First Season Read online

  ‘“Are you able to walk to the carriage?” Lady Hardwick asked with some concern, apparently assuming Hetty’s tremor was caused by weakness.

  “I shall assist Miss Biddle,” Lord Satre volunteered.

  “No, thank you,I am quite able to walk,” Hetty protested, moving forward on her own, but Lord Satre nevertheless placed his arm around her shoulder as he escorted the three women from the house and out to the carriage. Hetty tried to pull away, but Lord Satre only held her more tightly and she was relieved when they reached the carriage. As Hetty settled back on the squabs her aunt thanked Lord Satre once again for his assistance and ordered the carriage back to Adam Street.

  “We shall have to miss the third rout,” Lady Hardwick commented, “but it is perhaps as well under the circumstances.”

  Hetty, miserable in the knowledge that she had managed to disgrace herself yet again, rode home in silence. When at last they reached the house on Adam Street, Lady Hardwick allowed Hetty to escape to her room without reproaches on her conduct.

  “Did you have a good time this evening, miss?” Daisy asked as she helped Hetty out of her evening clothes.

  “It was pleasant,” Hetty replied evasively, not wishing to go into details.

  “Daisy,” she asked suddenly as the maid returned Hetty’s simple carnelian necklace to her jewel-case, “has London lived up to your expectations?”

  “My expectations, miss?” Daisy asked, surprised, as she unfastened her mistress’s gown.

  “Yes,” Hetty replied as she stepped from the gown. “Is London what you thought it would be before we came?”

  “Well, miss,” Daisy replied, “to be truthful, it isn’t quite what I had hoped.”

  “I do not find it so either,” Hetty agreed, slipping between the warmed sheets of her bed. “I suppose that is what Papa and Mania tried to warn me about when I first asked to have a London Season.”

  Hetty felt a sharp pang of homesickness at the thought of her mother and father. They had never been so harsh and critical of her behavior. She sighed aloud as Daisy folded her gown away. “Perhaps it will get better. We have been here only two weeks.”

  “Perhaps, miss,” Daisy repeated doubtfully as she extinguished the candles.

  The next day was Wednesday, and Sophie had the pleasure of informing her cousin that while she would be attending the assembly at Almack’s that evening, Hetty would not.

  “For your father is only a squire, and although you may have a fortune, it has the taint of trade,” she explained condescendingly. “Only those of the best ton are granted vouchers to Almack’s.”

  Hetty was disappointed at this news, for she had heard of Almack’s even in Derbyshire. It surprised her, too, that her aunt and cousin would attend and leave her alone for the evening.

  “Sophie was granted vouchers before you arrived,” Lady Hardwick explained. “I know you would not wish Sophie to miss out on attending because you cannot go.”

  “Of course not, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty agreed.

  Still, Hetty could not help feel a little sorry for herself that evening after Sophie and Lady Hardwick departed for the famous assembly rooms. But her evening alone—with no one to disparage her conduct or appearance—turned out to be surprisingly pleasant, and Hetty was able to greet Sophie with equanimity the next morning as her cousin regaled her with tales of her success at Almack’s.

  “I am certain to have ever so many beaus at Lord Rutherford’s ball tonight,” Sophie finished condescendingly, “and I shall pass my partners on to you.”

  Indeed the Rutherfor’s ball that night did much to restore Hetty’s spirits. Dancing was one thing Hetty did well, and she never lacked for partners. She found the gentlemen very charming and complimentary, and even Lord Wakeford, who claimed Hetty’s third dance, did not display his usual mocking smile.

  After a long country dance, Hetty sat alone at the edge of the floor, trying to catch her breath before the next dance, when she saw Lord Satre approaching. Hetty felt her heart sink at the thought of having to dance with the older peer. Although Lord Satre was always impeccably attired and faultlessly well-mannered, there was something indefinable about him that Hetty could not like. The thought of his arms about her the night she had fainted made her skin crawl with distaste, and she determined to avoid partnering him if she could. She shot a quick glance at her aunt, who was conversing with an acquaintance a little distance away, and wondered if she dared avoid dancing with the peer.

  “Miss Biddle,” Lord Satre said with a polished bow, “may I solicit the pleasure of your hand for the next dance?”

  “Thank you, Lord Satre,” Hetty replied with another quick glance toward her aunt, “but I am fatigued and would prefer to sit this one out.”

  “Then allow me to bear you company. Is there any refreshment you might desire?”

  “I would not presume to keep you from the pleasure of dancing with another lady not so fatigued,” Hetty said awkwardly. The idea of sitting next to Lord Satre while his eyes devoured her was as nearly as abhorrent as the idea of dancing with him.

  An almost imperceptible widening of Lord Satre’s eyes indicated his surprise at her refusal, which Hetty knew to be ill-mannered.

  “Another time, then, Miss Biddle,” Lord Satre replied, and left with another bow.

  Hetty breathed a sigh of relief as Lord Satre led another woman onto the floor and relaxed in her chair, waiting for Lady Hardwick to finish her conversation and rejoin her. At that moment young Lord Arlington, who had been out of the ballroom and had not seen Hetty’s refusal of Lord Satre, noticed that Hetty did not have a partner and requested the pleasure of her hand. Unthinkingly, Hetty accepted, but then realized as she rose from her chair that she had just administered a snub to Lord Satre. It was one thing to sit out a dance, but quite another to refuse one gentleman’s hand and then accept another’s for the same dance. It being too late to change her mind, Hetty hoped that the onlookers would think she had promised that particular dance to Lord Arlington earlier.

  Lord Wakeford, standing across the ballroom with Beau Brummell and his court, noticed the cut Hetty had given Lord Satre, as had many guests.

  “Who is the young girl who administered the shocking cut to Satre?” the Beau asked when Lord Satre did not remain in Hetty’s company.

  Jules smiled. “That is the provincial heiress I have been telling you about, Miss Biddle.”

  The Beau looked at Hetty with heightened interest. “Is she indeed? I have enjoyed the amusing anecdotes you have regaled me with at White’s, but she may have made an enemy there.”

  “Miss Biddle is so ignorant of the ways of Polite Society that I doubt she knows she administered a cut by refusing to allow Satre to remain with her until she was claimed by a previously-engaged partner or until the dance was over,” Jules commented, causing several of the gentleman surrounding the Beau to shake their heads in amazement at such shocking ignorance.

  The Beau also looked at Wakeford in amazement and then gracefully extracted his snuffbox from his pocket and flicked it open. “It is a pity for Miss Biddle, but what can one expect of a girl from the country?” he asked rhetorically as he took a pinch of snuff from the porcelain box. “I never go there myself. It is much too barbarous. It is fortunate Miss Biddle is an heiress of great wealth, although even that may not be anough to tempt any gentleman to ally himself with such a rustic.”

  “Yes, she is quite the green girl,” Jules agreed. “Although I think her foolish rather than brainless,” he added, “more like a half-baked young cub.” He laughed aloud. “Half-baked Hetty,” he said to the Beau, recalling Miss Biddle’s given name.

  “Half-baked Hetty,” the Beau repeated, amused. “Quite apt, although one should not refer to a young lady, even one from the country, by her given name. Biddle. Hmmm. Bacon-brained Biddle?” he suggested. “It does not have quite the same ring of truth as does ‘Half-baked Hetty.’ Perhaps one need not follow the rules of etiquette so strictly when bestowing a sobri
quet.”

  The members of the Beau’s court laughed, repeating the nickname among themselves, and then quickly departed to circulate in the ballroom, each being eager to be the first to inform their friends of this latest example of the wit of the Beau and his friend Lord Wakeford.

  Lord Arlington returned Hetty to her chair after their dance, and Hetty found Lady Hardwick waiting for her with a grim expression. Her aunt barely waited for Lord Arlington to be out of earshot before hissing angrily in her Hetty’s ear.

  “What did you mean by cutting a man of rank like Lord Satre? Do you wish to ruin us?”

  “Cut?” Hetty asked, surprised. “I confess it was rather ill-mannered of me, but no more, surely.”

  “You refused to partner a peer of the realm, clearly did not allow him to remain with you and wait out that dance for the next and then immediately accepted another gentleman’s hand for the same dance. If you refuse to dance with one gentleman, you must refuse all others that evening as well. To do otherwise is to be inexcusably rude.”

  “But I do not like to be in Lord Satre’s company, and did not wish to dance with him. I know it was not well done of me to accept Lord Arlington’s hand for the same dance, but I simply did not think. And for all the other guests knew I might have promised that dance to Lord Arlington earlier in the evening.”

  “In which event you should have allowed Lord Satre to remain with you until Lord Arlington claimed his dance and have then partnered Lord Satre for the next dance you had available.

  “It makes no difference whether you like a prospective dance partner’s company or not, Henrietta,” her aunt continued berating her niece. “One need not like a person to dance with him. And what is there not to like about Lord Satre? He is both titled and wealthy.”

  Hetty made no response, recognizing the justice of her aunt’s words. She had known she was being impolite to refuse to partner Lord Satre, yet she could not be sorry for it. But, knowing she would not be able to explain the strange, unclean feeling being in Lord Satre’s presence engendered, she remained silent.

  “Fortunately, Lord Satre is disposed to allow for your youth and inexperience in the ways of Society,” Lady Hardwick continued. “I apologized to him after the dance, and he is taking you for a ride in the park tomorrow afternoon. You will not insult him again.”

  “But, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty began.

  “That is enough, Henrietta. You will be guided by me in this,” Lady Hardwick ordered, and Hetty subsided.

  Hetty feared that her cut of Lord Satre would prevent her from having partners for the rest of the evening, but if anything, she found herself a more popular partner than ever. Yet it seemed to her that many of the gentlemen looked at her oddly, with tiny smiles that mirrored the amused one she had so often seen on Lord Wakeford’s lips when he was in her company. No, she reassured herself, she was only becoming too self-conscious because of the incident with Lord Satre and was reading too much into people’s expressions.

  Chapter Five

  The morning after the Rutherford ball, Jules descended to the breakfast room at his usual hour of seven and was surprised to find his sister there before him. He always rose early in order to enjoy a ride in the near-empty park, but Emily and his mother rarely rose before ten during the Season.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so early this morning, sister?” he inquired as he poured a cup of coffee and helped himself to some kidneys and rashers from the covered dishes on the sideboard.

  Emily waited until her brother had filled his plate and seated himself across from her before setting down her cup of chocolate and answering his question.

  “I thought the breakfast room would be a private place in which to give you the scold you deserve.”

  Jules smiled indulgently. “What have I done to earn a scold from you?”

  “I heard of the nickname Miss Biddle was given last night, and I suspect you are the one who bestowed it upon her,” Emily said frankly.

  “I confess,” Jules said lightly, finishing a rasher and turning his attention to the kidney remaining on his plate. “It came to me as I was conversing with the Beau. I had been explaining to Brummel that Miss Biddle is simply a green girl from the country when the alliteration of her given name and the phrase half-baked occurred to me. My remark was overheard and spread about.”

  Emily looked at her brother disapprovingly. “You look pleased with yourself. I think it was a very unkind thing to do. Imagine how Miss Biddle must feel to be so labeled.”

  “Save your pity for those more deserving of it, sister dear,” Jules advised, irritated at having his sister find fault with him. “One as wealthy as Miss Biddle can do nothing that will put her out of favor with Society.”

  Emily frowned at her brother in real displeasure. “Miss Biddle’s wealth does not mean she cannot be hurt by such a nickname being attached to her,” she admonished. “When I met Miss Biddle at her come-out ball, I quite liked her. She appeared to be a good-hearted and unaffected girl. You have often complained about the usual simpering Society misses. Yet here is a young woman not of that stamp and all you can do is make her a figure of fun to the Beau and his set. It was not well done of you.”

  Emily paused a moment and continued thoughtfully, “I think Miss Biddle cannot be very comfortable with her aunt and cousin. I never cared for Lady Hardwick and her daughter, and it appeared to me they treat Miss Biddle with indifference, if not actual dislike and unkindness. I rather suspect Lady Hardwick of agreeing to sponsor her niece because of the doors Miss Biddle’s wealth would open to them. Lady Hardwick is only the widow of a baron.”

  Jules’s first reaction to his sister’s dressing down was irritation that his younger sister dared read him a scold, but the justice of her remarks prevented him from making the cutting rejoinder he wished. It was true he had not considered Miss Biddle’s feelings. If anything, he had assumed that one of her wealth would be invulnerable to Society’s scorn. He had watched with interest her debut into the world of the haut ton since the dinner at the Duchess of Grimwold’s, deriving amusement from the blunders she made as she attempted to find her feet in a milieu that was totally foreign to her. He had not meant to be unkind. Could he have hurt her? His conscience awoke and pricked at him uncomfortably.

  “I am sorry, Emily, if I caused Miss Biddle any pain or embarrassment, but there is little I can do about it now.”

  “Yes, there is,” Emily contradicted him. “You can avoid referring to her as ‘Half-baked Hetty,’ and you can be seen in her company. If those gentlemen who know you gave her the nickname see you seek her out, they will know you were only being facetious, and have no real disgust of her company.”

  “Surely I need not go to such lengths,” Jules protested, causing Emily’s green eyes to flash angrily. “However, I shall not again refer to her as ‘Half-baked Hetty’ in company,” he added to appease his sister.

  Emily, however, was not satisfied with this concession. “I do not know what possessed you, Jules. You never used to be so unkind. And to someone who has done you no harm. I intend to befriend Miss Biddle whether you will or no.”

  With that, his sister rose from the table and swept from the room, her head held high and her sarcenet skirts whisking angrily about her feet.

  Jules sat staring at the doorway through which his sister had passed, an expression of astonishment on his face. He had never seen Emily so upset with him and was so used to her usual admiration and unquestioning affection that it discomposed him to have her so angry with him. Perhaps his sister had a point, Jules admitted to himself reluctantly. He should do something to restore Miss Biddle’s credit with the ton. He would ask the chit to go for a drive in the park with him one afternoon. That ought to satisfy Emily.

  The resolution appeased his conscience, and his appetite returned. Jules returned to the sideboard and helped himself to another kidney.

  Neither Lady Hardwick nor Sophie heard of Hetty’s nickname the night of the ball. No o
ne was so impolite as to tell them of it there. However, as soon as it was late enough to make a formal call, one of Lady Hardwick’s acquaintances arrived to have the pleasure of informing her friend of the sobriquet that had been bestowed on her niece—for her own good, of course.

  “It is fortunate Miss Biddle is so wealthy,” Lady Upton said with spurious sympathy after the usual greetings had been exchanged and an offer of refreshment refused. “Such an unfortunate event might be the death of all matrimonial hopes for a poorer girl.”

  Lady Hardwick braced herself inwardly, thinking Lady Upton must be referring to Hetty refusing the dance with Lord Satre. However, she chose to pretend ignorance and gave her caller an inquiring look.

  “You did not hear?” Lady Upton asked with patently false surprise. “But I suppose those who heard the nickname would hesitate to use it in your presence.”

  “Nickname?” Lady Hardwick asked, surprised.

  Lady Upton smoothed her skirts and pretended to adjust the lace on a sleeve before replying in order to prolong her hostess’s suspense.

  “One of the gentlemen, I am not certain who, awarded Miss Biddle the appellation ‘Half-baked Hetty’ at the Rutherfords’ ball last night. I believe it was in reference to her social clumsiness, perhaps following the incident with Lord Satre.”

  “Incident with Lord Satre?” Lady Hardwick asked innocently, although inwardly seething at the news. “Whatever do you mean? You refer perhaps to his invitation to Henrietta and myself to drive this afternoon?” At Lady Upton’s look of surprise, Lady Hardwick knew she had scored a point. Thank goodness she had insisted her niece agree to the outing. Now when Hetty and she were seen with Lord Satre in the park it would minimize the damage done by her unfortunate behavior of the previous night.

  “Gentlemen will have their amusement at the expense of the ladies,” Lady Hardwick continued, smiling and allowing none of her considerable dismay at the news of the nickname to show. “But as you say, one as wealthy as my niece need fear no loss of popularity. Nor one of her beauty, if you will forgive the natural pride of an aunt in saying so,” she added.