A London Season Read online

  “Very good,” Glendale replied. The clerk rushed to open the door for him. Adjusting his cloak against the March wind, Glendale left the shop.

  Another tedious chore taken care of. Mindful of the need to keep up his appearance, Glendale nonetheless resented the time required for the endless measuring and fittings. Fortunately his secretary Stapleton had come up with an excellent suggestion. Observing that the second footman James was virtually identical in build to his master, Stapleton suggested that James be delegated to attend the tedious fittings that Weston required. The arrangement worked quite well. Unfortunately, James’s feet were no match for his lordship’s, and thus Glendale was reduced to calling on his bootmaker in person. But he had faith in Stapleton’s efficiency. Eventually his secretary would find a match for those as well.

  Distracted by the vision of Stapleton interviewing potential servants by measuring their boot size, Glendale took no notice of his surroundings until he saw Lady Barton approaching. He glanced around, but the curiously empty sidewalks of Bond Street offered no escape. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he doffed his hat.

  “Good morning, Lady Barton. What a pleasure to see you,” he lied, with a practiced social smile.

  “Good morning, Lord Glendale. How unusual to see you twice in one week.”

  He ignored the barb. “And what brings you to Bond Street this morning?”

  “A few trifling errands,” Lady Barton replied. The maid standing next to her shifted impatiently from one foot to another, drawing his attention. Maids were by nature invisible, but this one appeared not to have mastered the trick. Glendale’s gaze traveled from her worn, heavy boots, to her shabby pelisse, finally reaching her face where he was surprised to see a friendly smile and a pair of green eyes looking directly into his. My word, she was tall.

  “I am Jane Sedgwick,” the girl said, sticking out her hand.

  He looked at it for a moment before realizing that she intended for him to take it. He grasped it, and was rewarded by a hearty shake. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jane.”

  “Cornelia,” Lady Barton hissed.

  “Oh!” the girl said, blushing slightly. “I meant Cornelia. Cornelia Jane Sedgwick, that is.”

  Reluctantly he released her hand, feeling a slow grin spread over his features. This was better than a play. Not only didn’t the girl know her place, she didn’t even know her own name.

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said.

  Lady Barton stopped glaring at the girl and turned her attention to him. “Lord Glendale, this is my niece, Miss Sedgwick.” She gave the girl a warning glance. “You recall my mentioning her. Cornelia, this is my husband’s nephew, Matthew Kingsley, Viscount Glendale.”

  So this was the niece up from the country. You could tell from the girl’s expression that she had no idea of the faux pas she had committed by introducing herself to a gentleman. Lady Barton would have her work cut out for her, trying to get this girl ready to be presented to the ton.

  “And how are you enjoying London, Miss Sedgwick?” he enquired.

  “Well, I haven’t seen enough of it to tell. The parts I’ve seen have been noisy. And crowded. I never thought to see so many people in my life,” Miss Sedgwick replied with unusual frankness.

  “I am certain that once the Season begins, you will find London to be a very enjoyable place,” he said.

  “I certainly hope so. I wouldn’t like to think that all this effort was for naught.”

  With sheer force of will he maintained his expression, although it was difficult not to laugh. He was tempted to see if Miss Sedgwick could be led into further verbal indiscretions, but the mounting color in Lady Barton’s cheeks indicated that she was at the end of her patience.

  “Very kind of you to have stopped, but I am sure you have more important things to be doing than standing here talking. Good day to you, Lord Glendale.” Lady Barton took a firm grasp of Miss Sedgwick’s arm.

  “Good day to you, Lady Barton. Miss Sedgwick, it was a pleasure. I look forward to encountering you again.”

  With a polite nod, he replaced his hat and continued on. No doubt Lady Barton couldn’t wait to ring a peal over her erring charge. Miss Sedgwick was not at all the thing for London.

  Still, there was something about her naïveté and honesty that had appealed to him. It was as if a country breeze had invaded the stuffy drawing rooms of the ton. But he knew from bitter experience that such innocence was too good to last. Within the month Miss Sedgwick would be a pattern card of every other young lady, whose coy mannerisms concealed a ruthless quest for a titled husband.

  Lady Barton stalked off in the direction of the carriage, and Jane made haste to follow. Her first encounter with a London gentleman had gone far better than she had hoped. She was a fool to have let Rosemarie frighten her with tales of haughty noblemen who were too high in the instep to converse with ordinary folks. Lord Glendale had been very amiable. His manner had been flawlessly polite, but the laughter in his eyes had made her feel like they shared a secret joke.

  And how handsome he was. Tall enough to make her forget her own height, he had a lean elegance that set him apart from anyone that she had ever met before. She couldn’t help contrasting his graceful carriage to the stocky farmers of her native dales. When he had held her hand, she had felt breathless. She wondered if all the gentleman of the ton were as dashing as Lord Glendale.

  Jane caught up with her aunt just as the coachman was handing Lady Barton into her carriage. He waited patiently until Lady Barton was satisfied with the arrangement of her skirts, then spread a lap robe over her. The coachman turned next to Jane and offered his hand to assist her into the carriage.

  Jane took his hand gingerly, unused to such courtesies. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him as he helped her into the seat opposite Lady Barton. The coachman appeared startled at her thanks, and Jane belatedly remembered that London servants did not expect to be acknowledged as persons.

  The coachman shut the door, and a few seconds later the carriage lurched as it was set in motion.

  “Whatever possessed you to behave like that? I have never been so humiliated in my life,” Lady Barton said. Her diamond earbobs trembled in accompaniment to her rage.

  “What do you mean?” Jane asked, startled by her aunt’s sudden change of mood.

  Lady Barton ignored the question, having worked herself into a fury. “And in front of Lord Glendale. Of all people! What must he think of you? And of me, for sponsoring such a forward, brazen miss?”

  “I don’t understand,” Jane said, wracking her brain, trying to determine what had set her aunt off.

  “Of course you don’t understand,” Lady Barton hissed. “You know nothing. Only the most ignorant and ill-mannered of girls would think of putting herself forward in such a way. What prompted you to introduce yourself to Lord Glendale in such a ramshackle fashion?”

  “You didn’t seem prepared to do so, and I could hardly stand there like a simpleton,” Jane defended herself.

  “On the contrary, that is precisely what you should have done. If you had kept quiet, there would have been no need for Lord Glendale to know who you were.”

  Jane was confused. Was her aunt intending to hide her presence in London?

  “But he would have met me at one time or another.”

  Lady Barton breathed a theatrical sigh. “Eventually. But not today, not while you were looking like that.”

  Jane glanced down in dismay. She wore her navy wool frock, one of the few items she owned that her aunt had deemed passable, but there was no denying that her cloak had seen better days. Nervously she fingered a patch where Rosemarie had mended it after Jane had torn the cloak on some briars.

  “Lord Glendale didn’t seem to mind,” Jane said.

  “Matthew Kingsley is a proper gentleman. He is too well bred to let his feelings show, although I am certain that your behavior must have appalled him.”

  Jane considered the idea before dismissing it.
Lord Glendale had been genuinely friendly. He was far too kind a gentleman to judge her so harshly.

  But Lady Barton did have a point. Jane couldn’t count on the rest of the ton being as friendly as Lord Glendale. She knew that proper young ladies did not introduce themselves to unknown gentlemen. But for the last few years she had lived increasingly in a man’s world, dealing with farmers and shepherds, laborers and wool dealers. It would be hard to give up that freedom, and to live in the narrow world that society allotted to unmarried young women.

  “I am sorry, Lady Barton. It will not happen again.”

  “It had better not. If it does, I will send you back home with your ears ringing.” Lady Barton leaned back against the seat, as if exhausted by her fury. After a moment she spoke again. “Fortunately, Glendale is my husband’s nephew, so we can trust that he will not mention your lapse to anyone else. I had hoped for his support in seeing you launched, but now he would only laugh at such a request.”

  Jane thought otherwise. Lord Glendale had seemed to like her quite well. But perhaps Lady Barton was right, having the advantage of long acquaintance with the gentleman in question. Jane bent her head, as if in penitence, and kept silent while Lady Barton began to lecture her on the behavior appropriate to a gently bred miss in her first season.

  Jane let the words wash over her, lost in her own thoughts. Her family was well-liked and respected in the small town of Barkhamsted. Jane knew that some of her neighbors pitied her for her family’s financial condition, but she had never before felt the sting of disapproval. Now that she was in London, she could do nothing right. Her appearance, her clothes, and even her manners were under constant criticism.

  So be it. Jane had never backed down from a challenge, and she wasn’t about to start now. She would show her aunt, Lord Glendale, and the whole of London that Jane Sedgwick could fit into their world if she chose. With a toss of her head, Jane vowed to be the most perfect debutante that London had ever seen.

  “You wished to say something?” Lady Barton asked, irritated at having been interrupted.

  “No, aunt, I was merely nodding in agreement. Pray continue.” Jane listened with fervent attention, wishing that she had a paper and pen to take notes. There was a great deal to learn, if she was going to take the town by storm.

  Chapter Three

  “Have you been to see the new opera, Miss Sedgwick?” Lord Frederick asked.

  “Not yet, but I hope to soon,” Jane replied. Lady Barton had been to the opera just this past week, but Jane had been left behind, judged not yet ready to appear in public. Hopefully that would change, if Jane acquitted herself well tonight.

  A footman cleared away her barely touched plate, and placed a trifle in front of her. She breathed a sigh of relief. Just two more courses before this interminable dinner would end.

  She had looked forward to the dinner party as a chance to show how well she had learned the lessons of the past weeks. What she hadn’t anticipated was that her aunt’s idea of a small dinner party meant twenty guests. Jane had been delighted to learn that Lord Glendale was to attend. But after introducing her to his friend, the exquisitely fashionable Lord Frederick, Glendale had ignored her.

  For the past two hours she had been a model young lady. She even managed to appear interested when Colonel White insisted on regaling her with tales of his military service in the Colonies. Her manners were faultless, but Lord Glendale showed no signs of being impressed.

  Following her aunt’s instructions, she had kept mostly silent during the long dinner. It wasn’t hard, as the conversation centered on people she had never met and places she had yet to see. Every now and then one of her dinner partners would make an attempt to include her, much in the manner of adults condescending to a favored child.

  “Miss Sedgwick is new to the ton, and no doubt Lady Barton wishes to wait until her presentation at court before taking her about,” Lord Glendale said, apparently in response to Lord Frederick’s earlier remark. Jane searched his words for a hidden meaning. Was that a reference to her earlier faux pas?

  “Cornelia will be presented at the levee this week. And of course, the invitations for her come-out ball were sent some time ago,” Lady Barton remarked. “The response has been very gratifying, considering that the ton is still thin of company so early in the season.”

  “I am certain the ball will be a crush, with everyone vying to meet your charming protégé,” Lord Frederick offered.

  “Then I may count on your presence?” Lady Barton asked, neatly springing her trap. Lord Frederick looked startled, but with only a moment’s hesitation, agreed that nothing would please him better.

  “And would you do me the honor of saving a dance for me?” Glendale asked Jane, with the air of one determined to do his duty.

  It irritated her to be regarded in the same light as an unpleasant chore. Jane longed to retort that he needn’t bother, but weeks of Lady Barton’s tutelage had drilled into her what was expected. So instead she replied, “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

  Glendale smiled slightly, a social smile that didn’t reach his eyes. At least he had finally acknowledged her presence. If only he weren’t so formal. Gone was the sense of connection she had felt at their first meeting. The viscount was treating her as he would any distant acquaintance.

  But at least she would see him again at the ball. Thinking of the ball brought to mind her latest worry. “I only hope that I do not repay your kindness by trodding on your toes,” she warned.

  Glendale blinked, as if uncertain that he had heard her correctly. “Such a graceful young lady as yourself must be an accomplished dancer,” he said.

  “Actually, my dancing instructor compared me to an ox with four left feet. But no doubt he was exaggerating.” Jane gritted her teeth in frustration, remembering the fiasco of her last lesson. Really, for someone who made his living teaching young ladies the rudiments of dance, Signor Mancini was proving to be singularly untalented. And there was no need for him to carry on as he did. After all, she hadn’t meant to step on his foot. It just happened. And kept happening.

  “I suppose dancing is one of those things like riding, that I should have learned when I was younger. Nineteen is much too old to start,” Jane muttered to herself.

  Too late she realized that conversation around her had fallen silent. Lady Barton was glaring at her, while the other diners stared at her as if she was some strange animal on exhibit at the menagerie.

  “Not dance? But all girls dance. Just ask my sisters.” Lord Frederick sounded bewildered.

  “What my niece meant to say is that she is not familiar with the latest London dances,” Lady Barton said with a look that promised retribution if Jane contradicted her. Lord Frederick nodded in apparent understanding, and returned his attention to his trifle.

  Jane bent her head in mortification, feeling her cheeks flush. There went her hopes of impressing Lord Glendale with her sophistication. From the head of the table she heard Mrs. Elliot consoling Lady Barton.

  “It is most generous of you to be sponsoring your niece,” said Mrs. Elliot. “Preparing a girl for her first Season can be quite fatiguing, especially at your age.”

  “As I am sure you know only too well,” Lady Barton countered. “You have done so well with those girls of yours. ’Tis a pity that Marie did not take, but perhaps she will do better this year.”

  Mrs. Elliot ignored the implied insult, continuing on her theme. “And how is your sister these days? It seems ages since she has been to Town.”

  “She is doing well, although she prefers to rusticate with that brood of hers.”

  “Such a pity that she doesn’t visit London more often. The last time I saw her was before her marriage. What a beauty she was. She could have had any gentleman in the ton. Even my Harry was part of her court for a while, as was Lord Barton.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Barton replied stiffly. “Alice was pretty, I will grant you that, but hardly a reigning beauty. And Barton was fa
r too intelligent to trail after such a fickle miss.”

  “As you say,” said Mrs. Elliot. “Although I remember it differently.”

  Jane forgot her mortification, intrigued by Mrs. Elliot’s revelations. To think that Lord Barton had been one of her mother’s beaux. No wonder Lady Barton still resented her sister. With two beautiful sisters herself, Jane could feel sympathy for Lady Barton’s plight. She wondered if Lady Barton had always been caustic and bitter, or if she had become so out of disappointment.

  The rest of the dinner passed without incident, and the ladies retired to the drawing room. Jane found herself seated next to the outspoken Mrs. Elliot, who questioned Jane closely about her family. Jane confined her replies to the vaguest of generalities, not wanting to reveal their circumstances. Mrs. Elliot proved persistent, so it was with relief that Jane greeted the arrival of the gentlemen.

  To her delight, Lord Glendale and Lord Frederick chose to lounge against the mantelpiece, next to where she was sitting. Soon after Mrs. Elliot rose and went over to talk with another member of the party, leaving Jane alone on the bench.

  “Lord Glendale,” she began, “I must apologize for my remarks earlier. I spoke without thinking.”

  “No need to apologize,” Lord Glendale replied. “Although, I trust you were exaggerating.”

  Jane looked around, making sure that no one else was within earshot. “I am afraid not. There is so much to learn, and it seems the harder I try the worse I get. I don’t know how I can possibly be ready in time for the ball.” It was a relief to confide in someone.

  “But surely you have been to assemblies before. Even if you know only the country dances, it will be enough.”

  Didn’t he hear what she was saying? “What I meant was that I don’t know any of the dances. I have never been to an assembly, so there was never any reason for me to learn.”

  Gone was the carefully cultivated mask of boredom. Lord Glendale was grinning when he asked, “Never?”

  “Never,” she affirmed. “Unless you count the shearing festival? Just last spring I persuaded Angus MacLeod to show us some Scottish dances. Very energetic they were. But I don’t suppose the Highland jig is popular in London?”