Chapter 33: An Intimate Dinner
Wednesday dawned, and Lady Cecily rose earlier than her wont, making the lives of the women under her roof a misery. Her daughters were run off their feet with last minute admonitions to the butler and the cook. Lady Cecily did not like the table setting, and demanded it all be reset with different china only an hour before the guests would arrive.
In the afternoon, Letty was groomed and dressed, and then summoned and examined for flaws. Pullen was called to account and verbally roasted for a stray curl that no one but Lady Cecily could perceive. Letty was stunningly beautiful in that extravagant gown, but the poor girl was forbidden to sit, lest she disarrange herself.
Jane had nothing to do but wait. She had been forced to be abrupt in summoning Pullen to her, quite against Lady Cecily's wishes. She donned her peacock blue gown, feeling rather provincial, pretty as the dress was. Next to Letty's magnificence, she thought she made a poor showing, and needed all her mother's pearls to support her spirits. She owed it to herself and to William to look her best, and tried to ignore her mother-in-law's affectation of incredulous dismay at her appearance. She was not entrusted with any of the preparations. Lady Cecily made it clear that she did not believe Jane capable of behaving properly in a social situation. Bored and restless, Jane sat down to the harpsichord to pass the time, and found Lady Cecily bearing down on her at once.
"Stop! The man has only yesterday put it in tune!" Behind her, her daughters stood by helplessly. Caroline made a little entreating gesture. Penelope blushed and looked away. Flushing with anger and embarrassment, and deeply offended to be addressed so, Jane got up at once, glared at her mother-in-law, and walked away without a word. She found Letty out near the staircase, trying to rest her feet by leaning against a wall.
"It the gown very uncomfortable?" Jane asked anxiously. "It looks it."
"It's not so bad, honey," Letty whispered back. "I'm just so tired of standing up. The guests won't be here for another hour!"
"Let's go up to my room. You can sit down there if you want to."
"Oh, no!" Letty looked frightened. "Lady Cecily might know that I went against her. I couldn't do that!"
Jane took a breath, and whispered back. "You can do as you like. Lady Cecily doesn't own you. I don't own you. If you want to sit down, no one has the right to tell you you can't!"
Letty shook her head. "I don't want her angry with me. I'd be afraid if she were mean to me like she is to you. Right now she treats me all right, but if I did one thing to displease her, that would change right fast!"
"'Very quickly,'" Jane corrected softly.
"Very quickly." Letty gave a shy laugh. "In the twinkling of a eye!"
Jane leaned against the wall herself. They rested there in silence, listening to Lady Cecily firing a volley of contradictory orders.
"Letty," Jane asked, "are you ever sorry we came to England?"
Her sister looked at her in astonishment. "Never! I love it here! I'd never go back—not if you paid me a thousand pounds!"
"I suppose it will be better when the Colonel finds a house of our own," Jane admitted grudgingly. "I wouldn't mind a little house like Mrs. Protheroe's. She and her husband seem so happy."
Letty regarded her with good humor. "Now, Miss-Mrs. Tavington. You know you'd like this house—very well indeed—if there were no Lady Cecily fussing at you all the time."
"I suppose."
"Though Lord Fanshawe says it could be improved with better paintings on the walls."
Jane glanced up from her study of her shoes. "You talked to Lord Fanshawe?"
"You were trying to listen to the orchestra the other night when we were at the Pantheon. Lord Fanshawe came and sat by me and talked about paintings and buildings and beautiful things he liked. He's such a refined gentleman. He didn't think much of this family's taste in pictures. He told Lady Cecily she should have someone paint the Colonel's portrait."
"Really?" Jane felt some pleasure at the thought. A picture of William would be worth looking at.
-----
At long last, the brothers Tavington emerged from their lair in the library, ready to do their duty; and shortly thereafter, the guests arrived.
"Mr. Bellini!" Rivers announced.
Letty glowed as her admired singing master arrived. He was greeted politely enough by the men of the house, and with patronizing charm by Lady Cecily. Jane knew that her mother-in-law wanted him to be present when Letty was displayed, so he could make plain to the less enlightened how well she sang. Bellini had a smile and kind word for Jane as well, giving her a gallant bow.
"Ah, the talented Mrs. Tavington! The night will be made more beautiful by your playing!"
Jane glanced at William, to see what he made of such compliments, but he had not heard them. Sir Joshua Reynolds, the famous portraitist, had arrived, and he, Lady Cecily, and William were already discussing the new commission. He was presented to them all, of course, but only very quickly. Reynolds' eyes lingered on Letty, as the man visibly composed a picture in his imagination, and then he was swept away, chatting with his hostess.
Others arrived: General Tazewell and his attractive younger wife; Colonel St. Leger along with Sir Barnaby Parrott, Lady Parrott, and their daughter.
Miss Melinda Parrott was a pale, peering creature, very elegantly dressed, who nearly stared Jane out of countenance, immediately asking her impertinently personal questions about her origins and fortune.
"I heard you had twenty thousand pounds, but you know how people gossip! I thought it might be exaggerated! I'm vastly pleased to see you're just what I heard!"
Jane managed a tight smile, hating to imagine what Miss Parrott had heard. She asked, "Are your parents and Lady Cecily very old friends?"
"Oh, Lord! They've known each other forever and a day! Mamma and Lady Cecily are very thick together, and have such times at Mrs. Crewe's!" She peered again at Jane, "Fancy not seeing you there! Everyone goes to Mrs. Crewe's!"
"I am no gambler," Jane said.
"La! How strange! I wonder how you can fill your hours! Only last week, a nabob lost everything he had brought home from India! It was so thrilling, watching him lose his entire fortune! He said he must now go back and find another!" She giggled, revealing small yellow teeth.
"If I lost my entire fortune, I would find it rather difficult to find another." Jane replied coldly, wishing Miss Parrott would find another ear to chatter into. Alas, Miss Parrott seemed content to be where she was. Jane looked about for an escape.
Not far away was Sir John Tavington, looking excessively bored. Jane excused herself to her companion, and went over to speak to her brother-in-law. "How are you this evening, sir?"
"Very well, ma'am." He growled. "As well as possible with all this—" He bit back the complaint and made her a little bow instead.
Jane observed, "It means a great deal to the Colonel to have your companionship again—even for, shall we say, such a formal occasion. He has said so, many times. He missed his family greatly when he was in America."
John unbent a little. She was a harmless little woman, after all. "Missed him myself, the rogue. Glad to have him back. Are you going to have the boy brought down after dinner?"
"I shall, if you like. I am not sure that Lady Cecily—"
"I don't care what the old woman likes. Bring the boy down. Uncle Colchester will want to see him, too. Sattersby and his bride haven't produced an heir yet, and the old man turns to pudding over children. Yes," he said decisively, liking the idea more and more, "have the boy brought down. It will improve the conversation mightily."
"The Earl of Colchester! Lord and Lady Sattersby! Lord and Lady Trumfleet!" Rivers intoned. There was a pause, as everyone's attention turned to the entrance of the exalted personages. The greeting between the earl and his sister was chilly but dignified. Less dignified was the nobleman's evident joy at seeing his soldier nephew once more.
"William! My dear boy!" He strode over, a healthy and vigorous man of some sixty-five years. A hearty handshake, a clap on the back, and a moment for each to assess what the years had done to the other. "My dear boy," the earl repeated, more softly and affectionately. "Thank God you're home."
"I'm very happy to be home, Uncle, and to see you so fit," Tavington replied, smiling in his turn, quite touched at such a welcome.
"Come, Sattersby! And Kitty, my dear," called the earl. "Come and greet your cousin!" Lord Colchester lowered his voice, and confided in his nephew, "and you will see we've had a fair addition to our family since your departure."
With a whisper of silk, a vision appeared before him. Lady Sattersby, the former Catherine Mitford, was a fair addition indeed. Tavington caught his breath; too surprised and entranced to feel the usual automatic antipathy in his cousin's presence. Lady Sattersby was a tall and shapely creature, with most ensnaring eyes. Tavington thought them black at first, but then, at closer quarters, he saw they were grey. A dark grey, the beautiful "Mary Queen of Scots" eye. They were full of clear light under an equally clear brow. Her luminous eyes, combined with her snowy skin and delicate features, made a most enticing image. She smiled, showing a pair of bewitching dimples, and Tavington felt himself a lost man.
Unluckily, there was Sattersby beside her, giving his own sullen greetings. Tavington remembered all his childhood resentment of his petulant younger cousin: wealth, a title, a kind father—and now, to have won such a prize! A wife with beauty, fortune, and noble blood. The gods certainly had smiled on Sattersby, but Tavington could not for the life of him understand why.
Jane watched the entry of the visitors from Colchester House with great interest. The earl himself seemed a jovial bear of a man. William had always spoken well of him. The Trumfleets, William's cousin and her husband, seemed notable only for the lavishness of their clothing and her jewels. Lord Trumfleet had little to say for himself, and his wife had a sharp, satirical look in her eyes that did not promise a pleasant acquaintance. Jane studied the Sattersbys more closely. She knew William did not care for his cousin Lord Sattersby, and she had pictured someone very different, for at first glance, Sattersby did not much resemble William.
Then Jane looked again, and saw that he was exactly like her husband—if her husband had been ugly. The two cousins shared many features in common, but in Sattersby they had all gone wrong: Sattersby's eyes were the same ice-blue as Williams', but they were set too close to the over-long nose, making the man look rather foxy. He lacked William's handsome chin and mouth—nay, he lacked much chin at all, and he was spindly rather than lean. Altogether, he was a caricature of his cousin, and seemed to know it.
There was no time, though, to waste in considering Lord Sattersby, for in another moment Jane observed the introduction and the instant mutual attraction between her husband and his cousin's wife. She experienced a pang of jealousy and dislike that nearly felled her. William plainly thought Lady Sattersby lovely—which she certainly was—and Jane found it genuinely distressing. Never, since his affair with Selina, had she seen him publicly admire another woman. She had been caught off-guard, and it must show in her face. She glanced about, anxious to know if anyone had seen, but no one was looking at her. Letty was chatting happily with Signor Bellini; the military men were talking together. The earl and his family were gathered around William and Sir John. Caroline and Penelope were whispering together, as they often did. She was glad she had mastered her reaction, for a moment later, she heard herself mentioned.
"I've been told you are married, dear boy, and that you have a son! That is capital! Introduce me to your lady, I pray you." And then William was turning around, looking for her. Jane smiled, and stepped forward, feeling that her calm mask was firmly in place.
"Uncle, this is my wife Jane, who saved my life when I was sorely wounded."
"Madam, your servant," The earl gave her a very courteous bow, and Jane made up her mind to like him. "I am very happy to know you," Lord Colchester continued earnestly, "and I am very obliged to you for caring for one so dear to me. You must be a very kind and brave young woman. And a little boy, I hear! I hope to make the young gentleman's acquaintance tonight."
"I shall have him brought downstairs after dinner, if it pleases you, my lord."
"It does indeed."
The earl smiled down at her approvingly, and yet, Jane sensed, with just the slightest hint of condescension. What do these people want of me? she wondered wearily. William continued with the introductions, presenting Letty to his uncle, who was all delight and compliments at the sight of the beautiful young woman,. Jane forced herself to stay at her husband's side, smiling through it all.
She was hoping dinner would soon be announced, when Rivers called out, "Lord Fanshawe!"
There was another stir among those assembled, more curious and less friendly than the attention paid Lord Colchester. The elderly viscount appeared, sublimely elegant, smiling with paternal kindness on high and low. Lady Cecily greeted him with every civility, which surprised Jane a little. She was not the only one to feel thus, for behind her Lady Parrott clucked her own concern to her daughter.
"Inviting Lord Fanshawe! And I know that Lady Cecily can't abide the man! What was she thinking?"
Jane was not sure herself, but she had the definite feeling that her mother-in-law was up to something.
-----
There may be those who enjoy long, ceremonious, and luxurious dinners and the small talk that inevitably accompanies them. Jane had enjoyed such dinners herself, when the company was sufficiently entertaining. This, alas, was not one of those dinners. It was lasting too long, and Jane was becoming anxious for William Francis. Moll could only keep him distracted so long before he would be shouting the house down. It would be terribly awkward to walk away from the table, while everyone else was still exclaiming over the delicacies before them.
It must have cost the earth. Jane was not favorably impressed by her mother-in-law's prodigality. Even her brief stay had acquainted her with the money troubles in the household. This ridiculous dinner, with three separate covers, was far beyond Lady Cecily's means. The food was wonderful, if heavy and sometimes bizarre. Lady Cecily had a French cook, who produced some real marvels. There were skewered larks, and roasts pheasants, very high indeed with long hanging. There was a vacherin conveniently near Jane—an exquisite filigree basket of meringue, filled with strawberries and whipped cream. But it was dull to sit and eat, and eat, and eat, when there were so few interesting conversations she could participate in.
Next to her was Miss Parrott, who was totally engrossed with Colonel St. Leger. On her other side was General Tazewell, whom she had just met. He was a pleasant enough man, who spoke well of William. His conversation about the war showed him quite ignorant on the subject of America and the situation there. It would be useless to correct him. Instead, Jane told him something about how the planters in the Carolinas made their fortunes, and then fell back on her great, unfailing topic of conversation with men: she asked him about himself.
It sufficed to make him think her a charming woman: he talked for over an hour about his family, his home, his wife, his children, his military service, and the petty injustices of promotion. Dull as it was, Jane found herself learning a great deal about how the Army operated at the highest levels. All she had to do was look interested, and utter the obligatory "Indeed!" or "Good Heavens!" or "Really?" at appropriate intervals.
Each end of the table had lively general conversations in progress. Sir John reigned at one end: but not alone. The old earl had insisted on sitting near his nephews, "so we can have a good jaw together," throwing Lady Cecily's seating plan into restrained chaos. Lady Sattersby and Lady Trumfleet were seated with those gentlemen, and they seemed to be talking about hunting with great animation.
At the other end, Lady Cecily held court, with Lord Sattersby and Lord Fanshawe at either hand. Somehow, Letty had been placed beside Lord Fanshawe, with Bellini on her other side. She appeared to be enjoying herself: eating very carefully, and looking about wide-eyed with pleasure.
In fact, Letty was having the time of her life. Everyone was being so kind to her. Everyone was talking about beautiful things. Sir Joshua discussed the Colonel's portrait with Lady Cecily and Lord Fanshawe, who had clever ideas about how it should look. And then Lord Fanshawe talked about all the faraway places he had seen, and Signor Bellini and he would go on about Italy, and even Lord Sattersby joined in, with memories of his Grand Tour. Letty, when appealed to for tales of her travels, had modestly demurred, until Lord Fanshawe had pointed out that she had journeyed farther than any of them.
"I suppose that South Carolina may be a goodly place," she said softly. "But it was simply home to me, so I hardly thought about it. And when we traveled into the wild backcountry to care for the Colonel—"
"—a distance," put in Lord Fanshawe quietly, "that I have ascertained to be roughly that between London and York—"
"--We were in such danger all the time."
Lord Sattersby gave an uneasy chuckle. "But surely—no one would harm a party of ladies—I mean—really!"
Letty hated to contradict a lord, but the interest generated in her story gave her strength to continue. "Indeed, my lord, they would, and did. We were stopped on the way to Camden by a party of militia that was driven off by the 17th Light Dragoons. The militia was going to steal our horses and everything we owned—even the coachman and footman. The leader taunted—Mrs. Tavington—saying she could walk to Camden. It was February—and had the dragoons not come, we would have all perished in the wilderness."
There were astonished, sympathetic murmurs. Letty cleared her throat, finding the rest of her story too painful to dwell on. "On the way home, our coach was attacked by the cruel rebels. One of our party—she was shot dead in front of us—" Tears began to burn. "---I am sorry—I can say no more about it—the Colonel saved us—they would have killed us all, even the newborn baby—" She trembled and fell silent.
Lord Fanshawe patted her hand and then made her drink a little wine.
Finally, Lady Cecily said, "A most dreadful place. To think of my son suffering all those years in America!"
"But he is home now," soothed Sir Joshua, "and we have in addition these charming Carolina ladies. The colonies are the poorer for their loss!" He gave Letty a kind smile, and she managed to return it, rather weakly.
Bellini turned the conversation to the sights of London, and Letty felt the usual refreshment. She smiled and enthused with nearly as much energy as she usually did, only tormented by the niggling of her conscience. Am I denying Mama?
-----
As soon as Lady Cecily led the ladies from the table, Jane quickly passed her, with a cool word that she must care for William Francis, and that both Sir John and Lord Colchester had expressed a desire to see the child. Without waiting to hear any possible protests, she climbed the endless stairs and heard her little son's wails from the nursery. Her breasts throbbed in response, the milk starting already. She nearly ran to the door, skirts hiked indecently high, and rushed in, arms out for her child. Moll looked glad to see her, and helped her unhook and unlace her gown so that the little boy could be fed.
"I thought dinner would never end!" Jane cried, as she sank into the chair and felt the tiny mouth fasten on her hungrily.
Moll reached over to smooth the creases Jane was making in her gown. "Don't seem right that people keep a little fellow waiting for his supper while they have tables covered with food." She gave Jane a look of reproach. "You ought not to feel you can't get up and take care of your boy, just 'cause some rich folk are still feeding their faces!"
Blushing, Jane tried to excuse herself. "It would have made a stir—and it would have looked so particular—and Lady Cecily—" She stopped, and nodded, feeling ashamed. "You're right, Moll. I should have put my baby first. I will never be so silly and cowardly again."
"Then it's all right, then," Moll said. "Do you mind if I had my supper now? I'm right famished."
Moll's supper sat untouched under a cover on the table. Jane said, "Please, don't mind me. Have a good meal. And then, when William Francis is done, you might want to change your apron and cap, for the Colonel's uncle the Earl is here, and he has asked to see the baby. Sir John says he is very fond of children."
Moll muttered, digging into her hearty portion of mutton pie, "Glad to hear it." Secretly, she had been wondering when some of these fine lords and ladies would show some family feeling. The Colonel's sisters were all right, though they seemed to know nothing about babies at all. That high-and-mighty Lady Cecily had never set foot in the nursery the whole time they had been here, and Moll could not imagine a grandmother not caring about a fine fellow like Little Will. 'Tweren't natural.
Grand as the house and the nursery were, they needed to head on out and get their own place. Moll had made some good friends already, and she liked Tom and all, but there were things here that were just not right. She hated seeing Mrs. Tavington so worried and flustered about what her ladyship would think, when it was plain that her ladyship didn't think about anybody but herself.
The cook had given Moll a roast apple, too. Mutton pie and a roast apple stuffed full of raisins and cinnamon spice. Who could want for anything finer? Moll savored it, looking over at Mrs. Tavington, now much calmer and happier as she sat with her little boy. Tom was right—quality folk had a way of making themselves fussed about nothing, and filled up their time with dinners with too much food to eat and talk nobody listened to anyway. And this London was just too big—so big it was hard to get a good fix on it. Moll did not much care for the constant smell of coal smoke and the haze in the air. There was a little layer of coal grime over everything that even the constant rain could not wash away. Secretly, she had preferred what they had seen when they were driving through the country: miles of green land and big, healthy-looking forests. She had always lived out in the woods herself, or near the swamps.
It was good to be up here, at the top of the house, looking out over the big square. It gave her a little space to breathe. Charlestown had been crowded enough, but London would stifle you after awhile, if you didn't keep it at arm's length.
-----
With the departure of the ladies, more wine was brought out, and the men settled down to some informal chat.
St. Leger got up and moved down near Tavington, speaking in an undertone. "Look here, Colonel. I must ask you about your sister, Miss Rutledge."
Tavington raised a brow. "What is it you wish to know?"
"Ah—well, it's best to be forthright. Is the lady dowered similarly to her sister? I understood that Mrs. Tavington had twenty thousand pounds."
"Mrs. Tavington did, but I regret to tell you that Miss Rutledge has no fortune but her beauty and charm. They are half-sisters, and Jane's money came entirely from her mother's family. Their father had settled everything of his own on his sons from a more recent marriage."
St. Leger looked disappointed for a moment, and then shrugged. "A pity. She is a lovely young lady. You will understand, I think, that in that case I must admire her only from afar."
"I quite understand. And it would indeed be wrong to create any misunderstanding on the lady's part."
St. Leger moved over to talk with Lord Trumfleet, and Tavington considered him thoughtfully. The last thing he wanted was a poor younger son trifling with Letty and then dropping her for an heiress. Bad both for Letty's heart and her reputation. St. Leger was a handsome lad, and her head could be easily turned. He would keep an eye on his lieutenant-colonel, in case St. Leger were to change his mind…
And where had Lord Fanshawe come from? The elderly viscount was sitting beside him, smiling in a detached, interested way. Lord Colchester looked up and noticed Fanshawe, scowling a little from habit. Tavington sighed. The two men had nothing in common, for his uncle was all for hunting and shooting and the manly, outdoor life; and Lord Fanshawe, the aesthete and dandy, was urbane in the most literal sense of the world—a man about town, who sought out the pleasures and experiences only a great city could provide. And his reputation...
Lord Colchester's personal life had always been above reproach, and his marriage had been a happy one, though it had ended too early with the death of his Countess ten years ago. Lord Fanshawe, on the other hand, had been in his youth nearly as great a whoremonger and womanizer as Mad Jack Tavington, and had been married twice. His first wife had been a fabulously wealthy widow twenty years his senior, and the second the equally rich daughter of a duke. There had been ill-natured gossip about the deaths of his wives, but Tavington did not credit any of it. If gossips threw enough mud, some would always stick. The fate of the ladies, the first dead in a carriage accident and the other in childbirth, had been public enough that no rational person could hold Fanshawe culpable. Tavington was familiar enough with how one's deeds could be twisted by a clever enemy. The viscount's reputation was a tarnished one, but glamorous nonetheless. Now that he was an old man, why hold the deeds of his youth against him? He was harmless enough, certainly.
The viscount was still smiling at him, as if examining a painting or statue. Tavington noticed Sir Joshua on the other side of the table. Oh, yes, the portrait! Lord Fanshawe no doubt had a hand in that. Well, it was still a good idea, whoever had proposed it. And it was rather flattering.
His uncle broke into his thoughts. "My boy, it's providential that you are home when the weather is still so fine. Come on up to Colneford, and we'll have a hunt! Both of you! John, don't look like that: you know yourself you could do with a bit of country air. A fortnight would set you up for the coming Season. A hunt, and a hunt ball to please the ladies—Mrs. Tavington and her sister would enjoy that, surely!" He looked across at Lord Fanshawe, and gibed, "No much in your line, eh, Fanshawe?"
"Certainly not," replied the viscount with suspicious smoothness. "My views on hunting are too well-known. But I believe that your nephews would profit from the visit, and the young ladies would enjoy seeing a fine place like Colneford Castle. They can have had no acquaintance with the beauties of Essex."
"Well, er, that's very civil of you, Fanshawe. Very civil indeed." The earl was somewhat disconcerted by the viscount's sweet reasonableness. "What do you say, my boys? You and my sons and daughters, all together, dancing and riding. Make an old man happy!"
Tavington was quite taken with the idea. "If my duties permit, uncle—"
"Nonsense!" his uncle shot back. "Tazewell," he called out to the other end of the table. "Do you know any reason the Colonel couldn't take a fortnight's jaunt to Essex? Nothing pressing in the martial line, in there?"
"Nothing whatever," replied the amiable Tazewell.
Tavington was once more rather taken aback by the peacetime nature of his service in England. He had spent years in the saddle, in combat, riding over wild country facing danger. Now he could hardly feel himself more than playacting at being a soldier. There was so damned little to do. A good hunt, riding cross-country after a fox seemed a blessed exercise. And he could see more of Kitty Sattersby—
"Then I think it a splendid idea, John," he told his brother. "You yourself were talking about getting away. Let's go! It would be very pleasant for Jane and Letty, indeed, and we could have a look-in at Wargrave while we were there."
-----
By the time Jane and Moll came down, cautiously carrying the baby, some of the men were already on the move back up to the drawing room to join the ladies. William Francis was in his finest cap and little dress, and wrapped in his best silk quilt. Jane looked up to see Lord Fanshawe approaching.
He gave her another bow. "Mrs. Tavington, your servant. And young Master Tavington, as well. Here, my good woman," he smiled at Moll, "let me have a look at him. I assure you I have held quite a few infants, and not one has ever come to harm. Hmm," he studied the five-month-old face with wry amusement. "Still a tabula rasa, though a charming one. In a few more months we shall see something of the future man, but for now he is simply an innocent cherub." He handed him back to Moll, and offered his arm to Jane. Escorting her to the drawing room, he remarked to Jane, "I regret that I have not had the opportunity previously to further my acquaintance with you. Your sister speaks so fondly of you."
"I am very fond of her," Jane replied coolly, somewhat stung that the viscount's good opinion of her was on the recommendation of one who had once been her slave. Forcing a smile, she entered the drawing room perfectly composed.
The drawing room had been enlarged by folding back the doors to the music room. At the far end of the room were the harpsichord and the harp, arranged as if for a concert. The ladies looked up as Jane and Lord Fanshawe entered: her sisters and Mrs. Tazewell smiling and friendly, Lady Cecily grimly hostile, the balance civil and indifferent.
No: not entirely indifferent. Colonel St. Leger entered the room a moment later, and on seeing him, Miss Parrott came over to Jane at once.
"Oh! The little darling! How I envy you, Mrs. Tavington! Such a picture!"
Jane allowed Miss Parrott to dither on. Most mothers, she believed, would swallow any flattery directed at their children, but Jane did not believe a word that issued from Miss Parrotts's mouth—most especially as the young lady was sneaking glances at the young colonel to gauge his reaction to her display of tender sentiment. Jane considered offering to let Miss Parrot hold William Francis, since he might just spit up his milk on her. She sighed, enjoying the thought, but knew that Moll was unlikely to permit it.
She gave her nursemaid a smile, and was rewarded only by a grave nod. Moll did not seem to approve of present company. With no social position to gain by currying favor, she was perfectly free to see them as shallow and deadly dull.
And not very persevering. Miss Parrott gave up her pose, and openly pursued St. Leger to the other side of the room, admiring the noble fire the butler had arranged. Letty was a welcome replacement, smiling at them all.
"I'm so glad we made that quilt," she declared to Lord Fanshawe. "You can see how industrious we were during that long voyage. All of us worked on it, including Mrs. Royston here." She stroked the baby's cheek with a slender finger. "And we couldn't have done it for a sweeter boy!"
William Francis gave her a responsive gurgle. He was in a happy, satisfied state that Jane hoped would last long enough for the Earl to arrive and see the boy at his best. Letty and Lord Fanshawe drifted away, as he critiqued the pictures adorning the drawing room walls for her further edification.
General Tazewell appeared, coming over to give the attractive infant a poke and an indulgent chuckle. He thought Tavington's wife a very pleasant lady, and here was proof she was a good mother as well. With an air of approval, he left to join his wife and tell her so.
Not long after, the Earl himself came bustling in, along with the rest of the other men. He arrowed in on the infant, and was soon ensconced on the sofa with William Francis on his lap, and his nephews on either side. Jane took a nearby chair, somewhat alarmed at the nobleman's energetic interaction with her tiny son. Moll stood behind her, on the watch, but satisfied that the old fellow would do the child no injury.
"Now that's a good lad! Yes, you are, my boy!" His great-uncle's massive wig and huge grin did not seem to alarm the baby. William Francis grinned back, and then saw his father nearby and wriggled happily.
"Ha!" laughed the earl. "A wise child who knows his own father! Handsome little rogue. Has the Mortimer eyes, wouldn't you say, John?"
"Well," Sir John conditioned, "I agree he's a fine healthy rascal, and he certainly has eyes, but—"
Behind her, Jane could hear Lady Cecily muttering to Lady Trumfleet. "I had hoped to offer some suitable entertainment, but my brother—"
"Now, now, ma'am, as soon as Papa is finished making an ass of himself—"
Jane shut her ears to the unkind female voices, and let the men play with the baby until their interest flagged, and they began speaking of hunting again.
She gently interposed, "I would hate for William Francis to wear out his welcome. It really is time for him to be asleep. If I may—" She took the boy and handed him to Moll. "Thank you, Mrs. Royston."
Moll forbore to wink, and departed, looking relieved to escape the drawing room.
"My dear Lady Sattersby!" cried Lady Cecily, her voice rising above the hum of talk. "You promised me to join in tonight's musical entertainment, and I shall not permit you to refuse."
"Indeed, ma'am, I had not the slightest desire to refuse, but everyone seemed well enough entertained without my poor efforts."
"Nonsense!" Lord Colchester said gruffly. "Girl plays like an angel. Capital idea. Go on, Kitty, go on. The boys have never heard you." He told his nephews, in an audible whisper. "Nice girl, that. Best thing Sattersby ever did was bring her home!"
The party moved through to the music room, taking the seats provided. Jane admitted grudgingly to herself that Lady Sattersby did indeed play very well. With the tall gilt harp as an accessory, the fashionable young woman made a striking impression. Jane had learned enough in her few harp lessons to judge Lady Sattersby's technique as sound, if not brilliant. Wisely, she did not attempt anything she could not play with credit. One French air was followed by another, and the gentlemen, especially, were loud in their applause.
Letty, too, was more than impressed. She was in awe of Lady Sattersby's performance. Her taste, her execution, her whole appearance seemed perfect to her. And she knew just when to stop.
"No, no more!" Lady Sattersby laughed, finishing a sparkling Rondeau. "I shall use up all my credit with you and have nothing left to purchase your good will for the rest of the season!" She took her bows, with well-bred charm, and swept gracefully back to a chair by the old earl, who reached over to pat her hand affectionately.
Tavington was quite smitten. Lady Sattersby noticed his eyes following her and gave him an arch look. Tavington smiled back, ready to pursue this flirtation in earnest. Sattersby was sitting away from them, and seemed uninterested. More fool he.
"And now, Signor Bellini!" called Lady Cecily, not wishing to lose control of the gathering. "I must have your new pupil step forward. We have all been so delighted with Miss Rutledge's charming progress. Signor Bellini came tonight expressly to accompany her!"
Bellini looked somewhat taken aback, and glanced at Jane, obviously expecting that she would have played, but with years of practice in dealing with the aristocracy, he passed it off, and gave Letty his arm as they went to the end of the room. Letty took her place in the bend of the harpsichord, and folded her hands over her middle in the elegant pose that she had been taught.
"Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to your care…"
Her listeners sat up in surprise. Letty had indeed made great strides in less than two weeks. Her naturally lovely voice had strengthened, and she had learned more breath control. Dressed in that showy gown, she was an arresting sight.
The earl muttered to Tavington, "The girl sings as well as Sir Thomas Linley's daughters! Beautiful young lady, too. Your wife's sister, you told me."
"Yes," Tavington answered softly, not wanting to talk, but to listen. He had no idea that Letty had improved so much. And the gown Jane had complained of was certainly alluring. Mamma had outdone herself in presenting Letty to the circle of family and friends. Sattersby had forgotten to doze off. St. Leger was looking her over like a Christmas pudding. Old Lord Fanshawe seemed delighted, smiling beatifically in a kind of rapture. Even John caught his eye, and nodded in approval.
"An exquisite creature!" commented Lady Sattersby to Lady Cecily. "Your protégée, is she not, ma'am?"
"Indeed she is," his mother replied. "It is a shame that nothing had ever been done for her, poor child. She has been abominably neglected by her sister, and I daresay by the rest of her ignorant Colonial family."
"Then it is a blessing that she has come into your hands, ma'am," said Lady Trumfleet, expertly flattering her aunt. "Such talent ought to be nurtured by people of taste."
Tavington remembered Jane, and saw her sitting not five feet away, her face very red.
Oh, God. Why does Mamma persist in baiting her? Jane will never forgive those words.
Letty was singing again, a lively air:
"What can we poor females do,
When pressing, teasing lovers sue?
What can we,
what can we,
Poor, poor females do?"
At the end, Letty whispered to Bellini. "I mustn't sing more than three songs. Lady Sattersby only played three times, and I don't want to look vain."
"Very well," he rumbled. "Sing your Pastorale for them now, the new way we have worked on."
"Flocks are sporting,
doves are courting,
Wandering linnets sweetly sing,
Ah!…"
Instead of the simple sequence she had first learned, Bellini had taught her to add turns and ornaments, and at the very end of the cadenza, a long, perfect trill. There was a murmur of approval.
"Joy and pleasure,
Without measure,
Kindly hail the glorious spring,.."
And she soared up the scale an octave, finishing the song with a thrilling flourish. She was trembling so much she could hardly hear the fervent applause, but Bellini rose and led her forward to take a bow.
"Well done, my dear young lady: you make me proud of you!"
She shook her head shyly at the clamors for more, and Lady Cecily rose to take her hand and lead her back to her own little clique. After some further, general praise for the lady performers, Lady Cecily announced that the card tables had been set up, and invited them back into the drawing room for whist.
That was all. Jane was blushing with shame, feeling the very deliberate snub. She was ready to play. She was willing to play. It was her most creditable accomplishment, and Lady Cecily had just made it impossible. What could she do? She could hardly call out, "Wait! It's my turn!" No one seemed to notice but Bellini, who glanced over to her in embarrassment and concern, and gave an eloquent Italian shrug. But he had no time to talk to her. Lady Cecily had very definite ideas about who should partner whom at the tables. No sooner had the singing master approached Jane, than Lady Cecily called him away to partner Sir Joshua at the table where Letty and Lord Fanshawe were to play.
"No, Signor!" said Jane's mother-in-law. "Mrs. Tavington cannot play cards tonight. She may have to tend her child at a moment's notice!" Aside, she sneered to her niece, "Suckles the infant herself like a peasant, you see. I tried to enlighten her, but all my helpful overtures were rejected…"
Jane sat down heavily on a sofa, feeling very isolated. There were twenty-one people present, and thus there were five tables. She seemed to be odd-woman-out. Tavington had not noticed. His uncle had nearly dragged him to his own table near the fire, where Lord Colchester would partner his dear Caroline, and Tavington would partner his dear daughter-in-law, Lady Sattersby. The old man was very happy to be surrounded by his favorites. Tavington was enchanted to be playing with the lovely Kitty.
Wishing furiously that she had a book or a workbasket nearby, Jane sat with nothing to do but to listen to the others chatting over their games. Sir John, Penelope, and the Tazewells occupied the closest table.
Kind-hearted Mrs. Tazewell seemed to sense that there was something untoward about Jane's situation. She leaned over to give the neglected lady a share of conversation. "Your sister sings so charmingly. You are not musical then, Mrs. Tavington?"
She means no harm, Jane reminded herself, even thought the words stung like hot needles.
"Actually, Mrs. Tazewell—"
Bellini, at the next table over, and a practiced, professional eavesdropper, put in forcefully, "Mrs. Tavington plays most beautifully, Madame. It was a pity Lady Cecily was so anxious to begin cards."
"Oh! Well, then, someday perhaps—"
Sir John studied his hand with a grim expression, and unexpectedly said, "Why don't you play now, Mrs. Tavington? The place is as dull as tombs. Play for us, if you please."
Surprised that her brother-in-law would propose such a thing, Jane was only too happy to have a pastime. "If you wish, Sir John, I shall certainly oblige you."
"I do wish it."
Without another word, Jane took herself off to the vacated harpsichord, and sat down contentedly. She would play for an hour or so, and then she could slip away unnoticed to the nursery for a little time with Moll. Then she would bring down some of her other music...
A bright Scarlatti sonata was just the thing. Jane struck the first notes, and was nearly shouted at by Lady Cecily.
"What are you doing, Mrs. Tavington? We need quiet to attend to our game!"
Sir John Tavington interrupted his mother, nearly shouting himself. "It is I who asked her to play, Madam. I hope that satisfies you!"
Jane's hands paused over the keys, shaking a little. It was but a minor earthquake. Lady Cecily subsided, with only a repulsive look in Jane's direction. A few people looked uneasy as the disturbance, but most had not noticed it. Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Letty in earnest, embarrassed conversation with a sympathetic Lord Fanshawe. At Lord Colchester's table, the most distant from her, everyone was intent on the conversation and the play, and the raised voices had been unheeded.
Feeling very grateful to her brother-in-law for his intervention. Jane resumed playing, and played with her whole heart.
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Note: My next posting will be late, as I will be away from a computer next week. I'll get it out as soon as possible. Thanks again to those who have taken time to review. I really have replied, but I doubt you have received my messages, since I have received no alerts and no author responses myself to any reviews I've given. And ffdotnet isn't telling us anything, of course.
"Very high" when referred to pheasants (and other flesh and fowl) meant that the birds were kept back until they were slightly rotten. The epicures thought pheasant the more delicious that way. I know, I know. I didn't set the fashion--I'm just reporting it.
For those purists who will point out that strawberries would be out of season by early October--Lady Cecily is extravagant. The strawberries could be 1) forced in a greenhouse 2) candied 3) dried and reconstituted.
"Tabula rasa"--blank slate
Next—Chapter 34: Fox's Earth