Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
"Then Lord
Ravensworth's
nemesis, be warned! I shall never permit you to get the better of me again."
He watched her retreating back until she disappeared through what he rightly supposed was the door to the servants' staircase. He allowed that his interest was piqued, but only slightly. She was an unusual wench, but what of it?
His nemesis?
The
devil take
her! She was only moderately pretty and he had no time for wenches who played hard to get. There were plenty more blossoms on the tree and none of them the least distinguishable from the others. He had only to stretch out his hand and take what he wanted. Still, he conceded reluctantly, it would be some time before he would forget that kiss.
Lady Esther Grenfell was a handsome matron of eight and forty who in her youth had been accredited as one of the Great Beauties. She was, at the present moment, sitting up in bed placidly sipping her first cup of coffee of what gave
every evidence
of becoming an intolerable morning. Sir John, her lord and master, and a devoted husband, did not appear to be in an amiable temper. Like a caged tiger, he paced back and forth before her bed, casting the blackest looks in her direction.
"Esther," he said accusingly, "your daughter has gone too far. She is incorrigible! Have you no control whatsoever over her deportment? What she needs is a good horse whipping, and if she don't mend her ways from this day forward, that is exactly what she is going to get."
Lady Esther nibbled on a piece of dry toast. "My dear," she began in a soothing tone, "Harriet is merely young and inexperienced. I know that sometimes her behavior appears
to be . .
.
outrageous
, but she is a good girl at heart."
"Appears
to be outrageous? Madam, it
is
outrageous." Sir John was not to be placated. "Do you understand, my dear wife," he went on severely, "that our youngest child is gaining the reputation of a flirt, a high flyer, a hot at hand,
hoydenish out and
and
outer?"
"You exaggerate, dear."
Sir John held up his index finger. "Item one—a broken engagement; item two—smoking a cigar, quite brazenly, in the gardens of Carlton House—of all places; item three—a disastrous curricle race to
Twickenham
in which she nearly broke her neck; and last but by no means least, item four— imbibing at
Almack's
—
Almack's
I say—and insulting Lady Jersey while she was in her cups."
"Do you tell me that Sally Jersey was foxed too?" Lady Esther smothered a giggle.
"Madam, you deliberately mistake my meaning. This is no time for levity. Your daughter's lack of conduct brings shame to our family name."
Lady Esther swung her shapely legs out over the bed and went to stand before the cheval mirror. "It's true," she agreed amicably. "Harriet's behavior is not all that one could wish."
"It isn't
anything
like what I would wish," went on Sir John in querulous accents. "She drags herself from one sorry scrape into another. Where did we go wrong? Of our other five children, not one has ever given us a moment's uneasiness."
"Yes, they certainly spoiled us with their easygoing, tractable dispositions."
"Why can't she be more like them?"
"Because, my dear," replied Lady Esther giving her husband an affectionate look, "as you know perfectly well, your youngest child takes after you."
"You are referring, I collect," he responded stiffly, "
to
what you are used to call my 'misspent youth'—the follies of a mere boy. But let me advise you, madam wife, that conduct which is tolerated in the male of the species is regarded as an abomination in the softer sex."
"D0 you say so?" Lady Esther asked, raising one quizzical, elegant eyebrow. She put up her hand to push back a straying silver lock at his temple. "Why you hypocritical, aging reprobate, your sister Jane—yes,
Briony's
mother of impeccable propriety of
later
years—was not one whit better. It was the unsavory reputation of the scapegrace
Grenfells
which made my father hold out against our nuptials for so long. You never cared a fig for family name until you started your own nursery."
Sir John made as if to say something but Lady Esther went on in a rush.
"Oh, you reformed, I know it, if that was what you were about to say. And I have no doubt that Harriet shall reform too."
"And when are we to expect this auspicious occasion?
Today?
Tomorrow?
Next year?"
"I expect that she will follow in her father's footsteps, dear. When the right man comes into Harriet's orbit, she will do everything necessary to win his regard."
Sir John appeared to be stymied until he remembered that he had one more card to play. "You do realize, Esther, that your daughter's subscription to
Almack's
has been canceled?"
"Well, what of it?"
"What of it? I cannot believe that you miss the significance of such an unprecedented action. She has been ostracized."
"Pooh!" Lady Esther slipped out of her nightdress and began to don a cotton chemise that was all but transparent. Sir John surveyed his wife's slim form with an appreciative eye.
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "These patronesses of
Almack's
have too high an opinion of their powers. We
Grenfells
are quite above their touch. I really don't care to spend my Wednesday evenings with such dull— but oh such pattern cards of propriety—ladies. What hypocrites! It is common knowledge that Sally Jersey's own mother-in-law was
Prinny's
lightskirt
not so long ago, yes, and would be so still if he were to give her the nod. And Sally thinks to set herself up as a
patten
of morality for girls like Harriet?" Lady Esther's voice shook with indignation.
Sir John, very wisely, kept his counsel to himself. After a thoughtful pause, his wife continued in more moderate tones, "However, for
Briony's
sake, if for no other reason, Harriet must be made to see the error of her ways."
Lady Esther struggled into her blue gown of fine cambric and Sir John moved to do up the fastenings at the back. Blue had always been her color, he thought idly, as he watched her run a comb carelessly through her short, dark curls. Even now, after thirty years, he still wondered at his good fortune in having captured the Incomparable Lady Esther Woodward, the belle of her first and only Season before she had succumbed to his persistent attentions and accepted his suit. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and eyed her with mock suspicion.
"Madam
wife
, you know that I am putty in your hands. Tell me what you have in mind." She moved toward the adjoining dressing room, which they had, for convenience and privacy, turned into their own quiet place of retreat. Lady Esther plumped herself down on one comfortable armchair and indicated to her husband where he should sit. He retrieved a cigar from a box of inlaid ivory on a nearby table and lit it before joining her. "Well," he said at last, "I await your pleasure."
"John dear, our daughter Harriet is not our only problem. In her own way—a very different way, I grant you—your niece Briony is going to pose just as great a dilemma."
"Nonsense!" interposed Sir John emphatically. "Briony is a virtuous lady and everything she should be. She has a sweet disposition, is not frivolous, her word may be relied upon, and she isn't ever likely to embark on the sort of hair-raising larks which seem such a deuced attraction to our headstrong daughter."
"My dear, she is a Quaker."
"What has that to say to anything?"
"I'm not sure. But don't you find her
somewhat.
. . strait- laced?'
"How so?"
"Well, for example, the gowns which we ordered arrived this week, unexceptionable, very pretty, modest gowns for a young lady about to embark on her first Season. They suit her admirably. But do you know
,
I figured there was something not quite right about them when she began to wear them."
"And?"
"It took me some time to deduce that any gown which was cut lower than here"—Lady Esther indicated halfway down her bosom—"had been filled in with a scrap of lace."
"It simply shows that my niece has a proper degree of modesty in one of her tender years."
"My, you have changed," retorted Lady Esther. "But there is more. Briony is honest to the point of incivility. One daren't ask her opinion on any subject for she gives it without considering the consequences."
"Now that is ridiculous. If you ask for her opinion, why shouldn't the gel give it to you without wrapping it up in clean linen? She sounds very straightforward to me!"
"Oh quite, but it isn't the way one goes about things in Polite Society. She has much to learn. Now this is where I believe that I have hit on the perfect solution." She smiled in obvious satisfaction.
"Which is?" he encouraged.
"I have asked our daughter if she will act as
Briony's
mentor and show her cousin how to go on in Society."
Sir John looked to have lost the use of his tongue. Finally he sputtered, "Have you lost the power of your wits, madam? Our daughter couldn't show a rag-mannered fishwife how to go on in Society. Briony don't need Harriet's advice."
"Don't be so obtuse, you silly blockhead." The words were harsh but her manner mild. "Harriet will show Briony by example. And she is hardly likely to set Briony a bad example, is she?"
"Esther, I hope you know what you are about. I have grave misgivings about this cork-brained scheme. It seems to me that you should have done it the other way round."
"But John, Harriet is too headstrong to take correction from such a proper girl as Briony."
"Precisely!"
"Do you have such a low opinion of your daughter, sir, that you condemn her out of hand?" There was an unfriendly sparkle in Lady Esther's eye.
"Of course not, my love," said Sir John in a mollifying tone. "No need to protect your cub from me. It's simply that I wish her to be more like her mother."
"But she is like
you.
How many times do I have to say it? And it is precisely because she is like you that I find her the most—oh—attractive and yes, adorable of all our children."
"Esther!"
"No, don't rebuke me, I am being honest, a virtue you have just confessed that you admire. Harriet may be a trifle unruly—well, perhaps that is an understatement—but she is such a high-spirited, vivacious girl. Those were the qualities that I so much admired in you when we first met. Oh John, you were
so . .
.
alive
." She put a hand out impulsively to touch his arm. "I won't have her spirit broken."
"Nor shall it be, my love," he soothed, covering her delicate hand with his own strong one. After a moment, his grip tightened and he pulled her onto his lap. "And do you believe that this aging, reprehensible reprobate is less alive than formerly?"
"Only a trifle!"
She gave him a saucy look.
"Then, madam wife, I shall correct
that
misapprehension on the instant." And he gathered his lady wife to him in a lingering embrace.
"Pay attention," said Miss Harriet Grenfell. Two pairs of eyes watched her every move intently.
"All must be done with the greatest finesse. Take the snuffbox with your right hand"—she produced a slim, oval container of beaten silver—"and pass it to your left, like so. Then rap the snuffbox with the index finger of your right hand." She rapped smartly on the lid of the box. "Now Vernon, watch carefully. This is the tricky part. Open the snuffbox with a flick of your left thumb." She opened it with a practiced movement. "The wrist must be relaxed. If you open the snuffbox too hastily, you may spill the contents of the box and become a laughingstock. Now offer the box to your nearest neighbors." She extended the open snuffbox. "Take some," she encouraged.
Briony looked into the box. "It looks like cinnamon. How am I to take it up?"
"Like this," replied her brother, proud of his superior knowledge.
"Just a pinch between the thumb and forefinger."
He looked for confirmation to Harriet, who nodded her approval. Briony followed his example. "I watched Lord Ravensworth take snuff at the ball," Vernon said by way of explanation. At the name,
Briony's
ears fairly pricked.
"No. Don't put it directly to your nose," Harriet admonished. "Rub it between your fingers first. Now sniff delicately with each nostril like this." Harriet demonstrated. Her audience obeyed.
"Quite pleasant," said Briony, and on the next breath gave a violent sneeze. She smiled sheepishly. "What did I do wrong?"