“Oh yes, of course
you do,” breathed Lady Pamela.
“You honor me,”
said his lordship.
Lady Pamela dropped
her eyes, and Phillip was quite sure that she was counting her steps. “Are you
enjoying Almack’s?” he asked.
“Oh yes, it is so
very exciting,” Lady Pamela informed the top of his waistcoat. “Mama says that
it is very important that I make a good impression here.”
The marquess’ lips
twitched slightly at this confession. “I am sure that you will make an
excellent impression tonight,” he assured her.
She looked up
again. “Do you think so?”
“I am certain of
it,” he promised.
The rest of the
dance was accomplished in silence, Phillip gazing down at the top of Lady
Pamela’s head with a slight smile. When it ended, he retained her hand, and
asked her to honor him with the country-dance that the fiddlers were striking
up. After glancing anxiously at her mother, who nodded encouragingly, Lady
Pamela agreed, and the marquess led her expertly through the intricate figures.
When the dance was through, he escorted Lady Pamela to an adjoining room, where
he procured her a lemonade before restoring her to her mother, who beamed at
him.
“Thank you for
dancing with me, Lady Pamela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly.
“Oh no, thank you,
Lord Eynsford,” she breathed. “That was lovely.”
“As are you,” he
said. He bowed over Lady Ravenscroft’s hand and took his leave. As he moved away
he saw a young man hurry up to ask Lady Pamela for the next dance. Where the
Marquess of Eynsford had been pleased, Society was not likely to find fault.
The marquess had
the felicity of observing Lady Pamela dance every one of the next five dances,
while he led out onto the floor a selection of young women, not one of whom he
could recall five minutes later. Eventually he returned to his mother’s side.
“Have I made you
happy?” he asked, bowing before her.
“Lord, Phillip, I
don’t know. Are you going to marry any of ‘em?” she asked.
“Did you have a
particular favorite?” he asked. “I could call on her parents tomorrow.”
The dowager shook
her head and stood. “You are humoring me. I know you’re bored to tears.”
“I could never be
bored when I am with you, Mother,” he promised.
“Do you talk to
your opera singers that way?” she asked.
“Not at all. They
frequently bore me,” he said lightly.
The dowager
laughed. “Well, Phillip, I suppose I must thank you for doing as I asked. I
know you aren’t interested in any of these girls, but do keep it in mind that
you need to be married, and soon.”
“I will marry when
I find someone as interesting as you,” he promised, raising her hand to his
lips.
She snatched it
away. “Don’t try to get around me that way, Phillip. I can’t be charmed away
from my goal.”
“I am very well
aware of that,” said the marquess. “Your persistence is one of your most
singular characteristics.”
“Poppycock,” said
his mother. “Someday you’ll get your comeuppance, Phillip, and I’ll be glad to
be there to see it.”
“I’m sure you
shall,” said the marquess smoothly, and, taking her arm in his, led her from
the room.
A fortnight after
the funeral, all the visitors who had congregated at Morgan Park to pay their
last respects to Lord Morgan had left, and only Isobel remained with Letitia,
helping her to prepare for the removal to London. Morgan Park was beginning to
take on the melancholy aura of an unoccupied home. Most of the furnishings were
now swathed in holland covers, while pieces that Letty anticipated she might
wish to have in her new home were moved to an unused part of the house to await
shipping.
Potential tenants
had been shown around the property and, in spite of its dilapidated condition,
the house's handsome design and the park's location and aspects made it
attractive, and a tenant was soon found. Letty had been willing to accept a
rent that would just cover the mortgages, and was optimistic that the tenants,
a retired admiral and his wife, would be able to afford to make improvements to
the house and grounds.
One afternoon in
December, despite the gloomy weather, Letitia's heart was light as she realized
that a few more days would bring her duties at Morgan Park to a close. After
she and Isobel lunched, she left Isobel penning a note to Exencour, informing
him of her plans to rejoin him shortly. Although Letty had sorted through most
of the cellar on the previous day, she wished to finish some small tasks, and
she hummed as she walked down the stairs. While she rummaged through trunks of
linens and other pantry wares, she pondered the feeling of pleasure that the
ability to control the course of her own life gave her. Though she had made
many difficult decisions, they had been her choice; she had not been required
merely to make the best of a bad situation not of her creation.
After completing
her survey of the trunks and determining that their contents could best be
given to the parish or the tenant farmers, Letitia's eye fell on a dusty box in
a nearby corner. Opening it, she was astounded to find several bottles of wine.
There were two old sherries, a fine claret, and two bottles of vintage
champagne. Since everything in Baron Morgan's cellars that he had neglected to
consume had been sold to a wine merchant in Chester, Letitia was surprised to
discover this cache, but she gathered the bottles in a worn out tablecloth and
brought her booty upstairs.
She found Isobel in
the sitting room transcribing inventory lists that Letty required before she
left and the tenants took over. Letty dumped the bottles on a settee in a
little cloud of dust. At the clinking, Isobel looked around. A smile crossed
her lovely face.
“Letty, it is
nearly time for dinner, and I think a glass of sherry would be delightful,” she
said.
Letty smiled and
went to ring the bell. “We shall have Banning open it for us, I think,” she
said. She peered at the bottles. “I believe that this must be some of the
amontillado laid down by Alfred's father. I wonder how it came to be sitting in
a box with the rest of these?”
“It makes no
difference how it came to be there, I suppose,” responded Isobel. “We can
simply enjoy it.”
“Indeed,” smiled
Letty. The aged butler appeared. “Banning, please open this bottle of
Amontillado and chill the champagne if you can. And ask Mrs. McCreavey to do
what is possible to create a more elegant dinner.” She turned to Isobel. “I
think we should dress for dinner and enjoy a celebration, Lady Exencour. What
say you?”
With a laugh Isobel
agreed, and they went arm in arm to their rooms to change. When they returned
to the drawing room, the bottle of sherry and two glasses waited on a small
table. Letty and Isobel looked rather out of place in their elegant dinner
dresses, for Letty had daringly chose to put off her widows weeds and shone in
a low cut sky blue silk gown with a gauzy silver over dress open down the
front, which glittered next to Isobel's sage green gown, embroidered with tiny
gold flowers, and ornamented at the hem with deep rows of gold and dark green
embroidery. Their elegance was jarring in the room from which so many pieces of
furniture and pictures had been removed, but they sipped the sherry in good
spirits, chatting amiably about their fast approaching trip to London.
Some time later,
when they entered the dining room, Letitia giggled, for the long dining table
looked faintly ludicrous, as most of it was covered with holland cloth, with
one end flung back to display a selection of the finest Morgan family plate. A
bottle of champagne held pride of place in an immense and rather ugly silver
urn that had been filled with snow.
Isobel and Letitia
exchanged amused glances at the sight, but they seated themselves gracefully,
and prepared to do justice to the wine. Mrs. McCreavey had attempted to achieve
a festive meal, even though they had been living very retired as they prepared
Morgan Park for its new residents, and the kitchen contained little wherewithal
for fueling great culinary endeavors. Still, two courses were offered, with a
very tender lamb and some fresh flounder bathed in a creamy sauce providing the
centerpiece of the meal.
While Banning
solemnly opened the bottle of champagne, Isobel waved one hand gracefully. “Upon
my word, Letty, I feel exactly as I did when I was first out, and a glass of
champagne was a symbol of the delightfully glamorous world outside of my
schoolroom,” she said. “How charming this is.”
Letty nodded. “Tonight,
perhaps it can also be viewed as a symbol of the delightfully glamorous world
outside of my marriage,” she responded.
“A toast to it,”
Isobel cried, lifting her glass toward Letty. “And to happier and far more
amusing days.”
The two ladies
drank, smiling their approval of the vintage bottle. Letty refilled their
glasses, and sipped enthusiastically.
“Do you know,
Isobel, I rather fancy myself as a dashing and slightly dangerous widow,” she
observed in a thoughtful tone. “I could wear very décolleté gowns with nothing
but an invisible petticoat beneath them, and learn to drive myself in the Park
in a high perch phaeton.”
“Yes, and you could
flirt desperately with ineligible gentlemen, and make all of the very young men
fall in love with you
au coeur perdu
, and let them drink champagne out
of your slippers at very, um, very select card parties,” answered Isobel,
entering into the spirit of Letitia’s daydream.
“It is decided
then. I shall become a fatal widow, and gentlemen across England will be
clamoring for my smiles,” Letty declared, her spirits quite flown with
imagination and alcohol.
“Perhaps you could
have a wardrobe of gauzy purple and lavender gowns made up for the Season,”
conjectured Isobel, entering into the fantasy with enthusiasm. “You could
dampen them for balls, and if you did not first catch your death of pneumonia,
I can only imagine what Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would have to say.”
The champagne was
disappearing rapidly and Letty rang the bell for the second bottle.
“I could lease an
elegant little house in Clarges Street and allow my cicisbeos to lavish me with
compliments and gifts,” she continued merrily. “And instantly banish from my court
any who spoke a cross word to me.”
“Enough, Letty, you
will have me hoping that Exencour met with an accident on the way back to
Strancaster if you continue in this vein,” said Isobel laughing as well. “Oh,
why, when I was insisting I would never marry, did I never think of becoming a
widow without becoming a wife?”
“Alas,” Letty
continued with a dejected air. “I fear that my jointure will not run to such a
fashionable existence.”
Isobel looked
concerned. Letty's observation was, of course, true, but she wished to elevate
her friend's spirits, not depress them, so she cast about rather desperately
for a less expensive fantasy life for Letitia.
“The Ladies!” she
exclaimed triumphantly.
“The Ladies?”
inquired Letty with an owlish look as she refilled both glasses from the fresh
bottle.
“Llangollen,”
responded Isobel mysteriously, but Letty nodded in recognition.
“Indeed. There is
an excellent notion. What need have I of gentlemen or money? Lady Sarah and
Lady Eleanor managed famously on only a few hundred pounds per annum. And all
the world came to them, they had no need of elegant houses in Clarges Street.”
“Who shall keep you
company, Letty?” inquired Isobel, “I do not think that you would care to be
merely a Lady for it would be rather a lonely existence; you must have a
companion.”
“Oh, there are any
number of ladies of my acquaintance who would be delighted to cast aside their
existences as companions, or genteelly impoverished governesses. Indeed, I
think I could find one or two married ladies in situations like mine to join
me. There is no difficulty there,” Letty answered expansively.
Isobel nodded
wisely. “No doubt,” she said, but then a look of alarm appeared on her face. “Letty,
I do believe that The Ladies of Plas Newydd wore only riding habits. Do you not
think you might tire of riding habits?”
Much struck by this
question of a la modality, Letty regarded Isobel seriously as she refilled
their glasses. “It is a grave concern to be sure,” she said. “Indeed, I do not
think that I could support a riding habit as a costume on a constant basis.”
“I suppose there
must be some reasonable alternative,” postulated Isobel.
“We could wear
daring red silk ball gowns, damped, and without petticoats each day,” proposed
Letty.
“How very shocking,
my dear,” said Isobel in a comfortable tone. “Only I fear you will have to name
your house 'Place Infame' rather than Plas Newydd. And indeed, red silk is
quite ineligible in the country you know. Decidedly
de trop
, my dear.”
“Besides, if my
companion had recently left employment as a governess she might feel quite
uncomfortable wearing red after months and months in brown stuff, I suppose,” said
Letty consideringly.
“But brown is so
lowering to the spirits; I should think rather that she might feel very much
relieved,” countered Isobel.
“Well, I certainly
would,” remarked Letty. “I am feeling quite irritated after only a few weeks in
mourning. I vow that the very sight of a black dress depresses me.”
“It is hideous,”
agreed Isobel. “We were in mourning for Exencour’s brother until very recently,
and while I was very fond of Charles, I could not but think that he would not
have wished that on his family.”
“When I am a fatal
widow I shall wear red ball gowns then,” said Letty firmly. She drained her
glass and eyed the empty bottle sadly.
“It sounds
delightful,” said Isobel comfortably. “I have never known a fatal widow. Will
it be terribly scandalous for us to be friends?”
“Terribly,” stated
Letty. She looked down at her empty glass, and tears began to well up in her
eyes. “Oh, Isobel, how glad I am to have you here.”
“I am so glad to
have you restored to me as well,” said Isobel, patting her hand. “Now we need
only set about making you content. If all it takes is champagne and red ball
gowns, it will be quite simple. Don’t cry, Letty. We will make sure that you
and the children are happy.”
Letty blinked back
her tears. “How foolish I am to weep,” she said. “I must look forward to the
future, now that Alfred is in my past.”
“Exactly,” said
Isobel. “Whatever sort of widow you are, Letty, it most definitely will be
better than being his wife.”