Karen Harbaugh (17 page)

“Excuse me, my lady”—Mama’s voice was firm— “but I am not precisely sure how you may be concerned with my daughter’s come-out.”

The viscountess eyed her with some irony. “Loyalty, you might say. I may not have liked my son’s marriage with you—and I still do not, so don’t be getting any ideas—but my granddaughter is a Canning for all that, and no one can say a Canning does not make a push to do what is right. I believe I have entry into the most desirable circles; I can make sure Georgia gains entry into them, too—if, that is, I find her presentable enough.”

I could see some hesitation in Mama’s eyes, but she said, “I am sure that is not necessary, Lady Canning. I believe my new station is adequate enough to provide for my own daughter.”

The viscountess emitted a disbelieving snort. “And whom, may I ask, do you know well enough to gain vouchers for Almack’s?”

A slight flush crept up into Mama’s cheeks. “No one,” she whispered.

“As I thought.” Her ladyship nodded with satisfaction. “You will admit that it is desirable that Georgia be married well, and that I can provide suitable entree into the right circles.” Mama nodded, glancing at me sadly. I could see she had wished to launch me into those circles herself. I said nothing, for her sake. “Then you will allow me to present my granddaughter.” This was a statement that sounded very close to a command.

I looked at Mama beseechingly. I did not want to be presented by the dowager viscountess—I could hardly call her Grandmother, for she did not seem so to me. But Mama gave her head a tiny shake, saying, “I think, Georgia, your grandmother is right; it would be best for you to have an influential entree into society. Indeed, it would be more proper that your father’s family present you than Sir Jeremy’s.”

“But Mama! I would rather wait and have you present me. I don’t care about the first circles of society. I—”

“Not care about society!” The viscountess glared at Mama.
“Your
influence, I have no doubt! No Canning would be so lost to propriety!”

“No, no! It is not Mama’s fault,” I cried, “it is just that I had not thought of marriage yet, I—”

“Nonsense!” stated her ladyship. “If you have not thought of marriage, it is time that you did.” She turned to Mama once again. “I shall have my daughter, Lady Stoneham, call upon you. She will chaperone Georgia along with her own daughter to all the proper functions. I shall procure the vouchers for Almack’s and make all the necessary introductions.” She rose. “I expect my granddaughter to be dressed in the latest mode, but in a modest manner; you may send the dressmaker’s bill to me.” She left before I could make any more protests.

I turned to Mama pleadingly. “Surely, Mama, you wouldn’t let me go with that—that old harridan!”

“Georgia!” Mama said sharply. “You must not speak so! She is your grandmother.” She did not meet my eyes, however, and was silent for a moment. She drew in a breath before saying: “It is for the best, I think. My dear, even though I am now Lady Swift, I have not the entree to the best places where you should go to find a suitable match.”

“I can wait, truly I can!” I cried.

Mama took my hands and patted them. “For how long?” She smiled sadly. “It may take more than a couple of years before I myself am established creditably, which leaves that many fewer years for you to have time to see a larger world than what I have had to offer you. If we had a wider, more respectable circle of friends, perhaps we could rely on that. But we do not; a widow like myself, you know, has to be discreet, if not entirely retiring. I want you to have more than one year to look about you for a husband.” I could not look at her. “You know I mean this for the best, don’t you, love?”

“Yes, Mama,” I said dully. I wanted to tell her that I did not want to marry, but I knew it was useless. I felt very much alone.

Lady Stoneham called on us in less than a sennight’s time. She was a somewhat vague woman but seemed willing to take me on. She assured me that I would like staying with her while Mama and Sir Jeremy were gone. Her daughter, Amelia, was an amiable girl, she said, and she was sure we would become firm friends. I did not think much of her, but I doubt I would have thought much of anyone who would come from the dowager viscountess.

Both Mama and I packed at the same time, she for her honeymoon, I for Lady Stoneham’s house. We did not speak to each other much the week before our departure; indeed, we spoke less than usual with each other after Lady Canning’s visit. I was not inclined to talk. I wandered about our house, even passing through the servants’ quarters. I would not live in this house again. Mama’s solicitor was selling it while she was on her honeymoon and I at Lady Stoneham’s. When Mama came back she would live with Sir Jeremy—and I as well, if I did not “take” in my first Season.

I felt awhirl with uncertainty and fear; I was abruptly presented with a London Season, and while I had wistfully thought of the possibility, I had not seen it as a reality or that it would come upon me so soon. Then there was the frightening prospect of being presented not by someone I knew and loved, but by complete strangers, for all they were my family.

And what came after my Season? What if I did not do well? What came after that? I did not care to think about it, but the questions persisted, and it seemed I retired to bed more often than not with the headache. Mama cast me a few anxious looks all the while, but I merely smiled at her. I did not want to let her know my trepidation; indeed, I hardly knew how to voice my fears, so uncertain was I.

My smiles must have reassured her, for when she was not looking concerned, she was smiling dreamily, absently playing with various trinkets she had packed in her bandboxes and leaving them out on her bed. Grimley merely sighed and put them back in. Mama’s dreaminess depressed me further, even though I had intended for all this to happen—her marriage and my push for independence. Perversely, the more I smiled and reassured her, the more I wished I did not feel as though all the world were abandoning me.

Mama went with me one afternoon to Lady Stoneham’s town house in Pall Mall, to see me settled in. I had expected a dark and gloomy interior and was further depressed to find the house as light and airy as ours. Lady Stoneham was all vague assurances that I would fit in well and would find all to my comfort.

This seemed to reassure Mama, and she kissed me farewell. She threw off her newlywed haze for a moment to look at me solemnly. “We never did talk about your injury and what happened when you came home with Lord Ashcombe, did we, love?” She touched my cheek gently. “I think I shall not say more than this: I believe you may trust Lord Ashcombe. He is a good young man.”

“Still setting your cap for me, are you, Mama?”

“He cares for you, I think,” said Mama. She looked at me as if to ask if I cared for him in return, but she did not speak.

“But then, we have not seen him this age, have we not?” I replied lightly.

Mama merely shook her head at me. She touched my cheek again, then gave me a hug. I shall not cry, I told myself sternly, and smiled, kissing her in return.

She finally left. I looked about the drawing room and then silently down at my hands. A small plump one covered mine and patted them. “So brave of you not to cry, my dear,” murmured Lady Stoneham. I looked up. Lady Stoneham smiled kindly. “I know I would have. Perhaps you would like to rest for a while; I shall show you your room myself. Then when you are rested, you shall meet Amelia; she is out with a friend, but she should be back in an hour.” She rose. “Do let’s go up, shall we?”

I followed her upstairs and was shown to a pretty pink-and-white room. I felt a little better. Lady Stoneham seemed quite kind. Perhaps it was not going to be so bad after all. She left after fluffing the pillows on the bed, and I lay down for a while. I suppose I was more tired than I thought, for when I next opened my eyes, the sun had sunk considerably, and I judged it close to dinner-time. I sprang up and rang for a maid to help me prepare for it.

I dressed in good time and descended the stairs. Lady Stoneham glanced up and upon seeing me smiled and beckoned. “Ah, just in time, I see! Amelia is here, and her friend, too. I am sure you shall be bosom bows in no time at all,” she prophesied. Lady Stoneham ushered me into the parlour. “Amelia!” she cried, “do see who is here! Georgia, I would like you to meet my daughter, Amelia. Amelia, this is Georgia Canning.”

I curtsied and held out my hand. Amelia was a pleasant enough looking girl, a bit on the plump side, blue eyes as vague as her mother’s, and softly waving brown hair. She smiled. “Pleased to meet you,” she murmured politely. Her eyes met mine, then wandered away. She may have been pleased, but she did not seem interested. I shrugged mentally. She seemed agreeable enough;

we should rub along tolerably well, I thought.

“And this,” said Lady Stoneham, turning from Amelia to the girl behind her, “is Amelia’s dear friend, Lady Caroline Emmett-Johns.”

I turned swiftly to see if my ears had deceived me. I discovered they had not. It was indeed Caroline Emmett-Johns, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Of all the people I had to meet now, it had to be her.

Chapter Nine

I knew Caroline from Miss Angstead’s Seminary for Young Ladies, and I detested her. She was the reason Mama decided to ask that I be a parlour boarder at Miss Angstead’s, for Caroline had tormented me endlessly there. Perhaps Caroline did it at first because I was different from the others. Perhaps also it was because I never could toady to her, which she expected from everyone who entered her sphere of influence. She may have been an earl’s daughter, but I never could curl my tongue around a compliment just to flatter.

I suppose if I had just suffered in silence, she would have contented herself with mere contempt. But I think she became my only true enemy because of the frog. Truly, it wasn’t
my
fault, because
I
didn’t put it under her pillow. I wouldn’t have touched the nasty thing, for I hated frogs. It was Mama, really. Once, when Mama visited me at Miss Angstead’s, she laid her hand by my pillow and, after a startled jump, pulled something out from under it.

There, in front of my eyes, was a frog, dangling by a hind leg held daintily between my mother’s index finger and thumb. Its bulbous eyes blinked solemnly at me. I shrank back.

“Ugh! Please put it away,” I said, shivering with disgust.

“Mmmm. I did not think you usually kept such things in your bed,” she replied calmly. “Who put it there?”

I had no proof, so I did not want to say, but I could not help looking down the room toward a certain bed.

Mama rose to put the frog out the window, then paused. She smiled a wide and slightly wicked smile and slid the loathsome creature under a pillow two beds down. It was Caroline Emmett-Johns’s.

It was on that day that Mama had decided I would become a parlour boarder. It was satisfying to see the other girls’ envious faces when I went to my new room and even more gratifying when I heard Caroline Emmett-Johns’s shriek of disgust later that night. I knew afterward that she must have made one of her sycophants put the frog in my bed. Whenever she had the chance (which was seldom, once I had become a parlour boarder, thank goodness!), she played tricks on me, and they were more mean-spirited than ever before. And who else would have known where the frog had originally been placed?

And now, as I went forward to greet Caroline as politely as I could, I looked in her eyes and knew she had forgotten nothing. Her lips lifted in a small smile, but her eyes were just as assessing, just as cold, as they were when she was at Miss Angstead’s.

Caroline rose and curtsied and held out her hand. I raised mine as well, but she barely touched my fingers before she drew away. “I believe we have met,” I said boldly. I was proud to find my voice did not waver.

“Yes,” said Caroline. “I believe we have.” She tried to sound pleased.

Lady Stoneham nodded. “There! I knew it. You shall all rub along very well; you are acquainted after all. How delightful!” This last remark seemed to be directed at the door; the butler entered and announced dinner.

We removed ourselves to the dining room, and Lady Stoneham waved us to our chairs. I stared at Caroline, wondering if she had changed much since I had last seen her. She picked up a napkin as a cup of tea was placed in front of her. Caroline smiled at me and said lightly, “Having tea is so civilized, don’t you think? And what a blessing napkins are, too! I wonder what our ancestors did when they dirtied their hands before tea?” She looked at me meaningfully as she deliberately scrubbed her right hand on the tablecloth. “You must know, Miss Canning; you were the scholarly one at school, I remember.” I heard a sycophantic giggle from Amelia. Lady Stoneham smiled vaguely but pleasantly.

Lady Stoneham, I thought grimly, should never take up soothsaying. It seemed Caroline Emmett-Johns had not changed at all.

* * * *

I almost felt as if I were back at Miss Angstead’s. I had to bear the snubs of Caroline Emmett-Johns again, and if there was not a fawning group of girls around her, as there was at the Seminary, Amelia did a fine job of making up for the lack of numbers. There was not a day spent in her company that did not consist of “Lady Caroline said,” or “Lady Caroline heard,” or “Lady Caroline went to,” until I was near to screaming with vexation. I suppose Amelia would have been an amiable enough girl, but she had not a thought in her head other than what Caroline might have put there.

Caroline was a frequent caller at the Stonehams’, and Lady Stoneham approved the acquaintance since Caroline was from one of the first families and so amiable, too—to her uncritical eyes. I will say one thing for Caroline: she was nothing if not subtle. She said nothing that was not unexceptional on the face of it; her gestures, the tone of her voice, and her glances, however, conveyed her meaning well enough. Only two things seemed beyond her sneers: those clearly superior to her in rank and consequence, and the male of the species.

I discovered this when Samantha came to call one day so that we could decide on some ribbons for our hair. I was in the parlour trying to keep my expression as bland and uninterested as possible;