Chapter 7 At the Chattertons' Ball
Percy first learned of the ton's obsession with Helena in, of all places, the dining room at Brooks's.
He and Simon were enjoying a late lunch when, from a nearby table, a deep voice rose above the clatter of silverware and murmurs of conversation to declare, "My money's on La Stanhope."
"Then prepare to kiss your blunt good-bye," came the rejoinder. "La Damerel's the filly to back in this race. They may be on a par for beauty — I'll give you that for argument's sake — but the Damerel chit's from a noble family, and, what's more, she's got the Queen's imprimatur. You know Hartshorne. That's going to weigh with him."
Percy had stilled to listen, and, his gaze meeting Simon's across the table, he looked a question at his friend.
Simon returned his attention to his steak and applied himself to slicing off a morsel. "It's the latest wager in the betting book. They're taking odds on which young lady will snag this season's top matrimonial prize. Miss Stanhope and Miss Damerel are the frontrunners."
It took Percy a moment to recover from his surprise. "You're saying Hartshorne's looking to get spliced? Are you sure?"
Simon shrugged. "That's the rumor. Apparently he's finally caved in to family pressure to do his duty and produce an heir. He's an only son, as you may remember, so the burden falls squarely on his shoulders."
Percy smiled at his friend's disgruntled tone. "You're in the same boat."
"True, but, happily for me, I've still got a few years' grace. Hartshorne must be — what? — thirty if he's a day."
"I believe he was in Arthur's class at Eton which would make him thirty-two."
"So, he's had a good long run, and now it's time he settled down. He'll have the consolation, at least, of having his pick of this year's eligibles. There's not a girl who won't jump at the chance to become Marchioness of Hartshorne, and future Duchess of Litchfield."
Percy thought this undoubtably true of Beryl Stanhope but had his reservations about Helena. She had not struck him as socially ambitious or a status-seeker but that impression was based on nothing more than one evening's acquaintance and might, for all he knew, be entirely false. And then, to do Hartshorne justice, it had to be conceded he had more than just a title to recommend him. Litchfield being one of the realm's most prosperous domains, he was a wealthy man and, consequently, above any father's suspicion of marrying solely for money. He was not known to have any vices beyond those typical of other young peers — drink, gambling, the keeping of opera dancers — none of which he carried to excess. At six feet tall, possessed of a fine head of brown hair, regular features, and a sportsman's lithe physique, he was held to be, if not precisely handsome, a better-than-average-looking specimen. And he could be charming when he chose to make the effort. All told, he would be, in vulgar parlance, an enviable "catch" for any girl.
Some few hours later, upon presenting himself, as summoned, at his parents' Park Street residence to take tea with his mother, Percy walked in on what was soon revealed to be yet another conversation about Helena. His sister Elayne was already ensconced in the drawing room, and, unaware of his approach, was telling Her Grace, "Then you need only look in on the Chattertons' ball. She assured Enid she means to attend" She broke off as Percy joined them, and, the next few minutes being taken up with greetings and, on the siblings' part, inquiries into one another's health and that of Elayne's husband and two children, it was only with these preliminaries over that Percy could apologize for having interrupted his sister and beg her to go on with what she'd been saying.
"Oh! Well, it was only that Mamma expressed a wish to see Miss Damerel for herself…"
Percy nearly fumbled the cup his mother held out to him. "Miss Damerel!"
"Yes, the young lady who so captivated the Queen. Are you really not au courant? It's all anyone can talk about."
"I've heard nothing about it," Percy said, not quite truthfully.
"By all accounts," his mother supplied, "Her Majesty was so taken with the girl, she predicted a brilliant match for her. It's been put about that the Queen had young Hartshorne in mind but that's arrant speculation. I must admit, I'm curious to see what all the fuss is about." She took a sip of her tea, and, returning the cup to its saucer, turned an inquiring look on Percy. "You've met the girl, I believe. Last winter, wasn't it, at a ball in York? What was your impression of her? Is she so very striking?"
A vision of Helena materialized in his mind, and he experienced again the loss of breath that first sight of her had caused him. All unwitting, his mother had hit upon the exact right word to describe her, for in that moment he'd been smitten, felled by a fatal coup de foudre. He betrayed nothing of this to his mother, replying only that Miss Damerel was, indeed, amazingly pretty and so greatly admired in York that she'd had not a single free dance to bestow on him.
"I know her parents, of course," the duchess went on, musing aloud. "A nodding acquaintance only, but perfectly respectable people. Although, now I come to think of it, there was a time when Damerel was not received in the best of circles."
"Lord Damerel?" Elayne exclaimed.
Her mother nodded. "I know it's hard to credit now, he's so entirely reformed, but he was once considered, if not as 'mad' as poor Lord Byron, certainly as 'bad and dangerous to know.'
"As for Lady Damerel, she is, I understand, from a good if undistinguished family, and, apart from her queer start in allying herself to Damerel, has always behaved impeccably." Her brow furrowed in a sudden frown, her gaze turning distant. "There was a scandal attached to her, though. Or, not to her, but a relation. Now, who was it? Her mother…?" Her Grace made a valiant attempt to dredge up the particulars but gave the effort up at last. "It's no good. Your grandmother Claiborne, now — God rest her soul! — she'd have had all the details at her fingertips. When it came to anything having to do with the ton, she had the most prodigious memory, and an incredible breadth of knowledge, too, as to who everybody was, who their forbears had been, and to whom they were connected. She was every bit as good an authority as Debrett's."
Percy shared a wry look with his sister. "You sound almost as if you miss the old dragon."
His mother drew herself up stiffly. "I grant you she wasn't the easiest of mother-in-laws…" She reprimanded Percy's snort with a glare and concluded, "But she did, nonetheless, have her good points."
Elayne tactfully steered the conversation back on topic. "So, the Chattertons' ball, Mamma? Will you attend?"
"Do you know, I believe I shall. I'll have a note sent round directly to rescind my regrets. I may rely on you, Percy, may I not, to serve as my escort? I know you've been invited."
Given their bargain, there was only one answer Percy could return, and so, it was agreed between them that he would present himself again in two days' time to dine with his mother and, afterward, accompany her to the ball.
In the intervening days, Percy was prey to conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he was eager, even anxious, to see Helena again. He was impatient to renew her acquaintance, and satisfy himself that the image of her he'd carried with him for months was, indeed, true to life and not embellished by his imagination. On the other, he knew he'd have to guard against betraying any sign of the partiality he felt for her, and the obligation chafed. It would make for a bittersweet evening, one of mingled pleasure and strain, and, as the hour of their meeting again drew close, he couldn't have said, of anticipation or dread, which feeling was paramount.
The duchess making it her practice always to be fashionably late, the dancing was already well underway when she and Percy arrived at the ball. Mrs. Chatterton, alone, remained near the ballroom's entrance to welcome latecomers, and, on spying Her Grace, hurried over and received them so effusively, it bordered on fawning. The duchess, ever gracious, complimented their hostess on the beauty of the ballroom's decorations, and congratulated her, too, on the crush of people in attendance. Mr. Chatterton came up on the heels of these remarks with a strapping, round-faced girl in tow and begged the honor of presenting their daughter, Amanda. As etiquette demanded, Percy solicited the pleasure of a dance later in the evening, and, that favor granted, he and his mother were at last at liberty to mix with the other guests.
The press of people in the room and his mother's constant stopping to acknowledge greetings or exchange words with friends made progress around the dance floor a slow affair. When forced to a halt, Percy did his best to appear attentive to his companions and steal no more than the odd, surreptitious glance about in search of Helena, but his efforts in this vein were not entirely successful for a low, laughing voice murmured in his ear, "Lord Percy, I do believe you're looking for someone. Might it, perchance, be me?"
Percy turned to discover Beryl Stanhope at his elbow, her blue eyes alight with humor and an arch smile on her lips. She was, as ever, the picture of cool elegance. Her gown of ice blue silk lavishly trimmed with crystal beads was in the very latest fashion and showed her tiny waist, ivory shoulders and willowy form to advantage. Her hair, more flaxen than gold, was artfully arranged so that ringlets framed the perfect oval of her face and a high chignon of interwoven braids and stiff ribbon lent her the illusion of greater height than she possessed. In her first season, poems had been penned in praise of her "sapphire" eyes, "carnelian" lips, and "alabaster" skin, and while the verse itself was hyperbolic, it was nonetheless true that her features were exceptionally fine. "Miss Stanhope," Percy said, returning her smile and bowing slightly from the shoulder. "You've caught me out! I was, indeed, hoping to steal a march on your other admirers and secure a dance before they could all be claimed."
She rewarded this gallantry with an appreciative half-smile. "As to that, they are, most of them, promised, but…" She fanned open her dance card, and, making a show of consulting its folds, said, "I do have a quadrille - dance number ten — free. Shall I pencil you in?"
"If you would."
She suited action to words, and, when she was done, said, "I understand congratulations are in order. You've come into some property since last we met. Somewhere in the north, I heard tell."
"Yes, in Yorkshire, in the general vicinity of Moncton. Are you familiar at all with the area?"
"As it happens, I am. I have an aunt — my mother's sister — who lives not far from Thirsk. What with one thing and another, we haven't seen as much of her and her family as we would like, but she did have me to stay one summer..." She broke off suddenly, her attention caught, to all appearances, by something beyond Percy's shoulder. He swiveled to follow her gaze and saw Mrs. Stanhope standing with a gentleman some ways off and beckoning her daughter to join them. "Please excuse me, my lord. As you see, my mother wants me. I shall look forward to talking with you more later and hearing all about your new estate."
She moved away, and Percy, turning back to his mother, found her conversing with her good friend Lady Palmer and a young lady who was introduced as her niece, Miss Florence Huddleston. It was immediately clear from his mother's kindly demeanor that the girl — a shy thing who, Percy guessed, must be all of seventeen — had Her Grace's full approbation, and, if he'd had any doubts on that score, her pointed observation that Miss Huddleston was not yet engaged for the next dance and the speaking look that accompanied it laid them to rest. He bowed to the inevitable, dutifully begged the pleasure of leading Miss Huddleston out, and, on her murmuring an acceptance, guided her to the dance floor.
Miss Huddleston proved to be of so timid a disposition that, for the duration of their waltz, she dared not raise her eyes above his cravat, nor vouchsafe more than monosyllables in response to his attempts to draw her out. Finally, all his efforts falling flat, he lapsed into silence and applied himself to steering her safely across the floor, no easy feat in the overcrowded conditions. Happily, this obligation to be watchful supplied him as well with the chance to look about him for Helena and he didn't scruple to take advantage.
His search was unavailing for so long, he thought she must not be among the dancers, but he spotted her at last and it was, ironically, not her golden hair or primrose yellow gown that drew his eye but her partner's exuberant style of waltzing. Percy was not personally acquainted with the auburn-haired young giant, but knew him, as a fellow member of Brooks's, to be Lord Flavell's eldest son, William (or perhaps Walter). He watched with some concern for Helena as Flavell twirled her about with such energy and careless disregard for his surroundings that a collision seemed inescapable, and, indeed, had one couple not taken swift evasive action, he must surely have blundered into them and knocked them down like nine pins. By some miracle, the dance ended without incident, and Percy's gaze followed the pair as they moved off the floor and toward the refreshment room for, doubtless on Helena's part, a much-needed glass of lemonade. Miss Huddleston, when asked if she might like refreshment, declined and so, without further ado and to her obvious relief, Percy restored her to her aunt.
He managed, by the shabby maneuver of eluding both his mother and hostess, to avoid being recruited for the next dance and retreated, instead, to a shadowy corner from which to survey the room. He saw Helena return, and Flavell escort her to where Lady Damerel stood in the company of another matron, a young lady who resembled her closely, and a young gentleman whom Percy recognized from having seen him often with Flavell but couldn't name. He was surprised to see that Flavell didn't make his bow and retire but then worked out he was included in the party by virtue of being the young gentleman's friend, and that friend some connection of Helena's. His surmise seemed confirmed when, the next dance being announced, Flavell offered the unknown young lady his arm and led her onto the floor. Percy looked next for the relation to partner Helena, but, in the event, it was Lord Maxwell, Beryl Stanhope's erstwhile suitor, who stepped up to collect his dance.
Percy was, fortuitously, well-placed to watch Helena move through the figures, and fell once again, and instantly, under her spell. He hadn't misremembered; not her radiant smile, expressive eyes or sunny manner. She was light and graceful on her feet, and her pleasure in the dance so undisguised, it was charming to behold. Maxwell, a dazzled smile on his face, was very clearly enchanted, and Percy couldn't blame him. She was entrancing.
"Shirker!" The reproach and sharp rap of a fan on his arm made him jump. At his side, Callie grinned broadly up at him. "You know very well you weren't invited to hold up the wall! You should be partnering some wallflower, not hiding behind a potted palm!"
"I'm not hiding!" Percy protested, a weak response that earned him an ironic look from Callie. "And, anyway, why aren't you dancing instead of sneaking up on people?"
"Why, precisely because of men like you standing idly about when they could be making themselves useful! But, never mind." She slipped her arm companionably through his. "You can make up for your negligence by escorting me over to Lady Damerel. I mean to pay her my respects, and catch Helena between dances, if I can." She tugged at his arm to set him moving, but met with resistance. "Do come along, Percy! You needn't fear they'll be miffed with you for not calling as you'd promised. I explained about the roof collapse at Harebell and your having to rush back there. They were genuinely distressed for you."
This time when she tugged, Percy yielded. "They were?"
"Yes, indeed, and Helena, in particular, always asks after you whenever we meet. Trust me, they'll be glad to see you. And, if you're quick about it, you may yet be in time to procure yourself a dance with Helena."
They had only, however, to draw close to the Damerel party for Percy to see that he'd missed his opportunity. Helena stood smiling regretfully and apologizing to two gentleman, each of whom absorbed his rejection with a bow and took himself off. She was turning back to her mother, her expression pained, when she chanced to catch sight of Percy's approach. The clouds vanished from her face to be replaced by a smile of such happy surprise, Percy's foolish heart thrilled.
"Lady Damerel, Helena, good evening!" Callie said warmly on coming up to them. "Are you enjoying the ball? Quite the success, is it not? You remember my cousin, Lord Percy Claiborne?"
"Of course!" Lady Damerel held out a gloved hand, and Percy bowed over it. "We were so sorry to hear about the storm damage to Harebell. Are the repairs progressing well?"
"Yes, thank you, we've made a good start." Percy smiled at Helena and inclined his head in greeting. "Miss Damerel."
She flushed a delicate pink and bobbed a curtsey. "My lord."
There was no time for her to say more, for, introductions being due, Lady Damerel launched into presenting their companions: her cousins, Mrs. Edward Harcourt, Miss Georgina Harcourt and Mr. Will Hendred, and this latter's friend, Mr. Walter Flavell. Polite acknowledgements were exchanged, and Percy very properly followed up his "pleasure to meet you" to Miss Harcourt by asking if she might favor him with a dance. The plain little miss positively blossomed at this courtesy and assured him that she had, not the next set, but the one immediately after free.
"And you, Miss Damerel?" Percy said, pretending, for form's sake, not to know her foregone answer. "Am I to be more fortunate this time than I was the last?"
He was so well-prepared to accept her regrets that when she said, "I do have one dance left," he was so taken by surprise, he couldn't hide it. The rosy tint in her cheeks deepened almost to red as she hurried on self-consciously, "It's a gallopade, you see, a dance I'm not very good at. I was planning to sit it out, but, well, if you'd care to, we might do so together, or take a turn about the room."
She was so adorably flustered, and Percy so immensely flattered, it was all he could do to suppress a grin. "The gallopade's a terrible romp, and I should like nothing better than to skip it in your company. Which dance is it, then?"
Helena flashed him a grateful smile. "Number nine," she said promptly.
Percy bowed. "I'll return for you then."