Chapter 4 - Cavendish Square

"Lady Damerel and Miss Helena Damerel."

The ladies to whom this announcement was made were two: one, of advancing years with the latest issue of The Ladies' Cabinet lying open on her lap and the other, some twenty years her junior, who only moments before had been working on a piece of crewel embroidery. It was this latter who rose to her feet and, holding out her hands in greeting, cried, "Venetia! My dear! And Helena! At last! We've been counting the days!"

Venetia came forward, and, taking the outstretched hands in hers, pressed them warmly. "Louisa! How very well you look! And Aunt!" She crossed quickly to the sofa, and, dropping down beside the elderly woman, brushed a kiss to her raddled cheek. "How do you go on, dear ma'am? I hope I find you well."

Maria Hendred availed herself of her niece's hand, and patted it fondly. "All the better for seeing you, my love. Tell me, when did you arrive in Town? And how was your journey? You're not excessively fatigued?"

"No, no, ma'am, I assure you. We only arrived yesterday, it's true, but we travelled up in easy stages, and even stopped two nights in Cambridge to see something of Aubrey. He asked me to give you his best regards."

Mrs. Hendred made a noise which, in someone less refined, might have been taken as a snort. "Did he indeed? I'm sure I'm much obliged to him." Helena, who had been respectfully hanging back, now caught Mrs. Hendred's eye and was motioned closer. "Come, child, give your old aunt a kiss, and let me look at you. My sight, I fear, is not so sharp as it was."

Helena did as she was bid, and with great affection, for Mrs. Hendred had ever been as close to a grandmother as she and her siblings had known. She submitted with a smile to being scrutinized in the full expectation of having her transformation from school-room miss to young lady exclaimed over, but in the event Mrs. Hendred only stared at her a moment, her jaw gone somewhat slack. "My word!" she said, scarcely above a whisper, and then, to Venetia, "The resemblance is uncanny."

"To my mother, do you mean, Aunt?"

"Yes. Do you know, just for an instant there, it was as if I were a girl again and seeing Aurelia as she was at eighteen. She was the sensation of her Season, Helena, so beautiful she dazzled all the gentlemen, including my foolish brother, of course. Francis was so violently in love, he married her despite her complete lack of fortune and over our mother's objections."

"And lived to regret it," Venetia observed. She gave her aunt's hand a soothing squeeze. "But you mustn't let appearances mislead you, ma'am. Helena's character is nothing like my mother's."

"And thank heaven for that! You and Damerel have done well not to spoil her as old General Chiltoe did Aurelia. But come! Enough of the distant past! We have far more pleasant matters to discuss, and much to arrange if Helena and Georgie are to be presented at the Queen's next Drawing Room."

"Georgina is so excited," Louisa put in, motioning Helena to a chair and resuming her own. "And relieved as well, I may say, to be making her come-out with you, Helena. She is so much easier knowing you'll be doing the Season together."

"As am I, ma'am," Helena assured her. "It's a comfort to know I'll have Georgie to lean on, as she'll have me."

"Very prettily said," Mrs. Hendred approved. "Now, as you'll have guessed, Georgie's not at home at present. She and Will have gone to… where was it again, Louisa?"

"To Hatchards, Mama, for Mrs. Gore's and Mr. Dicken's latest novels. They should be back very shortly."

"In which case, Louisa, ring for tea. Oh, and have Cook send up a plate of her iced almond cakes. Wait until you taste them, my dears! They're quite as good as any to be had at Gunter's!"

The order once passed along, they fell to catching one another up on all the latest family news. This was a time-consuming process as there were seven Hendred siblings (not including Louisa) to be inquired after, and about whose doings, her aunt and cousin being indifferent correspondents, Venetia had had little or no recent intelligence. All of the Hendred children except the youngest, Will, had married and were settled with sons and daughters of their own. Like his late father, the eldest son, George, was so busy about his private affairs and public duties as an MP that he was rarely to be found at his London address and was seldom seen by his wife and children, let alone by his mother and sister. The middle son, Richard, of an all-together more placid disposition, was content to reside in the country and manage the two estates in Berkshire which had been his inheritance. Will, immediately upon receiving his degree from Oxford, had embarked on a Grand Tour of the Continent with a friend, and, after having been abroad for nearly twelve months, had recently returned and was once again residing under his mother's roof. As for her five daughters, Mrs. Hendred, to her credit, had realized her life's ambition of seeing them all make advantageous marriages within a year of being launched into society. The prettiest of these, Marianne, had even captivated a Scottish peer and was now a viscountess living in Edinburgh.

Louisa, the eldest daughter, had been the first to make a brilliant match. Her husband, Edward Harcourt, though a simple "mister," could trace his ancestry back to the Norman Conquest and was as rich as any lord. Though he was some fifteen years her senior, theirs had been a happy union, and Louisa had been genuinely grieved when, in the winter of 1830, Edward had been carried off by a cold which had worsened swiftly and fatally into pneumonia. She had been left a wealthy widow with two young daughters, Georgina and Charlotte, to raise. Some two years later, Mrs. Hendred having suffered her own bereavement, she had persuaded Louisa and the girls to come reside with her and Will in Cavendish Square, an arrangement which had proved to the advantage of all parties concerned.

Tea had just been served, and Louisa had begun to fret about Georgina's prolonged absence when the young lady herself bustled into the room followed closely by Will, who, being only five years her elder, looked more the part of brother than uncle. There was some family resemblance between them, for they were both grey-eyed and brown-haired with good if unremarkable features, but whereas Will had inherited his father's medium height and slim build, Georgina, like her mother before her, took after Mrs. Hendred and was rather shorter than average and plump.

Georgina had also inherited her grandmother's affectionate nature, and so, having embraced Venetia, she enveloped Helena in a hug. "I am so glad you're finally here," she said, her face alight with a smile that transformed her from passable to pretty. "If I'd had any notion you might call today, you may be sure I'd've kept to the house!"

"And Hatchards would be much the poorer for it!" Will said, drily. "Cousin." He bent to salute Venetia's cheek, and, straightening, offered Helena a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to see you both again."

"It's been too long, Will," Venetia said, fondly. "When we came to town last year, you'd already set off on your travels. And now, here you are, returned, a man of the world!"

"Hardly that," he replied with good humor. "We stayed mostly on the beaten track, saw a good deal of France and Italy with something of Switzerland and Austria on the way back, but that was the extent of it."

"You didn't make it to Greece?"

"No, more's the pity. I lobbied for it, but Walt wasn't keen. Said he'd had his fill of ruins in Rome and Pompeii."

"Walt was your traveling companion, I take it?"

"Yes, Walter Flavell. Known him since Eton. Good chap. We had a guide with us as well, Mr. Jeremiah Crocker, quite a knowledgeable man, some connection of Walt's mother."

"Flavell, you say?" Venetia repeated, her brows drawing together. "I seem to know that name. Now, where…?"

Mrs. Hendred cleared her throat. "I believe, my love, that, in their salad days, Damerel and Lord Flavell moved in the same social set."

"Ah, yes! That's it! Fancy you remembering, ma'am! He has a hunting-box in County Durham, does he not? Or, had one, at least."

"He still does," Will assured her. "I was invited for the grouse shooting two years back. Capital sport!"

"Lord Flavell!" Venetia said again, her voice soft with wonder. "What a small world it is, to be sure! I do hope, Will, we'll have occasion to meet this friend of yours!"

"As to that, never fear! Walt's a great one for parties and balls, besides running tame around here."

"Speaking of balls," Mrs. Hendred said, in a decided tone of voice, "we really must talk about co-ordinating our own. Now, I know, my love, that I quite approved your idea of bringing the girls out together, and it's exceedingly generous of you — and Damerel — to wish to spare Louisa and me the trouble and expense, not to mention your having the much grander ballroom — but we've discussed the matter further, Louisa and I, and, while we're sincerely obliged to you, we've decided it's more fitting that Georgie make her debut here in Cavendish Square. You understand, don't you?"

"Completely, dear ma'am! Think no more about it! Now, as to dates," she continued, adopting, in her turn, a businesslike manner, "do you have any preferences? As you know, we were thinking of mid-May…"

The afternoon was well-advanced and Mrs. Hendred flagging by the time they'd agreed on some preliminary plans. These included the indispensable first step of visiting the shops and bazaars for such articles as stockings, gloves and fans, and the milliner for the latest style in bonnets. Georgina's wardrobe for the Season had, for the most part, already been commissioned and it remained only for the garments to be fitted but she was happy to accompany Helena to her dressmaker's appointments and share in the discussion of which fabrics and cuts would suit her cousin best.

In this way, between all the shopping trips and making calls on, or receiving them from, various Hendred relatives, Helena's first two weeks in London passed in a very agreeable, if hectic, manner. She and her mother made time, as well, for the ritual leaving of calling cards at the homes of friends and acquaintances, and, in the days following, returned from their excursions to find a gratifying number of return cards piled in the butler's silver tray. One afternoon, as she quickly looked through that day's selection, one card brought Venetia up short and caused her to frown thoughtfully. "Mrs. George Carstairs," she read aloud. "Now, who could that be?"

"One of the neighbors, perhaps?" Helena ventured. The Brook Street house having been deemed too small for their current purposes, Damerel had not renewed the lease on Storborough House and had moved the family into the Grosvenor Square mansion. As was customary, the other residents of the square had been dropping off their cards by way of welcome.

Venetia shook her head. "She gives her address as Portman Square." She gave a little shrug, and, setting the mystery card aside, exclaimed at the next, "Why, how very civil! Lady Hendon and her daughter called."

"Lady Callista?" Helena asked, reaching an eager hand out for the card. To her delight, it bore in an elegant script the countess' name and, beneath it, that of Callista St. Cyr.

"Yes, and now that I think of it, I shouldn't be surprised. Lady Callista did say she'd call when we returned to Town. It was the evening we chanced to meet her and Lord Devlin at the York Assembly, remember? They were there with a cousin who'd just inherited Harebell HalI." Her brow furrowed, and she wondered aloud, "Now, what was his name? Lord Percy… Percy…?"

"Claiborne," Helena supplied, so promptly she feared she'd betrayed her interest in the man, and hurried on in consequence, "There were two others in their party. A married couple. George and Enid, I believe."

To her relief, her mother regarded her with simple admiration. "What a splendid memory you have, my love! You quite put me to shame." She suddenly stilled, and, repossessing herself of the puzzling card, said, "Mrs. George Carstairs… Do you suppose she might be the Enid you just mentioned? She could have called with the St. Cyrs. Yes," she went on, with conviction, "that'll be the answer! Mystery solved!"

It was several days before Mrs. Carstairs called a second time, and, in doing so, confirmed Venetia's theory. In the interim, Helena suffered all the delicious agonies attendant upon wondering when — or, indeed, if — Lord Percy would, in his turn, make good on his expressed intention of furthering their acquaintance. If, over the intervening weeks, their encounter with the Harebell Hall party had largely slipped her mother's mind, it had never been far from Helena's, and, while she'd always looked forward to their seasonal removal to town, this year, with the prospect of seeing Lord Percy in view, she'd been positively impatient. Truth be told, ever since her return, she'd been especially alert, looking about her more keenly when she was out and about in the perfectly irrational hope of catching a glimpse of him in the crowds thronging Bond and Regent Streets or taking the air in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. She knew she was being absurd — London was a city of almost two millions souls. The chance of crossing paths with any particular one of its inhabitants was vanishingly small. And yet, she persisted, heartened by the knowledge that accidental meetings, however rare, did sometimes occur. Case in point: on one occasion, upon carelessly exiting a shop, she very nearly collided with a gentleman she knew, and, had it been Lord Percy rather than her father's cousin Alfred, it would have been a thrilling moment instead of merely a pleasant surprise. And so she continued ever watchful without once being rewarded for her trouble, and this, as she was to learn from his sister and cousin, for a very simple reason: Lord Percy was in Yorkshire.