Chapter 56: Affairs of Honor
The gray light of a cold January morning was brightened by filaments of rose and apricot clouds in the east. The sun would rise within minutes, and it was just possible it would be Tavington's last dawn.
Not likely, but bad luck was always a possibility. It was chilly enough that he remained in the coach, waiting for Torrenham to arrive in this quiet corner of Hyde Park. John sat across from his, glumly regarding his pocket watch. To his right. Francis Rawdon napped—or pretended to nap—his eyes shut and his long legs stretched out before him. Beside John was an army surgeon of whom Rawdon thought highly, David McArdle, come to treat any wounds ensuing from this morning's events. Tavington's pistols, shining clean and loaded, were in their case.
John and Rawdon had called on Torrenham yesterday, while his lordship's mother and sisters sobbed in the next room. They had made the arrangements and told Tavington the weapons were to be pistols.
"Better than swords, Tavington," Rawdon informed him cheerfully. "No one need be hurt at all with pistols, if you both keep your heads. Demanding it be sabres, what with your reputation as a swordsman, would be very bad form. Pistols are best in these cases."
"I daresay. Rather than carving him up, I can simply blow his head off."
"Be sensible, Tavington. You can do nothing of sort. If you kill the fellow, you'd have to leave the country, and where would you go? We're at war with the world! Fire into the air—er, no—into the ground." Rawdon burst out laughing, to John's annoyance. "Sorry, Sir John. It's just that I knew a fellow once who fired into the air and the bloody ball came right down and wounded him in the shoulder! Silliest damned thing you ever saw!"
John grinned in spite of himself. "Into the ground then. I'll remember that, if I'm ever so unfortunate as to find myself duelling. Fire into the ground, Will. And don't get shot. The ball tonight would have to be cancelled, you know."
"Yes, Jane!" Tavington said sarcastically. "You sound like my wife, the both of you!"
"I consider that a compliment," Rawdon said primly. "Mrs. Tavington is a woman of very nice judgement. I'm sure she did not carry on like Lady Torrenham and her daughters."
"No, but she told me that if I were so careless as to let myself be killed by Torrenham and miss the ball tonight, she'd hunt him down and shoot him herself."
"Hot tempered, too," John remarked, taking it as a joke.
Rawdon laughed, the curious braying laugh that always made Tavington smile. Let them laugh. Tavington was not sure she was joking. She and his sisters had been very quiet at dinner that night, knowing better than to plead with him. Upstairs, he and Jane had made passionate and satisfying love together, and then, just as he was falling asleep, she had spoken softly into the darkness.
"If by some ill chance that wretched man should---well, I won't let him strut about afterwards—I'll shoot him down like a dog!"
"No one's getting shot down like a dog, Jane," he had mumbled. "It is simply a duel. We'll fire into the air and then go our separate ways."
"I certainly hope you don't shoot him, William. If you did, you'd only prove him right."
Torrenham could no more afford to kill him, than he could afford to kill Torrenham. This was not war, but a personal quarrel, and reasonable men knew how to conduct affairs of honor. Though sometimes--
"There he is," Rawdon said. Another carriage, this one's door displaying the Torrenham coat of arms, appeared through the trees. Tavington and his party exited the coach and stood waiting. Torrenham emerged from the coach and would have fallen to the ground, had it not been for his footman. He laughed, and the rest of his friends appeared. They had evidently never gone to bed, for they were in evening dress and extremely drunk. One of them staggered over to Tavington, and attempted to play the part of the concerned second.
"Good day to you, gentlemen! Ah, Colonel Tavington! A word with you, sir." He swayed on his feet, trying to focus. "If you will apologize to Torrenham, this business need go no farther. The remedy lies with you." He smiled with satisfaction at a mission accomplished.
"I beg your pardon," Rawdon broke in coldly, "but we feel that is Lord Torrenham's place to offer an apology. Colonel Tavington considers himself the injured party. Consult with your friend, sir, and see if he is inclined to be reasonable."
"Reasonable?" Torrenham stumbled toward them, his eyes fixed on Tavington. "Apologize to him? Out of the question. I told you we'd meet, sooner or later, Tavington. You don't have your bully boy dragoons with you today. I know more than you think about the things you did in America. What are you going to do? Burn my house down? Shoot me in the back?"
Tavington heard his brother's furious hiss. He laid his hand on his arm, feeling oddly at home with this kind of hostility. "In point of fact," he said coolly, "I don't recall ever shooting anyone in the back, except for cowardly rebels running to save their worthless hides. I shot a few in the face, though," he said, staring Torrenham down. "It made a frightful mess."
Torrenham was drunk, but coldly angry with it. "Today you will face an armed man. I hope it will not be too inconvenient for you."
Rawdon sighed deeply. "I suppose it is too much to hope for that the two of you might be persuaded to set aside your differences and shake hands?"
Tavington snorted, "Unlikely at this point."
"Out of the question," Torrenham agreed.
"Very well, let us have a look at the pistols."
The seconds –at least Rawdon and Sir John--arranged the business very efficiently. Mr. McArdle was introduced, and Torrenham granted him a brusque nod. The principals chose their weapons and took their places, waiting for Rawdon's signal to begin.
Tavington stood calmly, feeling the light cold wind on his face. Hyde Park was a muted palette of browns and greys in winter, a drab place to take leave of life, if such was his fate today. Tavington had told Jane that this duel was a matter of form, but that was not entirely true. Torrenham appeared to have taken a genuine dislike to him. Whether from guilt or shame or politics, or simply a petty spite at being thwarted when he was winning at cards, this man had become a genuine enemy. It would not do to be careless. If he were killed, Jane might kill his opponent or she might not—but she would certainly never forgive him.
Rawdon was counting, low and slow. Tavington walked forward, the frozen grass crunching beneath his boots. One—two—three—
One of the Torrenham's friend's coughed. There was a brief laugh from another—a silly, drunken laugh. Four—five—six—
Three poor children were watching the duel, some twenty yards away, whispering behind an elm. Tavington twitched a smile at the solemn little girls. Seven—eight—nine—
"Ten! Turn, gentlemen!"
Tavington pivoted on his right heel. The woods wheeled around, and Tavington found himself looking down the barrel of the pistol held in Torrenham's fist. The nobleman was glaring at him, lips pulled back from his teeth in a rictus of hatred. There was a split-second of anxiety and then the roar of a gunshot. He almost started at the sudden thunderclap. The gunshot was echoed by the shrill screams of the little girls, and the sounds of their footsteps, running away through the brittle underbrush. A hot wind fanned his cheek. A tree behind him splintered as the ball thudded into it. Torrenham had intended to kill him, and had damned near done it.
Tavington could hear John's gasp of horror, and Rawdon's deep sigh of relief. Furious in his turn, Tavington extended his arm, and slowly pointed his pistol at Torrenham, who paled with the realization that he had spent his shot too quickly, and that Tavington now had all the time in the world to fire.
The pistol was heavy. Tavington was not sure how long he could aim it before his hand became unsteady. Even were it only a minute, he reflected happily, it would seem an hour to Torrenham.
His opponent had drawn himself up, tense and expectant, his side presented to Tavington, as offering the smallest target. He was even sucking in his stomach, which made Tavington smile. It was not a nice smile. Tavington considered his options, and moved the muzzle of the pistol, sighting down the barrel directly at Torrenham's right eye. A mutter of anxious conversation. Rawdon cleared his throat. Tavington ignored everything but the man who had dared to threaten his life today. Torrenham was wilting rapidly, and Tavington smile grew wolfish. Let him remember this day.
"Get on with it!" one of Torrenham's friends called out.
"Hard luck on Torrenham," one of the muttered to his companions. "What with the odds on Tavington, Torrenham was set to make a pretty penny if he killed his man today."
He was going to kill me to win a bet? Tavington snarled, and his finger twitched on the trigger.
"You were going to kill me for money, you cowardly filth? Better men than you have tried to kill me, and every one of them is rotting his grave. A fool and his money are soon parted."
How he would love to finish off this scoundrel. Jane's words came back to him, unbidden. "If you kill him, you'll simply prove him right about you."
"That's enough, Tavington," Rawdon said quietly. "Let's finish this. Don't torture him."
"You're right." Tavington smiled, and prepared to fire. Torrenham was white with fear, and abruptly bent double and vomited into the dry grass.
Ignoring the muffled groans and cries of "Shame," Tavington swung his pistol to the side, and fired into the ground.
"You may have come here to kill me today, Torrenham, but I had not the least of intention of killing you. I am a Christian gentleman and a soldier of the King, and I kill England's enemies, not casual, rude acquaintances for an idle wager. Stay out of my sight. You were lucky today, though you may not realize it."
Rawdon threw him a grim look and called out, "Gentlemen, will you declare your honor satisfied, or do you wish to continue?"
"I'm quite finished here, my lord," Tavington replied.
"Very well. Torrenham?"
Torrenham straightened painfully, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. He looked at Tavington with loathing, and hesitated. Tavington hoped he would not be so stupid as to demand another shot. If he does, I shall have no choice but to kill him, and that will complicate my life in all sorts of undesirable ways. He stared hard at his opponent, willing him to see reason.
"I am—satisfied, Rawdon."
"Then shake hands, and let's say no more about the business."
Tavington steeled himself and walked over. There was a brief touching of their hands, which ended with both men struggling not to wipe them off in front of the assembled witnesses. Tavington nodded to them all curtly and turned to walk back to the carriage. Rawdon went to retrieve Tavington's pistol from the humiliated Torrenham. The surgeon looked relieved that he had no work before him, and took a sip of the brandy he had at hand in case of wounds.
John fell into step beside his brother, and put a hand on his back. "For a minute there I thought you were going to shoot him."
"For a minute I thought I would, too. I wonder how much he lost by not killing me?"
"More than he can afford, no doubt. It won't make him like you any better."
"Fair enough. I don't like him at all."
A far more cheerful group drove back to Mortimer Square, where Rawdon and McArdle were invited to join the Tavingtons for breakfast. They were greeted by Jane, Caroline, and Penelope, all of them very happy to see Tavington alive and unhurt. He answered their unspoken questions at once.
"No, I did not shoot Lord Torrenham. He shot at me, but missed: I simply fired into the ground. So you see—it's over and no harm done."
Jane was unsatisfied. "He actually tried to shoot you!"
John told her, "Apparently he had wagered on the outcome. I am happy to say he seems to have lost a considerable sum."
"Perhaps that will teach him not to challenge a soldier at his own business!" laughed Rawdon. "And now, Mrs. Tavington, you need not fear for your ball tonight!"
-----
Jane was resigned to a black ball gown. Hers was actually very nice. She would be wearing black for months, so it was a relief to find that well-made black clothing did not look so ill on her. William, of course, looked handsome in anything. In fact, the black garb brought out the brightness of his eyes. No doubt the ladies assembled would be swooning over him. The fact that he had fought a duel that very morning would only add to his reputation.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself firmly. We want the ladies to swoon over him. It's useful, as long as they don't carry it too far, and William doesn't do more than flirt.
She refused to let Pullen powder her hair. Something about the dust made her sneeze convulsively. It was bad enough being near other people's powdered hair. The day after the Drawing Room, Pullen had washed all the powder and pomade from her hair, rinsed it with lavender and chamomile, and curled it anew, complaining of the difficulty of dressing fresh-washed hair. Jane did not care. The washing and the subsequent rinse had given her light brown hair an uncommon shine. With black clothing, too, the powder tended to drift down and showed terribly on her shoulders. This more natural look was preferable. If her hair must be powdered in future, perhaps she would wear a wig made with naturally white hair, and keep her own hair cleaner thereby.
She had ordered a very pretty pair of high-heeled slippers in black grosgrain with black velvet shoe roses. They even fit fairly well. Jane had taken to wearing them since they were delivered, trying to break them in a little, so she would not have blisters after a night on her feet.
Caroline and Penelope had entered into the spirit of the affair, ordering very becoming gowns. Not black, of course. Jane approved the silvery blue charmeuse of Caroline's polonaise, and the coral pink damask of Penelope's. Lucy had not attended a ball in years, and would be resplendent in a gown of shimmering dark gold taffeta. Jane had no idea what kind of jewelry Lucy might have for such an occasion, but Caroline and Penelope owned some very good pieces indeed.
Their dinner was eaten in the breakfast room, for the dining room was arranged for the late supper that would be served to the guests. Rivers had looked in on the musicians, tuning up in the ballroom, and reported to Jane that all was well there.
"Very respectable men, Madam. They will be fed in the kitchen while the guests are at supper. While they dine, they will take it in turn to come upstairs and entertain the guests. I made clear that we must have music throughout the meal."
"It sounds splendid, Rivers. Thank you for all your hard work."
The house looked perfect. Vases were filled with white hothouse flowers: gardenias, jasmine, camellias, stephanotis, lilies. The air was redolent with their fragrance. Jane hoped it would cover some of the less appealing smells that arose in rooms fills with people eating heartily and dancing vigorously. She had hardly seen the ballroom before preparing for this occasion. The pastel plasterwork of the ceiling was entrancingly ornate. No, it was not Fanshawe House, with its classical pillars and air of antique splendor. This was quite a different sort of place, and with proper care, it looked bright and welcoming, as well as elegant.
William's portrait had been hung in the ballroom in the middle of the long wall opposite the doors. She was sorry she had not yet had the time to visit Sir Joshua's studio. It was a marvelous picture, and nearly did justice to William's handsome face and figure. I wish I were a bit better-looking, she sighed to herself. I think it would be so delightful to have my portrait painted—except the painter might make me look even worse than I think I look! Still, a picture with my little boys when they are older would be so sweet. At the very least, I shall have a miniatures made of them as soon as they are—I don't know—five or six.
Thinking of miniatures made her think of her mother's portrait, which she kept on her dressing table. I should have it more elegantly framed, and hang it in my room. There are all sorts of things I can do with my room, if it is really to be mine. She had become accustomed to the heavy, old-fashioned furniture. In fact, she rather liked it now, since it reminded her of the Elizabethan grandeur of Wargrave. She did not like the hangings, though, nor the cracked green morocco leather upholstery in the chairs and benches. Now that the rest of the house was much improved, she would think about decorating her room more to her own taste.
The Willow Room should be hung in green—the rich green of my malachite box! I shall buy some pretty ornaments for the room—some Wedgwood vases, perhaps. I could enlarge the little cupboard at the end of the hall and make it a dressing room where Pullen can sleep. I could partition off a section for another water closet. If I could persuade William to move into Letty's old room, I could have a door cut into the wall to allow us free access into one another's rooms without all the tiptoeing down the hall.
She smiled to herself, picturing her improvements, as she walked downstairs to inspect the ground floor. The dining room was filled with extra tables and chairs for the supper. It too was decorated with fragrant white flowers. Her sisters-in-law had advised her about the supper, and the menu seemed very promising. Jane wanted the evening to be pleasant and enjoyable for her guests, rather than extravagant and intimidating, as thus she chose food that she was sure would be agreeable to everyone. The library was in good order, the billiard room ready to entertain the gentlemen. The study had been locked, and would remain so. Too many important papers were kept there to allow guests to casually rummage about. The morning room looked very nice, too, but she knew of no reason the guests would be coming in here. The breakfast room was already tidied from their dinner.
It was a beautiful house, and she was coming to love it. It was full of delightful objects. She paused in the hall, admiring the curio cabinet filled with Dresden figurines and Chinese jades and Russian amber carvings. There were mosaics pieces from Tuscany, and an Indian goddess in ivory that Jane loved. There was a collection of jeweled snuffboxes on the middle shelf. In the center was placed the Death of General Wolfe snuffbox that had caused so much trouble. Jane still considered it absurd, but it had been a gift, and if Lord Colchester noticed it, he would see that she was showing gratitude and respect to him. She felt ready to face him, and Kitty Sattersby, too!
The only anxiety this evening was Lady Cecily. Mrs. Watkins had given her an unwelcome surprise early this afternoon, going out unexpectedly and sending a note telling her of a sick sister that she must go and nurse. It was terribly awkward. Fabienne was instructed to sit up with Lady Cecily this evening, and Caroline and Penelope would look in on their mother occasionally. Just when everything became too complicated, a Mrs. Venable arrived, bearing a note and a reference from Mrs. Watkins. Mrs. Venable had long experience as a sick nurse, knew how to administer the laudanum drops that Lady Cecily required, and would be happy to take care of the poor lady for a few days until her friend was once again at their service. She was a stick-thin woman, with enormous red knuckles and very large and yellow teeth. Jane did not much like the look of her, but they had little choice. She rebuked herself for judging by appearances.
After settling the issue of pay, she admitted, "We shall be very glad of your help. We ask only that you remember Lady Cecily's age and station, and treat her appropriately. She is very dear to her children."
"Of course, ma'am. I'll see to her. Don't you give it a thought!"
Caroline had not been so easily soothed, and had accompanied Mrs. Venable up to Lady Cecily's apartments, showing her where the drugs were kept, introducing her to Fabienne, and telling her that she would come up around ten o'clock to see if her mother was settled for the night. Jane, in her turn, fed the babies, and spent some time playing with Ash before letting Pullen finish preparing her for the ball.
Just before eight o'clock, the Tavingtons gathered in the ballroom to greet their guests. The women admired Tavington's portrait: the men talked about the early morning duel.
"Thank God that none of our guests are friendly with Torrenham or his connections," John said. "It would make it all dashed awkward. With any luck the fellow will take himself off to the country and hide his face for awhile. Disgraceful business!"
"John," Tavington grinned. "Did you wager on me?"
"I would have," his brother replied honestly, "but I couldn't find anyone to take my money. The odds were all on you. Anyway, Torrenham may be angry, but I imagine that his womenfolk are singing your praises tonight, now that they have him home safe and sound."
"I doubt it," Tavington replied with shrug. "I'm sure the whole episode has been twisted to my disadvantage. I really don't care though. Torrenham's one of Rockingham's clique, and a friend of Fox, and there nothing I despise more than a Whig!"
"Not all the Whigs are so bad, Will. You mustn't be so tied to a party. I heard a young fellow in the debate last week—William Pitt, old Chatham's younger son—"
"He was reared to be a politician, but he can't be much over twenty-one, John!"
"Not much, but he talks good sense. He says he's a Whig, but an independent Whig. He's much in his father's vein, especially in his views on America. I thought I might put him up for a membership at White's."
"Do you really think he'd join?"
"Don't know. Worth a try--a bit of conciliation, you know. I invited him and a few of his friends tonight. He said he'd come."
"You did?" Tavington thought it over. John was in the Commons, after all, and had to compromise and collaborate with all sorts of men with all sorts of views. The elder Pitt, the Earl of Chatham, had opposed the King's American policies, not because he favored American independence, but because he thought the policies were misguided, and would lead to the very thing they were intended to repress. Uncomfortably, Tavington acknowledged that the grand old man might have been a true prophet.
The front door was opened below. Someone was being shown upstairs. To his pleasure, Lucy and Protheroe were announced, the very first arrivals.
"Oh, Lucy!" Caroline cried. "You look beautiful, dearest!"
Tavington smiled at the sight and went to greet her. His youngest sister did indeed look lovely. He was not sure when he had seen her looking better, even in the freshness of her first youth. In her golden gown, she looked like a queen. Or rather handsomer, he thought wryly, remembering Queen Charlotte. Protheroe was grinning like an idiot, proud beyond measure of his wife. Tavington still wished Lucy had married better, but he could not help liking Protheroe, and admitted that having a clever lawyer in the family had its advantages. Just behind the couple was old Mr Protheroe, Edward's father, stumping along, smiling broadly. He had not been in this house since Lucy eloped. Quickly, Tavington introduced him to Jane, whom he had not yet met.
There was little time for chat, for the guests were arriving thick and fast. Rawdon came early, teasing Tavington about dueling, but more about the possibility of meeting an heiress tonight. Tavington had not seen his female St. Leger cousins in years, but had heard they were an attractive group of girls, with thirty thousand pounds apiece. A great deal of money: but Rawdon would no doubt require it.
Tavington's portrait was much admired, especially by Rawdon, who made them all laugh by his vocal praise of the good likeness of the horse. A rumble and bustle, and "The Earl of Colchester" was announced.
The man himself seem to take up a quarter of the room, with his waving arms and his loud voice and his vitality. The Sattersbys followed more sedately in his train. They were greeted very kindly by all. Tavington watched Jane, unobserved, and was pleased and touched by her calm smile and well-chosen words. Colchester's greeting showed her to be a favorite of his, and he began telling Penelope about the great doings at Wargrave. And then he saw Lucy, and was too overcome with emotion to speak much to anyone but her for half an hour. But Tavington had overheard enough to understand that the prayed-for event had take place, and that Kitty was once again expecting a child. When quizzed discreetly by the womenfolk, she told them " August."
"I am so ill in the morning," she complained. "I shall enjoy this evening the more for it. Bill says we must leave early, so I get my rest. I expect we shall be gone a little after supper time. I am not to dance, either, which seems a shame."
"A great shame," Caroline replied kindly, "but your health must be everyone's first consideration."
Tavington was still hanging back, trying to understand himself. He had braced himself to feel drawn in by Kitty's charms once more, but in fact he felt nothing. Kitty had glanced at him--a secret, longing glance, full of meaning. Sattersby clung to her side, watching her jealously, but had been distracted by a question from Caroline and had missed the look. Tavington simply bowed to her, and greeted his cousin politely. He had no particular desire tonight to embroil himself in things that could only lead to unpleasantness. Kitty was very pretty, and was nicely dressed, but his heart, he found, did not thrill at the sight of her.
John drew close, and muttered, "You're looking at her again. Behave yourself."
"I shall, I assure you. It's very curious, but I no longer—find her irrestistible. She is as handsome as ever, but something has changed."
"Yes. You."
He left then, to greet the Parrotts. Tavington wondered if his brother was right. He moved over to Jane's side, and joined her conversation with the Tazewells, still puzzling over his lack of reaction to Kitty.
Lord and Lady Melmerby arrived with their bevy of beautiful young daughters. St. Leger came a little later, along with his elder brother and his wife. The musicians were playing some pleasant airs, and the sound of music and conversation rose with the scent of white flowers.
The portrait was admired some more, Little groups stood before it, discussing the striking contraposto of the pose. Sir Joshua Reynolds arrived, and was greeted as a champion of portraiture.
Jane was looking anxiously for Letty. The dancing would soon begin, and there was no sign of the Fanshawes. She had not seen her sister since the Queen's Drawing Room and still had impressions she wanted to share with her about that great event.
Other people came instead, and were announced, some political friends of John's. One name she recognized, and was surprised to see the man was so young, until John explained to her that this Mr. Pitt was the son of the Pitt of famous memory. He was a slender, not unattractive young man, whom she suspected had not come to dance, but to talk politics. It was an outrage against women that a man would come to a ballroom and not dance with the ladies in it, but as long as he behaved himself, he was welcome for John's sake.
"The Viscount and The Viscountess Fanshawe" entered at last, looking like the perfect couple. They were both clad in magnificent black, and their hair was perfectly white. Jane personally thought Letty looked better with her naturally black hair, but their appearance certainly had an impact. Letty was by far the most beautiful woman in the room: Kitty Sattersby was lovely in her own way, Lady Helena was the prettiest in a family of pretty daughters, but Letty outshone them all. She was the lodestar of feminine attractive in the room: the men, attached and unattached, gravitated her way.
Lord Fanshawe smiled, very pleased with the sensation their entrance had made. He spoke briefly with Sir Joshua. His own praise of the portrait was more specific, more measured, and therefore more precious and impressive than the unthinking words of others. Jane liked the picture because it was of William, but it was interesting to hear Lord Fanshawe discoursing on why it was also Good Art.
They opened the dancing. With all the extra guests, there would be at least fifteen to sixteen couples dancing at a time, but the ballroom was large enough to hold them comfortably. As always, there were older men and women who had no intention of dancing, but seated themselves on the sidelines, content to watch and gossip. Card tables were set up in the drawing room for those who preferred that pastime.
Tavington led Jane out to begin the minuets. They stood facing each other smiling, and moved effortlessly into the figures of the dance. It was promising to the best ball of Jane's life. Much as she would like to, Jane did not feel she could spend the evening dancing. She must see that her guests were cared for and acknowledged.
To that end, she had given Tavington strict instructions to dance every dance, if possible, and to make a point of asking ladies who seemed to be neglected. She had suggested as much to John, too, with a look as reproachful as it was pleading. He laughed and agreed, and Jane was satisfied to have carried her point. She would dance with those male guests who asked her, but she was not in one place often enough for many to track her down.
Lord Colchester did, of course, feeling that he would be a bad guest if he neglected Jane. She appreciated the good-nature behind his request, though he really was quite a bit like a dancing bear. Rawdon asked her as well; and St. Leger, and Tazewell: men whom she was beginning to see in the light of friends. Bellini arrived and could not be refused a dance.
Letty was being greatly admired by all. Jane heard the comments on her sister's elegance and beauty as she passed by. Gossip about her fine appearance at Court was spread: the Queen's admiration for her looks and modesty, the Princess Royal's desire to know her better.
She glanced over at the Sattersbys. His lordship was guarding his lady like a dragon. Because she knew she ought to, Jane forced herself to go over and speak to them. They were only briefly in town: to consult a physician for Lady Sattersby's benefit.
"I hope you are well, my lady, " Jane said. "I hope you choose your medical man with great care. There are so many charlatans setting up as doctors these days. I am quite horrified to hear of how they prescribe. A woman is always the best judge of how she feels."
Kitty Sattersby nodded hesitantly, also bound by good breeding to answer politely. "You are very kind to concern yourself. I am very well, but I have been disappointed in the past."
"Did you find Dorset pleasant?"
"Oh!" Kitty glanced at her impassive husband. "It was well enough. The house is very fine, and I have plenty of resources to entertain myself. Bill and his father were out shooting every day, I declare!"
"Was the sport successful, my lord?"
"Not bad. Better than some years. I heard there was plenty of game at Wargrave this year."
"Indeed there was. Lord Colchester gave us a good gundog. He is such a clever creature."
Jane told them briefly of Rambler's pursuit of them to London, which the couple found an acceptably pleasant anecdote. At the end of the story, Jane asked, "After supper we shall have some music. Will you feel equal to favoring us with your beautiful performance on the harp?"
Kitty was surprised and softened by the application. "Yes—I'd would be delighted. I have practiced and practiced while in Dorset."
"Then I shall look forward to it."
Others were coming to speak to the Sattersbys, and Jane went on to the next group needing attention: the Carterets. Lady Carteret seemed very unwell, but determined to be there. Since her husband was in attendance, she would be forced to eat only gruel at supper, but Jane had seen to it that it would be the best possible gruel, sweetened with honey and applesauce, and enriched with cream. Best of all, it would be done so her husband could not detect the improvements.
Lord Carteret was a decent enough man otherwise, but Jane felt real satisfaction in subverting the silly fancies of someone made a ninny by a smooth-talking quack. When the day came that Lady Carteret could not leave the house, Jane was resolved to visit her with nourishing food, even if it meant smuggling chicken sandwiches in her workbasket.
With some probing, Jane discovered that Lady Carteret and Lady Sattersby had some slight acquaintance. Jane reintroduced them, and was happy to see them talking pleasantly together. After a few minutes, the two gentlemen rose to visit the card room, but at the least the ladies had each other.
There were the Melmerbys and the Thurstons, the Parrotts (ugh!), and Mr. and Mrs. Dunstable, friends of Penelope who were active in the supporting the Foundling Hospital. Jane stared at Tavington until he asked Melinda Parrott to join him in a quadrille.
A few more gentlemen were trickling in. "Colonel Tarleton" was announced, and he came over to kiss her hand, beaming with pleasure at the scene.
"I can see you have spared no efforts, Mrs. Tavington! What a splendid affair! Where is Tavington? I must hear all about The Trouncing of Torrenham!"
"He is dancing with Miss Parrott, as you see. Perhaps you too, will partner one of the young ladies before supper is announced?"
"I shall dance with you with greatest pleasure, dear lady!"
In fact, he was thinking that either his judgement had been much in error, or that Mrs. Tavington was much improved since last they met. Tavington had done well for himself. A well-looking, elegant woman, and twenty thousand pounds!
Jane smiled. He was such a boy in some ways that she could never fancy him, but he amused her nonetheless.
"I hope we may before the evening is out. However, I was more concerned for Lady Imogen St. Leger, who is sitting down. You see the lovely young lady—over there? She is the Marquess of Melmerby's daughter."
Tarleton's eyes lit up. He had heard of the beauty and wealth of the St. Leger girls. Mrs. Robinson was the joy of his life, but she was not here, and at a ball, a man must dance!
"Pray present me to her, Mrs. Tavington!"
As the last dances before supper were in progress, Jane was feeling that the ball was a great success. The room was full of light and music and swirling colors. If only nothing untoward would happen.
Rivers called out, bursting with pride, "His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales! Sir Edward Claypoole! Colonel Lake!"
The music faltered to a stop. Everyone turned, whispering and wide-eyed, to see the uninvited guests. The heir to the throne strolled in, accompanied by a pair of equerries. Sir John excused himself to Mrs. Tazewell and hurried to the doorway, Tavington detached himself from Miss Parrott. Jane was closest, and curtsied deeply.
"Your Royal Highness, you honor us!"
"Not at all! Not at all, Madam! A mere lark—a flight of fancy. Come--do not let me spoil this delightful soirée!"
The Tavington brothers were bowing. The rest of the room was on its feet, bowing, too. The Prince took it all as his due.
"This is splendid! So unaffected, so full of simple enjoyment!" He lowered his voice, smiling charmingly at Tavington. "I had to hear more of the hero's exploits. The whole town is talking about how you gave Lord Torrenham such a set-down. You are uninjured, I hope."
"Entirely, Your Royal Highness."
"Well, that's dashed good to hear! Sir John, this is a rare pleasure. Such a lot of delightful people—what beautiful ladies!"
His eyes were of course on Letty. He approached her, made a courtly bow, and begged to be allowed to partner her in this dance. Fanshawe gave Letty an ironic nod. Letty looked her apology to her partner, Lord Thurston, who hastily backed away, leaving the Prince to take Letty's hand. Jane signed to the musicians, who immediately started playing once more.
She sighed to her husband, "I shall have to rearrange the seating at supper. Instantly."
-----
Hasty rearrangements or no, the ball must be accounted a great success. The supper was devoured with evident enjoyment—and not even the royal Prince's appetite pleased Jane as much as Lady Carteret's enjoyment of the doctored gruel. She exchanged a discreet smile with Jane, and whispered in Letty's ear.
Perhaps Letty even heard her, if that whisper was not completely drowned out by the sallies of the Prince of Wales, who must sit by Lady Fanshawe and tell her silly stories about America, where she had lived most of her life.. His admiration knew no bounds when she sang, accompanied by Bellini.
There were several lady performers: Lady Sattersby's harp performance had actually improved greatly during her rustication in Dorset. The St. Leger girls sang a part-song together that was, wonder of wonders, in tune and in time. Jane had tried to discover every lady who had the slightest pretension to musical talent. Caro and Pen had told her they did not wish to perform, since as hostesses they wanted to leave the field to others, but there were several young ladies who had come prepared to exhibit their accomplishments.
Bellini, when privately applied to, assured Jane that he would be honored to sing, but only if she would accompany him. The piece was not too difficult: a ringing aria by Handel from Alexander's Feast that spoke to many a man present:
"War, he sang, is toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble.
Never ending, Still beginning—
Fighting still and still destroying,
Fighting still and still destroying!
If the world be worth thy winning,
If the world by worth thy winning,
Think, oh, think it worth enjoying!"
Thunderous applause greeted the singer's last notes. Bellini bowed deeply, first to the Prince, and then to the rest of the company. He acknowledged Jane, who glowed with pleasure. What would her family in Charlestown think if they knew she had played for the Prince of Wales? Her eyes sparkled, her wide mouth looked well enough in a happy smile. She did not know that she was on her way to a reputation as a charming, accomplished woman. It was enough that she was enjoying herself and all her guests were having a good time.
The dancing began again. The Prince remembered his manners, and asked Mrs. Tavington to partner him. He was a tallish man, but no taller than William, so it was not difficult to dance with him. She thought him a bit vain and silly—though she knew she should make allowances for his youth--but he did dance extremely well, and knew it.
After their dance, she slipped away for a little while, to see to the babies, and left Caroline and Penelope as her deputies. The upstairs hall was blessedly cool and quiet. There was not a sound from Lady Cecily's room. It surprised her a little, until she realized that Mrs. Venable would have undoubtedly drugged her charge to help her sleep through the noise of the ball.
"Oh, Mrs. Tavington!" cried Pullen, as she helped Jane arrange her gown. "The ball is so splendid. Mrs. Royston took a peek down the stairs. Such beautiful dresses! I saw one—the primrose yellow one on that red-haired lady that I thought might do for you. I like the sleeves very well—but perhaps in a deep violet for you—in a few months."
Jane settled back for some needed rest, and kissed her little boys.
Moll asked, wide-eyed, "Is it true that the Prince is here? In this house?"
"Yes, Moll! In this very house. You see before you a woman who has danced with the Prince of Wales!"
"You don't say! That's mighty fine. I'll have a tale to tell Tom when I see him. He'll be spitting mad to think what he missed."
It did not take long. Jane felt she could not rest as long as she would like. She must not miss the departure of the Prince, and she did not want to slight anyone else. She slipped back downstairs and glanced into the ballroom to see that all was well.
The Prince was dancing with Lady Sattersby, much to her husband's displeasure. Jane thought a little exercise should not hurt her, and it would be pleasing to her pride and make her think well of the evening.
The cardplayers were happily engrossed. One of them, Mr. Pitt, rose to speak briefly to Jane.
"Mrs. Tavington, I thank you for a most enjoyable evening. I am not a dancing man, but I am very fond of music, and rarely have I heard a better professional concert than the impromptu entertainment tonight."
"You are too kind—"
"—And your own performance on the harpsichord was excellent. I am a judge of such things. It was very well done indeed. Your choice of song for Bellini was a wise one, and most apropos—it is indeed time to set aside toil and trouble and make peace with the world. Very perceptive of you."
Jane refrained from protesting that the choice was entirely Bellini's own, and she had never thought about the subject at all. Sometimes it did not hurt to be thought wiser or wittier than one actually was.
"I am very happy that you came, then, Mr. Pitt, and that you had a pleasant evening under our roof. Sir John speaks of you with great respect."
He bowed, "And I am glad that I came. One should not prejudge people and events, lest one forfeit an enjoyable experience."
She smiled, wondering if this all had some political meaning that she could not grasp. She would pass on the message to John tomorrow, and think no more about it.
Hours passed. Dancers kept at it—how, Jane did not know. Some guests began to take their leave: the Carterets, the Protheroes, the Sattersbys—expectant mothers with their protective husbands. The older ladies were yawning behind their fans. Jane was rather tired herself.
By the time the clock struck three, the Prince had had a last dance with Letty and been escorted away by his attendants. Letty, too, was flagging, and Fanshawe considered that they had stayed long enough to cause the maximum amount of admiring gossip.
The clock struck four. Sir Joshua departed. The St. Leger girls were herded away, protesting that they were not tired at all. Only a quartet of officers remained, playing whist in the drawing room. Lord Colchester was snoring in a gilt chair in the ballroom, his head thrown back. Sir John had fallen asleep, too, his head comically on his uncle's shoulder. Caroline and Penelope looked wretchedly tired. They had indeed danced quite a bit, but were ready for their beds. Jane saw them off with kisses and mutual congratulations.
The musicians, too, were hollow-eyed. Bellini knew some of them, and laughed deeply, sympathizing with their plight.
"A magnificent evening, Signora. It will not be soon forgotten—by me, too. I must go, alas. I have a rehearsal in the afternoon. I shall sleep, and dream of white flowers." With another deep bow, he turned on his heel and was gone.
Jane and Tavington were alone in the ballroom with the musicians.
"It wants a few minutes of five, Jane. Would you honor me with this dance?"
Obliging, a pair of oboes struck up a last minuet in a minor key. Jane smiled with pleasant melancholy, her eyes fixed on her husband. A cello joined the tune, and then the weary keyboard player. The violin players looked at each other, and then grudgingly began to play.
Tavington smiled back at his wife. A very good evening. Jane had done well. Perhaps the pleasant party at Wargrave had given her practice for the wider canvas of London. And the Prince had come! However little he thought of the young man personally, the presence of the heir to the throne would seal the success of the ball. There would probably be a paragraph about it in the Morning Post.
The dance ended, and there was a smattering of applause from the doorway. Tarleton lounged there with his fellow players. The noise awakened John and Lord Colchester, who snorted loudly, bewildered to find himself in a ballroom.
"Well danced, upon my honor," said Tarleton, with a wry grin. "Well, Tavington you have danced us all down! A capital evening. Dear lady," he bowed to Jane. "I am obliged to you for a memorable first party in London. But now, I must away!"
The others made their farewells. The musicians were dismissed, and packed up their instruments quickly, off to see Rivers, who had their money. John was asleep on his feet, and Tavington told a tired footman to help him to bed. Lord Colchester assured them that he could manage to walk across the square.
"A sorry thing if a man can't see himself home! Thank you both, my dear children, for a happy time! So many good friends!"
As the front door closed after him, the clock struck five. Jane could hardly believe she was still awake.
"William, I'm so tired," Jane complained, "My feet are throbbing, and my head is aching, and I—"
"Here," he said briskly, sweeping her up in his arms. "I'll carry you upstairs, you poor frail damsel."
He took off running up the stairs, Jane's silken gown crumpled up and trailing.
"Stop!" she laughed, hoping none of the servants would see them. "Put me down!"
"Oh, I couldn't do that!" he smirked. "I couldn't put you on your tiny throbbing feet. I shall have to throw you into bed directly, and then rip your garments from your trembling limbs!"
There was a muffled guffaw from behind a drapery. It sounded like their footman, Peter. He would certainly have gossip for the kitchen.
The upstairs hall was silent. Tavington paused, and proceeded on tiptoe to Jane's room. Pullen heard them coming, and opened the door.
"Bless me, Madam!," she whispered anxiously, "Are you hurt?"
"No, not at all," Jane assured her. "I complained of my sore feet to the Colonel, and he took me at my word. Don't take me to the bed, William. Set me down by the dressing table."
He did better than that. He sat her down gently in the little bench in front of the mirror. Jane pretended to glare at his smirking reflection.
He kissed her brow and whispered, "I shall return anon, Madam. Prepare yourself."
"Oh, go away!" she laughed, hitting him with her fan.
She could hear him go down the hall, no doubt to take off his ballroom finery. She must get an hour of two of sleep, and then she would have to get up and feed the babies, and then she would sleep herself out. Impatiently, she fidgeted while Pullen unpinned her hair. That done, she practically threw off her finery and the minute Pullen had unlaced her stays, she stumbled to the bed and crawled in between the cool smooth sheets, nearly weeping with relief. She was asleep before she could even pull the sheets up to her chin. Pullen stole away, exhausted herself, though she at least had napped through some of the evening.
Tavington returned to find Jane sprawled on the bed, dead to the world and insensible to his charms. He threw off banyan and shirt, and slid into bed beside her, first trying to gently urge her to one side, and then forced to shove her over bodily to make room for him. She did not wake, but mumbled "puddig pah," and flapped a wrist feebly.
He sighed and remembered that he had been up since three o'clock yesterday morning. Perhaps he might make another attempt after he just laid his head on the pillow for a moment….
He at least managed to draw the covers over them both before he was fast asleep.
-----
Paper rustled in the room. There was a muted whispering that fluted through the bedcurtains, unintelligible mutters in a high breathy voice. Jane could not believe it was morning, for she was so horribly tired. Was it Moll? She lay still, waiting for the summons that never came. Painfully, she forced her eyes open, and found it was still dark in the bed. It could not even be seven, then. Who was muttering in the bedchamber?
"Pullen," she croaked. "Is that you? What time is it?"
The muttering continued unheeding. There was a crackle from the fireplace as if something had caught fire. Blearily, she fumbled at the curtains, trying to find the opening.
"That's not the one—no, not that one—I cannot find the registry page—that's not the one—where is it—useless! useless!—stuff and nonsense—where is it oh where is it—"
A cold trickle of fear made her tingle to the roots of her hair. "William," she whispered. "did you hear that?"
Tavington did not stir. He was deeply asleep—not even snoring in his usual soft manner. Jane put out a hand to shake him, but drew back. Am I dreaming? She blinked. A faint smear of light penetrated the heavy bed curtains. A candle? What is going on?
"Not that one either—silly rubbish—here's another—"
Another crackle. There was a brief flare of light from the direction of the hearth. Jane could not think how to wake William without shouting loudly enough to startle the intruder. Carefully she pushed aside the curtain and peered out.
By the light of a single candle, she saw that her bedchamber was a shambles. Her clothes were pulled from wardrobe and drawers and scattered on the floor. Her jewelry dangled from trinket box and drawer pulls. Strands of pearls coiled on the floor like white snakes. A woman was going through her writing desk, examining each sheet of paper and discarding it impatiently into the glowing embers in the fireplace. Little gleams and sparks flew up as the papers caught fire. Her hats were all out of their boxes, cast aside and trodden upon. First shocked, then indignant. Jane tried to jump from the bed, but succeeded only in stumbling.
"Oh!" she gasped, clinging to the bedcurtains to keep from falling. The intruder looked up, staring at her suspiciously.
"Miss Grey," Lady Cecily demanded, "what have you done with my box?"
Note: Thanks to my reviewers/readers. I rely on your support! To those of you who noticed Little Tom's odd initials: it happened by accident, but I have chuckled over it since. And no, he's not evil!
Next chapter: Love Letters and Italian Lessons
