more receptive Sophie. Hetty noticed this and watched her cousin in envy. What Sophie had said the night before was true. Her cousin had no need to worry about the motives of her admirers. Sophie had only a modest fortune, not enough to interest a fortune hunter. Those who were gallant to her cousin must be gallant for her own sake. At the moment Sophie was smiling at a young man with fair hair who was dressed in a pink coat and pea-green pantaloons, whom Hetty recalled had paid Sophie particular attention the night before.

  Lady Hardwick frowned meaningfully at Hetty when she failed to make a response to a remark addressed to her by another caller, and Hetty roused herself to make an effort to speak to the young man doggedly trying to converse with her. At least, Hetty thought, she had been spared the necessity of trying to speak with the supercilious Lord Wakeford. He had left flowers, but had not stayed.

  As the afternoon wore on, the stream of callers decreased, and in the late afternoon Hetty was able to escape from the Great Salon to her small room behind the library. She was beginning to suspect she had been placed there to be out of the way of her aunt and cousin, whose bedchambers were on the first floor, but she found she was most likely happier to be apart from her aunt and cousin. Sophie had continually rejected her overtures of friendship, and Lady Hardwick did not seem overly eager for her niece’s company either.

  Remembering that her mother and father would be anxious to hear about the ball, Hetty started another letter home to her parents, describing the evening’s success. But within a few minutes she put the letter aside and, feeling a need to escape the town house, rang for Daisy. She would put on her new walking dress and have Daisy walk with her to the shops. She would not again make the mistake of going out unaccompanied or dressed improperly.

  A few minutes later Hetty checked her reflection in the looking-glass, the now-familiar dissatisfaction with her appearance in her new clothes pricked at her. She could not deny that the walking dress with its tiny rows of tucks and pleats at the hem was in the latest fashion, but the muted green color did little for her complexion, and the brown pelisse with matching brown fringe was downright dull. It crossed Hetty’s mind that it was possible her aunt had purposely selected styles and colors that were less than flattering for her, but she quickly dismissed the thought as unkind and ungrateful. Her aunt was used to dressing Sophie, and the styles that flattered one of Sophie’s plump looks were not as suitable for her own slender frame, that was all. Perhaps, she thought, she could find an attractive hat in the shops this afternoon and purchase it.

  The idea of selecting an item of attire for herself made Hetty more cheerful, and she and Daisy stepped briskly out for their walk. In a few minutes they arrived in Bond Street, and slowed their pace to look at the inviting displays in the shop windows. Absorbed in the displays, Hetty did not notice that there were few women in the street, and that those who were out were of a certain class. Nor did she notice the looks she was receiving from the men who walked and rode by. Seeing a wide-brimmed hat trimmed in red that she liked in a milliner’s window, Hetty and Daisy entered the shop.

  The shop had few customers, and Hetty thought the look the proprietress gave her as she entered with Daisy held more surprise than pleasure at another customer. But Hetty dismissed the feeling and whiled away a pleasant half hour trying on hats, delighted to see how much more becoming to her they were than the deep-brimmed bonnets of straw her aunt had selected. With Daisy’s input she gradually eliminated all her choices but a bonnet of twist with a short lace reluctantly, stopping to speak as manners dictated she must. As she turned and reluctantly met his eyes, she noted the glint of amusement his eyes always seemed to hold when he looked at her and wondered what it was about her that he found so diverting. It was a pity Lord Wakeford was so top-lofty, Hetty thought wistfully, for there was no denying he was a very fine-looking gentleman in his blue superfine coat, beaver hat and ebony walking stick held at a jaunty angle.

  “You have been shopping, I see,” Lord Wakeford said as they began to walk slowly along the street. “Do Lady Hardwick and Miss Hardwick accompany you?”

  “No. My aunt and cousin were still resting when I left this afternoon.”

  An unusually indecisive look crossed the marquess’s face.

  “Miss Biddle, I beg your pardon for my presumption in asking, but are you aware it is not the thing to shop Bond Street in the afternoon?”

  Hetty’s eyes opened wide. “But why, Lord Wakefield? My maid is with me.”

  “No matter. Ladies shop Bond Street only in the morning. To be seen walking in Bond Street in the afternoon, even if accompanied by a maid, marks one as fast.”

  Hetty reddened. This superior-looking beau always seemed to catch her in social errors.

  “Thank you, Lord Wakefield,” she said stiffly. “I was not aware. Lady Hardwick only told me I must not go out unaccompanied.”

  “No doubt it did not occur to her that a girl newly come from the country would be unaware of such town customs. If I were you,” he added kindly, “I should not go anywhere without first telling Lady Hardwick where you plan to go so she can let you know if your planned outing is acceptable or not.”

  “No doubt you are correct,” Hetty said, her mortification increasing. “Thank you for your warning, Lord Wakeford. I had best return home, then,” she finished, and with an inclination of her head walked rapidly down the street, Daisy trotting behind.

  Hetty hoped to escape to her room unnoticed when she reached home, wishing to keep her latest blunder from her aunt, but the footman who opened the door informed her that her aunt had requested her immediate presence in the Great Salon. Hetty gave the footman her pelisse and went upstairs reluctantly. She paused momentarily at the door of the salon where her aunt relaxed in a wing-back chair and Sophie was sat near her mother working on some embroidery.

  “Where have you been, Henrietta?” Lady Hardwick demanded, becoming aware of Hetty’s presence in the doorway.

  Hetty slowly advanced into the room. “I went shopping with Daisy,” she replied, hoping her aunt would not pursue the subject any further.

  “Where?” Lady Hardwick inquired, dousing Hetty’s hopes.

  “Bond Street,” Hetty replied truthfully, noting that at her reply her cousin ceased working on her embroidery and watched the exchange with an avid expression.

  “Bond Street in the afternoon!” her aunt exclaimed in horrified accents. “Seen by everyone, no doubt.”

  “Lord Wakeford was the only person I saw whom I
recognized,” Hetty protested feebly.

  “Lord Wakeford, and others, no doubt, who recognized you if you did not recognize them. Although Lord Wakeford recognizing you was disaster enough, since he is an intimate of Beau Brummell.” Lady Hardwick shook her head in exasperation.

  “What am I to do with you, Henrietta? You make one social error one after another. One would think you had no idea at all of how to behave in polite society. I must get you married off before all Society gets a disgust of you despite your fortune. Please remember that your behavior also reflects upon me and your cousin. We are, after all, responsible for you while you are residing with us.”

  Hetty hung her head and shifted her feet uncomfortably as she stood before her aunt. Her aunt’s words stung, yet she understood the shame Lady Hardwick must feel at being disgraced, albeit unintentionally, by her niece.

  “I am sorry, Aunt Ernestine. I shall try to do better,” Hetty promised, thinking that these words seemed to be the ones she most often spoke to her aunt. She did mean to try, and she was sorry. It was just that no matter how hard she tried, she seemed to fail.

  “I suppose it is to be expected in one of your provincial upbringing,” her aunt replied in a resigned voice. “Let us hope the damage is not irreparable.

  “I had originally requested your presence upon your return in order to inform you that we shall be attending several routs tonight after we have dinner at Lord Eastman’s. I am releived that is all I had planned for this evening, for I doubt that even you can make a social gaffe at a rout, and I hope you learned correct dining etiquette from your experience at the duchess of Grimwold’s.

  “And, Hetty, please display more animation than you have been when in company. A long face at the table ruins one’s digestion. Speak to your neighbors, and do not forget to offer the dishes placed before you to those on your right.”

  “Yes, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty replied wearily. “Might I be excused to rest in my chamber?”

  She only hoped, Hetty thought as she hurried downstairs to her room, that her aunt was correct about her not being able to make a mistake at a rout, whatever that was. She had never attended one and did not know what one did at a rout, but had been reluctant to confess her ignorance to her aunt. Lady Hardwick was already disgusted enough with her lack of social knowledge.

  Hetty dressed carefully for the evening’s entertainment in a fitted frock of pale apricot that looked well with her carnelian necklace. She was determined to acquit herself well that evening and show her aunt that if she lacked town polish when she arrived in London she was at least able to learn quickly. Yet during the carriage ride to the Eastmans’ town house Hetty felt a tightness developing in her chest. Social engagements had become ordeals, and she feared that despite her resolution she would somehow error in her behavior no matter how hard she tried not to.

  At the Eastman’s dining table Hetty found herself seated between Lord Satre and Lord Arlington, a pleasant young man Hetty remembered from her come-out ball. She spoke briefly to both, and applied herself to the first course. As the dinner progressed, she was careful to offer the dishes before her to her neighbors and not to eat too much of any one. She began to relax, feeling that she was acquitting herself quite well until she remembered her aunt’s admonition to be more animated. Not wishing to speak again to Lord Satre, who made her feel uncomfortable, Hetty turned to Lord Arlington, but found he was engaged in conversation with the young woman seated at his other side.

  Hetty glanced across the table, and, recognizing Lord Rutherford, a suitor of one of Sophie’s friends, she addressed a remark to him. To her discomfiture, Lord Rutherford’s eyes widened in apparent surprise and the guests in their immediate vicinity looked at her curiously. Lord Rutherford responded briefly to her comment and then pointedly addressed himself to the woman on his left. Hetty flinched and felt ready to cry at this mild rebuff, knowing that somehow she must have committed another social solecism, although what it could possibly have been she did not know. Surely a comment about the weather did not constitute a blunder.

  Hetty’s glance flicked down the table to her aunt and cousin, hoping that whatever error she had made had passed unnoticed by them. But both were glaring at her fiercely, and, of course, there was Lord Wakeford next to Lady Hardwick, looking at her with that aggravating smile on his face. Hetty directed her attention back to her plate, resigning herself to another tense evening. She knew she would find out later in the carriage what she had done wrong.

  As Hetty expected, her aunt began scolding her as soon as the carriage door closed.

  “Whatever possessed you to converse across the table at dinner, Henrietta?”

  Hetty was bewildered. Was that it? “Is it wrong to converse across the table?”

  “When one is dining at a small table with family or close friends it is acceptable, but not at a formal meal. One converses only with one’s partners on the immediate right and left. Imagine how loud it would be if everyone raised their voices to converse across and down the table.”

  “I was quite shamed in front of Mr. Eastman,” Sophie interjected. “Must Hetty go with us everywhere?”

  “She would not make as many errors if you did as I requested and instructed your cousin in the proper behavior,” Lady Hardwick said more sharply than she usually spoke to her daughter. “Henrietta’s constant social blunders will make it appear that we are not doing out duty toward her. I expect you to help your cousin learn proper behavior before the gossips begin to censure us.”

  “I did my best, Mama,” Sophie began to reply angrily, but Lady Hardwick motioned her daughter to silence with a raised hand and addressed her niece again.

  “At least, as I said before, I doubt that you can make a spectacle of yourself at a rout. That is a blessing, for we have three to attend tonight, beginning with one at the Duchess of Grimwold’s.”

  Hetty wondered again what a rout was as she sighed inaudibly. It seemed to her that her aunt made too much of what were minor infractions of the rules, surely. But perhaps in London people attached more importance to following all social conventions to the letter.

  The carriage finally stopped down the street from the duchess’s residence at about eleven. A great crush of carriages surrounded the house, and seeing the huge residence lit with thousands of candles again brought back memories to Hetty of her first disgrace. Her nervousness returned, and by the time their carriage completed its excruciatingly slow progress to the door a half hour later, she could feel that her palms were damp and her heart racing. Again a footman in elaborate livery opened their carriage door with a flourish, and Lady Hardwick and her charges joined the crush of people making its way into the great house. They moved slowly up the veined marble stairs to a large salon, where the duchess greeted her guests. To Hetty’s great relief, this time the duchess made no reference to the neat’s tongue.

  The three women passed through the salon into an adjoining room and on through an entire suite of rooms. Hetty wondered what the planned amusement was, for she saw no cards or food, and heard no music. So packed were the rooms that they could hardly move forward, and the heat was stifling with the candles and crowds of people. Hetty stayed close to her aunt’s skirts lest she lose her in the crush, and was wondering how long before the entertainment began when suddenly she found they were back outside and waiting for their carriage.

  Confused, Hetty could not help questioning her aunt as they climbed into their carriage. “What is the purpose of a rout, Aunt Ernestine?”

  “Purpose?” Lady Hardwick repeated, smoothing her silk skirts and adjusting her headdress.

  “There was no food, nor did I see any rooms prepared for cards or dancing.”

  Sophie sniggered at this new evidence of her cousin’s stupidity. “The purpose is to be seen,” she informed Hetty loftily. “For people to notice we were there. They will tell others, and we shall receive more invitations to better entertainments.”

  “I see,” Hetty replied, although she did not.
To her it seemed a waste of time. But at least her aunt was correct that it was impossible for her to make a mistake at one, Hetty thought with relief.

  The next rout they were attending was at the home of the newly-married Lord and Lady Perth’s. Hetty found the first room of the suite the Perth’s had opened for the rout to be fairly commonplace after the opulence of the duchess’s residence, but as they moved slowly into the second chamber, she drew in her breath with wonder. The room seemed to go on forever, and to be filled with thousands of guests dressed in bright silks and glittering jewels. Hetty wondered at the size of the room until she realized it was an illusion created by the walls being covered with mirrors.

  But the sensation of being in an immense room with thousands of people continued to persist. The jewels and the silk and satin gowns of the guests all reflected the light of thougsands of blazing candles, and the mirrors intensified and multiplied the effect. Hetty began to feel disoriented, and was unable to focus on any one shape or person. Suddenly everything seemed to merge together in a swirling mass of light and color, and Hetty realized to her dismay that she was going to faint. She reached out to clutch her aunt’s skirts, and then everything vanished.

  Hetty opened her eyes to a burning sensation in her nose. Choking, she turned her head away from the bottle of smelling salts held too closely under her nose.

  “She has come around,” she heard her aunt say as from a great distance.

  “Yes, I think she will soon recover,” a familiar voice responded.

  Hetty recognized the voice as Lord Satre’s, and struggled to rise, her aunt assisting her.

  “You owe thanks to Lord Satre,” Lady Hardwick informed Hetty as her niece smoothed her gown. “He was nearby when you were overcome by the heat and carried you to this room.”

  “I thank you for your assistance, Lord Satre,” Hetty said obediently, although the idea of having been carried in his arms was highly distasteful, and she shuddered involuntarily.