PoetsandPromises Page 6

  “We shall indeed be delighted to attend,” Lady Parker assured Earlywine. “It will be an excellent place to begin the Season’s social rounds.”

  “Now for my invitation,” Lord Sherbourne said. “Miss Ashwood, would you and my sister enjoy an excursion tomorrow afternoon to a delightful bookshop I have discovered?”

  “We should very much enjoy such an outing at another time,” Lady Parker answered. “But I fear tomorrow afternoon is out of the question, for the Duke of Norland intends to call at that time.”

  “I see,” Lord Sherbourne said, and delighted Elisabeth by turning his head and giving a wink. “It would seem Miss Ashwood is correct and that you have made a conquest. We shall delay the outing to the bookshop until the following afternoon.”

  “His grace is only making a courtesy call because of our mishap,” Lady Parker insisted but a delicate rose tinged her cheeks and she quickly changed the subject to the bookshop and kept it there until the gentlemen departed ten minutes later.

  The next afternoon both Elisabeth and Lady Parker waited in some agitation for the Duke of Norland to make his promised call. Elisabeth had never been in the presence, in a formal call, of an actual duke and feared she might make a faux pas. Lady Parker worried that her years in India might have caused her to forget small points of etiquette the duke might notice. Both Elisabeth and Lady Parker had dressed with care, Elisabeth in her new jonquil-colored day dress and Lady Parker in a deceptively simple gown of a shimmering fabric that appeared to change from gold to dark peach depending upon the light.

  “His grace the Duke of Norland,” the butler announced with great dignity as the clock chimed the half hour.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Parker said, rising and curtseying to her noble guest as Elisabeth did likewise.

  Elisabeth was impressed anew by the duke’s appearance, which was in strong contrast to that of the literary set. His morning coat fit so perfectly it looked as though it had been sewn on, the shirt that showed above his buff waistcoat was of flawless linen, topped with an impeccably tied cravat, his trousers fit like gloves and his boots were so shiny the fire’s very image reflected on them. His graying hair seemed only to add distinction to his appearance, not age.

  “I had to assure myself that you were recovered from your fall yesterday, Lady Parker,” the duke said, taking a chair at Lady Parker’s invitation. “I have been berating myself for my clumsiness that caused such an unfortunate accident.”

  “You should not, Your Grace, as it was I who should have been watching where I stepped,” Lady Parker protested.

  “I hope your injuries have healed,” Norland said, looking at Lady Parker’s still-bandaged hands with concern.

  “They are much better, Your Grace. The bandages are only to keep the salve on,” Lady Parker assured him. “Thank you for your kindness in sending the basket of fruit. We enjoyed it excessively, especially the mango. I had not eaten one since I have returned to London.”

  “Ah yes, you have been returned from India only these last six months, have you not? It must be difficult to accustom oneself to our chill country after so many years in a warmer clime,” the duke said with a glance at the blazing fire in the drawing room grate.

  “You see I try my best to reproduce the warmth,” Lady Parker said, following his glance.

  “And I see your cat likes it as well,” the duke commented, nodding toward Revati, who lay stretched before the fire. “That is a beautiful cat. A French cat, is it not?”

  “Yes, Revati is a French cat of the breed they say originated in Ankara,” Lady Parker agreed. “Although she actually came to me in India, where she journeyed with her former owners. She is nearly as well-traveled as I.”

  “I imagine you find your return to England difficult in other ways in addition to the weather,” the duke commented.

  “A bit,” Lady Parker said with a smile. “This morning I had difficulty trying to decide which invitations to accept and which to decline, for I often found I could not remember whether they were someone I had known or not, as many of the young girls I knew are now women grown and married. And since many of the families have been at their country estates since I returned from India, I have not yet paid many calls and brought myself up to date. But we shall make a start with Lady Earlywine’s come-out ball for her daughter, and perhaps I shall be able to remember more after I see people again there.”

  “I also have received an invitation from Lady Earlywine to Miss Earlywine’s come-out ball,” the duke commented. “May I hope you will save me a dance, Lady Parker?”

  “I shall be among the chaperones that night,” Lady Parker replied, “so I fear I will not be able to join those on the dance floor.”

  “Then I shall be pleased to sit out a dance with you.”

  Precisely when fifteen minutes had passed the duke departed, leaving Lady Parker looking rather bemused.

  “Truly, Lady Parker, I do believe I am correct and that you have made a conquest,” Elisabeth reiterated.

  “Nonsense,” Lady Parker replied, but her face had a rather wistful expression as she gazed at the doorway through which the duke had departed.

  In mid-March the weather suddenly warmed, the remainder of the gowns Lady Parker and Elisabeth had ordered were delivered and Elisabeth surprised herself by beginning to feel a certain anticipation for the Season. She had to admit she wished to wear her new gowns in Lord Sherbourne’s presence and see admiration in his eyes. It was a bit disconcerting to find she cared as much as she did for his opinion since they had overcome their initial awkwardness. No longer did Elisabeth view her future as bleak or feel the arranged marriage was the end of her happiness. The promise of a new kind of happiness had entered her life and she was even anxious for it to arrive. The only flaw marring Elisabeth’s contentment was that she had heard no more of the Shelleys, for she had enjoyed Mary Shelley’s conversation and light spirit and found it odd she had heard nothing after Mary Shelley’s insistence that Elisabeth visit them. Elisabeth was reflecting on this fact while working on some embroidery late one morning the week before Easter day when Sherbourne arrived.

  “Good morning, Charlotte, Miss Ashwood,” he said. “Miss Ashwood, I come bearing an invitation I feel sure you will wish to accept,” he announced, handing Elisabeth a folded note.

  Wondering what it could be, Elisabeth unfolded it and read aloud. “Sherbourne, spring has arrived. You and Miss Ashwood must join us for a picnic at St. James this afternoon at three of the clock. Shelley.”

  “Shall we go, Miss Ashwood?”

  “Oh yes, I was thinking about them but a moment since and should like it above all things!” Elisabeth exclaimed without waiting for Lady Parker to give her permission.

  “Richard,” Lady Parker said in a warning tone. “I do not know that this is wise.”

  “It is only a meeting in St. James Park, Charlotte,” Lord Sherbourne persuaded. “I do not think there will be any harm in it. Most of the ton prefer Hyde Park, and with the Season not begun there will be few people about. Miss Ashwood’s maid may accompany us if you wish.”

  “Mr. Earlywine,” the butler announced before Lady Parker could continue her argument against the outing.

  “Lady Parker, Miss Ashwood, good morning. Sherbourne, thought I should find you here when you were not at home,” James said, assuming the privilege of a close family friend by taking a chair without being asked.

  “Earlywine, we have just received an invitation to a picnic with the Shelleys at St. James this afternoon—would you care to join us?” Lord Sherbourne asked his friend. “They do not stand on ceremony and would be pleased if you would come.”

  “Should like it immensely,” James accepted. He turned to Lady Parker.

  “Lady Parker, I come with orders from m’sister and mother to thank you for assuring that ‘Melia’s come-out ball will be a success. My sister is to have a duke attend and they have no doubt that the acceptance is due to the fact you will be there. It is a great honor for th
e daughter of a mere baron, and m’sister is in alt.

  “Begging your pardon, Miss Ashwood,” James added as he realized Elisabeth also was the daughter of a “mere” baron.

  “Granted,” Elisabeth said, amused to see Earlywine make even such a small error in etiquette, although he did not appear unduly overset by it, for his blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he gave a slight bow in acknowledgment of her forgiveness.

  At half past two that afternoon the three friends set out to meet the Shelleys at St James, Molly accompanying Elisabeth at Lady Parker’s insistence. The park, not far from the town house, was not as popular as Hyde Park but it contained many more flowers and the spring bulbs were making a fine display. Elisabeth admired their beauty as they walked over the grass. She had chosen to wear one of her older walking dresses, feeling it would be appropriate for a picnic. However, she knew it to be one of her most flattering older gowns and was pleased to see the admiration in both gentlemen’s eyes.

  “Where shall we find Mr. and Mrs. Shelley?” Elisabeth asked. “The note did not specify.”

  “One may always find Shelley where the water is,” Lord Sherbourne informed her, gesturing toward the canal with his walking stick.

  “I believe I have spotted them,” Earlywine said, veering off to the right where two figures could be seen running along the canal bank.

  Puzzled, Elisabeth wondered what the husband and wife were doing. As they neared the canal Elisabeth was astounded to see the Shelleys were chasing after paper boats.

  “Oh dear, mine has swamped,” Mary Shelley exclaimed as her paper craft suddenly tipped and began to sink.

  Shelley acknowledged their presence with a wave, plucked his still-afloat paper boat from the water and came toward the three. “Sherbourne, one moment,” he called as he strode over to a pile of belongings heaped under some plane trees. There he pulled out several sheets of paper and joined the others, handing them each a piece of paper. “We shall have a proper race now. Mary, show Miss Ashwood how to make a boat,” he ordered his wife.

  Bemused, Elisabeth glanced up at Lord Sherbourne as Shelley sat on the ground and began to fold his paper.

  “If you recall, Miss Ashwood, Mr. Shelley has a fascination with water and boats,” Lord Sherbourne said sotto voce as Mary Shelley approached. “It appears that fascination extends even to the paper kind.”

  “Miss Ashwood, I am so pleased you were able to come,” Mary Shelley said as she came up to Elisabeth. “Have you ever made a paper boat?”

  “No, I fear my education was lacking in that respect,” Elisabeth answered.

  “Then allow me to show you how. Your maid as well,” she added, noticing Molly standing a few steps behind her mistress. “Take your sheet and first fold it thus,” Mary Shelley said, demonstrating.

  Elisabeth and Molly copied Mary Shelley’s actions and in a few minutes had creditable paper boats. They broke twigs for masts, attached the twigs to the boats and joined the gentlemen at the water’s edge.

  “When I give the word, you may launch your ships upon the water,” Shelley ordered. “The last to stay afloat and moving wins, and all must pay the winner a shilling.”

  At Shelley’s command the five launched their paper boats into the water and before long Elisabeth found herself running along the bank with the others, urging her boat to go faster and even stooping to try to blow into its sails. Earlywine’s boat and Mary’s soon swamped, Elisabeth’s stuck against flotsam, Molly’s floated to the shore and remained there. Only Sherbourne’s and Shelley’s boats finished, Sherbourne’s winning by few inches.

  Flushed and laughing, the party retreated to a shady spot near the trees and the losers cheerfully paid their shillings, except Elisabeth, who had had no idea she might require to have coins upon her person that afternoon. Mary Shelley pulled a rug from under the pile of belongings and Elisabeth and Molly helped her spread it over the grass. Mary next took glasses and a flagon of clear liquid from a basket, along with loaves of bread and boxes of what appeared to be dried fruit. When the luncheon was spread out on the rug everyone sat around the perimeter. Shelley reached for a loaf of bread, tore a piece off and passed the loaf to Earlywine, who did the same. Mary passed around the boxes of dried fruit, which turned out to be raisins. Glasses and the flagon came next and when Elisabeth sipped from her glass she was surprised to find what she had thought was white wine was water. All in all she thought it a very odd luncheon, although the Shelleys ate with every appearance of enjoyment and seemed to find nothing lacking. Elisabeth thought that Sherbourne and Earlywine must find the repast as odd as she did herself but they too ate with every appearance of enjoyment, far too well-bred to show any surprise at the unusual collation.

  When the group had eaten their fill Mary repacked the basket and Shelley flung himself on his back, stretching out on the rug. “Ah, what more can one ask—bread, the staff of life, pure water, dried fruits of the vine, good company and my lovely Mary.” He reached up to his wife and pulled her head on top of him. Embarrassed at such a public display of affection, Elisabeth looked away, and noticed a figure in the distance seated under a large plane tree.

  “How odd,” Elisabeth said in surprise. “That person appears to have an easel—could someone be painting outdoors?”

  Intrigued, Shelley released his wife and propped himself up on his elbows, peering at the figure. “I do believe you are correct, Miss Ashwood. Let us discover what he or she is doing,” he proposed, jumping up and striding toward the figure. The others followed, also curious, except Molly, who remained behind to tidy things away.

  As they neared the figure Elisabeth saw it was a woman and that indeed she appeared to be painting. The artist had set up an easel and chair, and a box of oils and a vase of brushes sat near her feet. As they neared the woman looked up and flashed a brilliant smile. Dark, curly hair peeped beneath a fashionable bonnet but her gown was hidden beneath a painter’s smock stained in a rainbow of colors.

  With no hesitation Shelley went to inspect the canvas on the easel. “Come see this, Mary,” he commanded his wife. “This is excellent indeed. You have talent, Miss—?”

  “Thibeau. Evonne Thibeau,” the woman answered, speaking in lightly accented English. “And you are?” she asked demurely, her blue eyes alight with interest and a hint of mischief.

  “Shelley. This is my wife, Mary,” he continued, pulling Mrs. Shelley to his side. And Lord Sherbourne, Mr. Earlywine and Miss Ashwood,” he finished his brief introductions.

  Evonne looked assessingly at the group as they crowded around and Elisabeth noticed that her eyes stayed longest on Lord Sherbourne and Mr. Earlywine.

  “I have seen artists sketch outdoors but I have never seen one bring paints and an easel and actually paint outdoors,” James commented.

  Miss Thibeau flashed another brilliant smile and turned her full attention on Earlywine. “This must be the only way to capture the moment, yes? In Italy, where I lived some years, this is the custom, to paint outdoors, en plein aire. You English, you are slow to try the new, yes?”

  “It is certainly effective,” Earlywine acknowledged, joining the Shelleys, who were still examining the canvas. “The flowers appear so realistic that one feels one could pluck them from the canvas. You are gifted, Miss Thibeau. I am surprised I am not familiar with your name.”

  Miss Thibeau gave a Gallic shrug. “My painting, they are not the style to be in fashion. All is so dark, the paintings here. Except perhaps your Lady Gordon, she is the closest to my style, but soft. Me, I like the colors true. The tulip she is bold red and yellow so that is what I paint. But they do not sell,” she said with another shrug.

  “So I paint the likenesses to pay the bills,” she added with disarming frankness. “Should any of you desire your likeness taken, you must come to Evonne Thibeau.”

  Lord Sherbourne had also been inspecting the painting on the easel. “That is an unusual spelling of your name,” he commented. “One usually finds it beginning with a Y.”
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  “One must stand out to remain in the mind, yes?” Miss Thibeau elucidated. “One must have the difference. I spell Evonne with E, not Y, I am remembered, yes?”

  “Would you care to share our picnic, Miss Thibeau?” Mrs. Shelley asked. “We should be delighted to have you speak more of your art.”

  “Merci, but I must take care of the paints. They must not dry out, and I have been long here already. Perhaps another time, should we meet.”

  Elisabeth, after duly admiring the painting, had been watching the effect the charming artist appeared to be having on Lord Sherbourne and Mr. Earlywine with some consternation, for they were both clearly intrigued by the Frenchwoman. Only Shelley, whose attention was on the painting rather than the artist, appeared immune to Miss Thibeau’s abundant charms. Suddenly Elisabeth felt very much the brown wren next to the ethereal Mrs. Shelley and vivid Miss Thibeau. Her confidence deserted her and as the group left Miss Thibeau and wandered back to the trees Elisabeth grew very quiet. She felt a heaviness of spirit and her newfound happiness in her arranged betrothal vanished as she realized she felt jealous of the artist’s effect on Sherbourne and Earlywine. Disturbed, Elisabeth glanced back a last time at the artist, and when she turned away her eyes met Shelley’s. The poet held her gaze, a wordless communication passing between them, and Elisabeth almost felt as though he had touched her with a commiserating yet reassuring gesture. She sensed that Shelley, at least, found her fully as attractive as he did the artist.

  Not long afterward the party broke up and as the men took their leave of one another Mary Shelley spoke to Elisabeth.

  “Percy and I are settling in Marlow, Miss Ashwood. It is very near London. You must come and visit us. My husband likes solitude but I am fond of company and would be very pleased to have yours.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Shelley, I shall be most happy to call upon you in Marlow,” Elisabeth promised, pleased to know her company was desired by such a beautiful and charming woman. The invitation eased much of the hurt Elisabeth had felt after noting Lord Sherbourne’s and Mr. Earlywine’s admiration of Evonne Thibeau but could not remove it entirely.