A Virtuous Lady (11 page)

Ravensworth slammed into the Albany, muttered an angry salutation to the night porter dozing at his post,
apd
took the stairs two at a time. Denby took one look at his master's black brow and forbore to ask his lordship whether the evening had come up to expectation. With the greatest circumspection, the valet relieved his master of his garments and discreetly withdrew before Ravensworth was aware of his absence.

She would try to cut him, thought Ravensworth as he wrapped a brocade dressing gown around his bone-weary frame. He wouldn't allow it, of course. Avery was his entree into Half Moon Street and there was nothing that Briony could do about it. He acknowledged that he had a serious problem to overcome. How could he offer for her when he had taken such pains to convince her that, for one of his rank, marriage to her was out of the question? She would think him more of a cad than she already did. He would have to tread carefully. Once she was his and under his authority, he intended to be tolerant of her tender scruples. Good God, he admired her for them. But he wouldn't allow anything so paltry to stand in the way of their happiness.

The business with
Harriette
Wilson gave him an uneasy mind. Briony must not pursue that acquaintance.
Harriette's

"
profession
," he knew, would not weigh with Briony. The lady had shown her a kindness and she would not forget it. But she must be protected from her own innocence. Fortunately, it had been dark when he had brought her home in the carriage and he had had the foresight to instruct the coachman to take a long route home. She would never locate the house and
Harriette
had mentioned a projected sojourn in Paris with her latest protector. It would work out for the best.

What a night she had put him through, the little termagant! He hadn't had a wink's sleep in over twenty-four hours and the sensations of alarm, anger, anguish, and remorse had consumed him every minute of that time. He had alternatively wanted to choke the life out of her once he had found her and hold her small, warm body protectively in his arms. The idea that she might go out of his life was not to be countenanced. He could not allow her to thwart him in his determination to make her his wife.

For the better part of the following week Briony remained in her chamber. Although fully recovered from the accident, she was in no hurry
to
resume what she perceived to be her ignominious place on the social ladder. Every day Lords Avery and Ravensworth called faithfully at Half Moon Street, but she never received them nor could Harriet persuade her cousin to join them for even a few minutes' conversation. Ravensworth's floral tributes she accepted with
something
less than grace, but Harriet forbore to remark upon it, believing that the accident had shaken Briony more than they had at first supposed.

The wretchedness of
Briony's
spirits, however, had little to do with the unfortunate accident. Her confused thoughts were wholly occupied by the slights she had received at the disastrous party. When she recalled the cool, indifferent reception which
temperature
 
had
been her first taste of life in Society, she groaned in mortification. But when she thought of Ravensworth's offensive, contemptible proposal, she ground her teeth in a passion of fury. These excessive swings of mood, however, were soon spent, and
Briony's
natural good sense began to reassert
itse
]f
.

For long hours she sat in her chamber in typical Quaker solitude contemplating her situation. With determined logic she began to sift through everything that she had ever learned about conduct between the sexes. At the end of the week, Briony had come to her own conclusions. The beautiful lady who had nursed her, she reflected, had known a thing or two. One must abide by one's own convictions. Formerly she had blindly accepted her mother's Quaker teaching, but Mama, as she had sadly discovered, was not infallible.

Great Aunt
Sophy
saw nothing amiss in her niece's withdrawn manner. The cousins regarded this august lady as a "dear" who never scolded or became overly inquisitive. She was genuinely delighted to enter into all the girls' amusements, but as a watchful chaperone, Aunt
Sophy
left much to be desired. She would never grudge her presence at any of the dos and parties which her nieces might attend, but neither would she pay more than mild attention to her charges once she had delivered them to their destination. Aunt
Sophy
pursued her own pleasures among the dowagers. She was a zealous gossip and an inveterate gambler who invariably settled herself in the quieter confines of the card room, where she spent the better part of the evening doing a brisk business with other like-minded matrons who enjoyed what they were pleased to call "a little flutter."

She accepted
Briony's
explanation of the accident at face value as she did Ravensworth's smooth description of the solicitous lady who had sheltered her niece. When she indicated that she wished to call on this paragon who had shown Briony such extravagant kindness, Ravensworth's bland avowal that the lady had since removed from town, she accepted unhesitatingly. Aunt
Sophy
, who was related to Briony only through marriage, was not suspicious by nature. Nor was she as observant as Sir John and Lady Esther would have wished, for when Briony was finally persuaded to eat at table, it went unremarked by that
grande
dame that her niece had removed every vestige of lace which had formerly concealed the rounded swell of her bosom.

Harriet observed the modification in
Briony's
gowns but tactfully kept silent. She surmised that
Briony's
humiliation at the hands of the ton had induced her cousin to abandon her rigid adherence to Quaker ways. She was deeply vexed for
Briony's
mortifying experience, but her admiration for her cousin's courage and good sense outweighed every other feeling. She wished only that Briony would consent to have her hair cut a la mode. She was sure that with the right garments and hair style, Briony could be quite a taking girl.

Briony's
first outing in her aunt's carriage was to a small office in
Pimlico
to consult with the
Langlands
' man of business. To a courteous and attentive Mr. Jackson, who had been her father's agent for years beyond remembering, she explained that it was her intention of acquiring a new wardrobe for her first Season. Mr. Jackson was not perturbed. He knew how little the Langland ladies ever expended on such frivolities as baubles and gowns. He affably assured the solemn young Quaker lady that as one of the heirs to the Langland fortune, she had more than sufficient funds for her needs. Had he known the full extent of
Briony's
ambitions, he might have expressed his sentiments more cautiously. Briony was instructed to purchase whatever she needed and send the accounts to his office. His reassuring words brought the dimples to
Briony's
wan cheeks.

Harriet had been at first stunned and then ecstatic. It had never occurred to her that the Langland branch of the family was a wealthy one. They had certainly never given any indication in their modest style of living that they were anything but comfortably situated, and Sir John and Lady Esther had never breathed a word. Briony explained how it offended every feeling of delicacy for Quakers to admit to wealth. Many Quakers were, however, as rich as nabobs in
spite of giving vast sums of money to works of charity and philanthropy. Quakers were honest, industrious, and trustworthy, virtues which reaped monetary rewards when one was engaged in trade or business, and her father had had diverse investments in various companies besides his extensive estates in
Shropshire
.

Harriet, quite naturally, imparted the information to her beau, Lord Avery, who gleefully told his friend, Lord Ravensworth, in the strictest confidence. That gentleman mulled the information over in his mind. He perceived that there never had been the slightest hope that Briony would ever have accepted what he now came to regard as his preposterous proposal. Not only was she a lady of virtue but, more to the point, she was a lady of independent means.

Briony's
financial status was of not the slightest consequence to him, but he could see how, should the on
dit
become
general, his beloved heiress would inevitably be besieged with unsavory suitors. The thought made him quite viciously unpleasant to his devoted valet. Denby was wondering if it was time to tender his resignation since his master had been, quite uncharacteristically, in a taking in the last week or so, and Denby held that a valet of his particular abilities would have little trouble in finding another situation. He decided to wait it out and see.

With impetuous fingers chafing to get at the contents, Briony speedily undid the wrappings of the large dress box which had that very evening been delivered from Madame
Godet
, a fashionable
mantua
maker who had her establishment on Seymour Street With a small sound of wonderment, she withdrew a gown of gossamer, violet silk tissue shot with silver. She stood shivering with anticipation in her thin cotton chemise as Lady
Sophy's
abigail
eased the diaphanous slip of a dress over her head. The square neckline was low-cut but modest by the standards of the day, and the
short puffed sleeves were gathered in the middle with a silver satin ribbon. The
abigail
painstakingly fastened the row of tiny buttons at her back and Briony swung gently from side to side admiring the fullness of the gored skirt with its high waistline fitting snugly under her breasts. It was, Madame
Godet
had said, the very latest fashion from Paris.

Thank you,
Alice, that
will be all."

"If you wish, I could curl your hair," the
abigail
offered helpfully.

Briony sat down in front of the mirror. "That won't be necessary!" Alice curtsied and made as if to withdraw.

"
Ooo
, Miss Briony," she said in accents of wonder, "you will be the grandest lady at the ball in that lovely gown."

Briony's
eyes grew round and serious. "I intend to be, Alice, I intend to be," she responded without a trace of humor in her voice.

Briony gazed at the mirror and saw a stranger. Her eyes, she noted with wonder, had darkened to a mysterious violet, but when she moved, the silver sheen of her gown changed their color to gray again. Her hair she had quite deliberately kept in tight braids the whole day long. She undid the pins and unwound the long strands carefully,
then
she brushed her fair tresses till they were lustrous. Her long, thick hair fell in a torrent of soft waves to below her shoulders. Briony inserted two silver combs studded with amethysts just above each ear, and she carefully positioned matching amethyst drops on her ears. She dipped her fingers into a small porcelain pot on her dressing table and rouged her full lips sparingly. From her pale, luminous face reflected in the mirror, dark, violet-gray eyes gazed gravely back at her— eyes with knowledge as old as Eve.

"You were wrong, Mama," Briony softly told her mirror image. "The Quaker mode of dress is
not
a protection from predators. It is a cowardly camouflage that serves only to incite violence. Believe
me,
dressed like this, I shall appear as merely another leaf on the tree." After a moment's honest reflection, she was compelled to add "or nearly."

On her bed were the accessories which Alice had thoughtfully laid out for her. She pulled on elbow-length white kid gloves, draped a shawl of silver-blue silk negligently across her shoulders, and picked up a French fan richly decorated with mother of pearl. She wondered if she should tuck her snuffbox into her embroidered satin
pochette
but decided against it. She must remember to look for
one
studded with amethysts when next she went shopping. Briony nodded sagely at the stranger in her mirror and tilted her head back a trifle. "And now, fair lady," she said huskily, "lead me to the lions."

Viscount
Castlereagh's
residence was less than a ten- minute walk away at 18 St. James Square—ten minutes by foot, that is, but
a full hour by coach since the narrow streets were
throned
with the crested carriages of members of the ton who were considered among the elite. To receive an invitation to one of the grandest balls of the Season was a better recommendation than even a voucher to
Almack's
and much more enjoyable.

Briony was relieved that Lord Ravensworth was not of their party. Avery explained that he was one of Lady
Castlereagh's
pre-ball dinner guests, a singular honor, but not unexpected for the heir to one of the most prestigious titles in the realm. Briony sniffed. That she was at that moment seated in Ravensworth's crested carriage nettled her more than she cared to admit. If it had been up to her, she would have refused his offer out of hand, but Aunt
Sophy
saw it as a splendid solution to her particular problem. James, her own coachman, poor man, hated the long delays at these grand crushes, and she hadn't the heart to inconvenience him.