Thea's Marquis (9 page)

Thea had no notion what to say. She in turn was rescued by Lord Hazlewood. He came to join them and asked the ageing dandy if it were true that Prinny had gone off to Suffolk with the Hertfords although Princess Charlotte’s baby was due any day.

“Gone shooting,” he confirmed. “Never fear, he’ll come rushing back when the moment comes. Fond of the chit, he is, for all she takes after her mother with her hoydenish ways.”

“Lèse-majesté,” said the marquis, pretending to be shocked.

“Gammon, my boy, just quoting Prinny himself. Aha, here comes...oh.” He ended on a note of disappointment as he saw that the butler bore a silver salver with a calling-card, instead of the expected plate of cakes.

His stately mien marred by a trace of excitement, Dunmow approached the dowager, bowed low, and presented the salver. “The Marchioness of Hazlewood, my lady,” he announced, his impressive tone indicating that gentlemen callers were all very well in their way, but it was the ladies who counted.

“Your mama, Hazlewood?” The dowager took the card and studied it with an air of perplexity. “Surely you have not kept the marchioness waiting outside, Dunmow?”

“Certainly not, my lady,” he said, offended. “Her ladyship sent her carriage and a footman. If your ladyship will turn the card over...”

“Thank you, Dunmow, that will be all.” As he retreated, she did as he had suggested, and read aloud, “‘At home, Friday. Lady Hazlewood requests the pleasure of the company of the Dowager Lady Kilmore and the Misses Kilmore.’ ”

“An invitation!” cried Meg. She turned to the marquis to ask, “This is your doing, sir? Thank you.”

“I told my mother I meant to take you to call on her,” he said, “and she offered to write an invitation, though she usually does not for an informal at home.” To Thea, he sounded less than pleased.

“Nothing my aunt does is informal,” Will contradicted. “I assure you, Miss Megan, Aunt Hazlewood is the highest stickler on the face of the earth. It comes of being a duke’s daughter. It’s a feather in your cap to get an invitation from her.”

“Deuced high in the instep,” confirmed Mr. Glubb-ffoulkes, with an anxious look at the door.

Their words increased Thea’s suspicion. “Mama, may I see the card?” she requested.

Meg jumped up and brought it to her. “See, is it not splendid?”

Thea turned it over and read the quavery handwriting on the reverse. “‘The Dowager Lady Kilmore and the Misses Kilmore.’ This deliberately excludes my sister-in-law, does it not, sir?” she asked Lord Hazlewood, praying that he had not arranged matters thus.

“I’m afraid so. I ought to have anticipated this, but I promise you I did not.”

The only thing Thea could think of worse than vexing Lord Hazlewood and his mother was deserting Penny. She took a deep breath. “If Penny cannot go, we shall not accept.”

“But we must, Thea!” Meg was horrified. “Penny will not mind. She is not well enough to gad about,”

“Better go, Miss Kilmore.” Mr. Glubb-ffoulkes spoke without removing his mournful gaze from the empty cake plate. “Don’t want to offend Lady Hazlewood. Ah, that’s more like it,” he added as Dunmow came in to replace the distressing object with a full plate and to refill his glass. Mr. Glubb-ffoulkes retired from the discussion.

“All too easy to offend my aunt,” Will agreed. “Half the ton is in her black books.”

“I do think we ought to go, Thea,” her mother said in her soft, doubtful voice. “It may be difficult to come by another invitation if we refuse.”

“We should not be here at all if it were not for Penny,” Thea pointed out in distress. “If she cannot go, I shall not.”

“Well, I shall,” Meg declared. “My lord, will Lady Hazlewood be affronted if Thea does not go with us?”

“I scarcely think you need worry about displeasing my mother, Miss Megan. As Will so elegantly phrases it, half the ton is in her black books, so her disapproval will not affect your standing with them. However, I have no intention of excluding Lady Kilmore from my home. I shall be here at three o’clock on Friday, expecting to convey four ladies to Arlington Street.”

Thea’s heart swelled with gratitude. How could she have doubted him for a moment? As always, he had extricated her from her predicament with a few words. What need of a fairy godmother when the Marquis of Hazlewood was at hand?

The only trouble, she suddenly realized, was that she would have been glad of an excuse not to go.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The looking-glass reflected the image of a slender, fashionable young lady in a high-waisted pelisse of lavender blue velvet, lined and trimmed with white satin. Thea gazed at herself in wonder. Perhaps, after all, she was only three inches too tall, not six as she had always supposed.

“Your hat, miss,” said Farden, handing her a French bonnet of the same materials. “You was quite right, miss, if you’ll pardon the liberty, to choose the silk flowers. Feathers’d look top-heavy, like, you being so nice and slim.”

“Thank you, Farden.” Thea smiled at the abigail. No longer a stranger, she seemed less intimidating, and her approval was a comfort. Meg had argued that ostrich plumes were
de rigueur,
but Penny, though she herself settled for a curling plume, had supported Thea’s choice.

She set the bonnet on her head, tied the wide ribbons, and turned back to the mirror. No one at Lady Hazlewood’s could take exception to her appearance, she decided. All she had to do was hold her tongue and she would scrape through safely.

“Thea, are you ready?” Meg pattered in, her face aglow with excitement beneath her deep rose hat with its three nodding plumes. “Lord Hazlewood should be here at any moment. Mama and Penny have already gone down. Penny is wearing the Russian cloak with the sable trim. I wish I had one like it.”

“My dear, you would disappear from view.”

“Or at least look as wide as I am tall, I daresay,” Meg agreed gaily. “Penny looks positively queenly in it. I cannot see how the marchioness can possibly object to her. Here are your gloves. Do come.”

She ran ahead and reached the drawing-room before Thea, pulling on her gloves, was halfway down the stairs. The doorbell rang. Dunmow, lying in wait, swung the door open to admit a blast of raw, damp air and Lord Hazlewood.

Taking off his hat, the marquis caught sight of Thea. His eyes widened. With a smile he came forward and gave her his hand as she descended the last step. “The picture of elegance,” he said. “That shade suits you admirably.”

She willed the heat to recede from her cheeks. His kind compliment was designed to relieve the nervousness he had guessed at, not to agitate her further. “We are all dressed in our best, sir,” she assured him. Extricating her hand from his clasp, which was as perturbing as his words, she preceded him towards the drawing-room. “We do not wish to put you to the blush. Mama and Penny have been tutoring Meg and me in the proper behaviour. You need not fear I shall say anything untoward.”

“The possibility was far from my mind. Miss Kilmore. I know you venture to speak only under the direst necessity.”

The friendly, teasing note in his voice reminded her of the way he quizzed his cousin and set her at ease far more effectively than any number of compliments. “I hope I speak only when I have something to say,” she retorted.

“Ah, that is quite different,” he said, laughing. “If only everyone would observe so sensible a restriction.”

Meg heard him and came out of the drawing-room, followed by her mother and Penny. “We are all ready,” she said eagerly. “Shall we go?”

He started back in mock surprise. “Ready? Miss Megan, you must learn to keep gentlemen waiting. It is expected of a pretty young lady.”

“What a shocking waste of time.” She gave him a saucy look. “Besides, lateness may be expected, but I doubt it is appreciated. I shall not strive to be always late.”

“With luck you will set a fashion. Let us waste no time, then, but be on our way.”

He had provided hot bricks in his carriage for the ladies’ feet, and warm rugs for their knees. Thea sat beside him, their backs to the horses, facing the other three. As they rumbled through the streets towards St. James’s, he described the people they were likely to meet in his mother’s drawing-room.

“First, there are her cronies, ladies who agree with her opinion of the decay of modern manners and morals. Mrs. Venables always attends, and Lady Fetherstonehaugh, and sometimes the Duchess of Trent. Then there are the leaders of Society, including the patronesses of Almack’s, who go to show each other they are still received by the Marchioness of Hazlewood. Her assemblies are much more exclusive than Almack’s, you see.”

“I hope I shall get vouchers for Almack’s when the Season starts,” said Meg hopefully. “Mama, pray cultivate the acquaintance of the patronesses.”

The dowager looked alarmed. “Vouchers depend as much on unexceptionable conduct as on knowing the patronesses,” she reminded her daughter.

The third factor, of course, was lineage. Thea knew that Penny was sure her birth barred her from the august portals. To be sure, Lady Jersey was the granddaughter of a banker, yet—perhaps for that reason--she was known as the most particular of all the lady patronesses. Thea would not go without Penny, but Meg had set her heart on attending the Marriage Mart and ought to be able to do so.

“I have every intention of conducting myself with propriety,” Meg said with dignity. “Who else will be there today, sir?”

“Mother tells me company is thin, but I daresay there will be a few matrons presenting daughters to her in hopes of winning the cachet of invitations to her entertainments.”

“No gentlemen?”

“There are always a few, escorting the ladies.” The marquis sounded amused. “Never fear, Miss Megan, Will has promised to turn up, though he generally avoids such occasions like the plague. No doubt he feels you will be glad to see a familiar face.”

“I certainly shall,” Thea admitted.

“A room full of strangers can be disconcerting.” He smiled at her, then added with a hint of embarrassment, “I ought to advise you not to be disconcerted if my mother appears to be ailing. Her health is much better than she clai...believes.”

Meg opened her mouth to question him, but at that moment the carriage turned between tall wrought-iron gates and came to a halt in a courtyard before a porticoed mansion. Thea gazed at it in awe as Lord Hazlewood handed Penny down. Most Town houses had nothing but railings and a sunken area separating them from the pavement. She had not realized that the Hazlewoods’ house would be so grand.

Stepping down in turn, she took Penny’s hand and pressed it. “It is very impressive, is it not?” she whispered. “You have not said a word this age. Does the prospect of facing the ton for the first time terrify you as it does me?”

“I should not mind it if only Jason were beside me.” She hugged her cloak about her.

Meg joined them. “What a splendid house! It is almost a palace. No wonder everyone hopes for an invitation.”

The marquis led the way inside. Will met them in the vestibule, an octagonal chamber with a chequered floor of black-and-white marble, lit by a clerestory window below the domed ceiling. On the far side rose a wide staircase of white marble, with gilt balusters. Several double doors led off the hall, separated by niches containing marble statuary. Thea found the effect chilling.

Meg was unawed. After one glance at Will, dressed today in a black-and-grey striped coat, pale grey pantaloons, and a richly pink satin waistcoat, she giggled.

“You look like a bullfinch, Mr. DeVine.”

“Dash it, do I? And after I rejected brown and scarlet because they made me look like a robin redbreast!”

“An excessively smart bullfinch.”

He grinned at her. “That’s all right, then.”

“Birds of a feather,” Lord Hazlewood pointed out, indicating Meg’s pink plumes. Aided by butler and footman, he divested himself of hat, gloves, and overcoat, emerging in a sober blue coat and cream marcella waistcoat.

With an encouraging smile for Thea, he offered a crooked arm each to her mother and Penny, while Will gravely did the same for Thea and Meg. Two more footmen in olive-green-and-silver livery opened the nearest pair of doors.

Since the master of the house accompanied the ladies, the butler did not announce them. The marquis advanced into the room. Over her mother’s head, Thea saw a long salon with tall, damask-curtained windows along one side. The predominant colours were eau-de-Nil, ivory, and gilt, with a profusion of intricate ormolu. Cabinets decorated with painted medallions, Grecian urns on pedestals, and fanciful plasterwork added to the elaborate ornateness of the decor. Delicate Adam chairs and sofas, scattered in small groups, were occupied by ladies of all ages, from whom rose a subdued murmur of conversation.

Amidst the flock of nodding plumes, one lady in a dainty cap of Malines lace dominated the room. Her dark purple gown drew attention to the purple shadows around her sunken eyes. Thea thought she looked alarmingly ill, whatever the marquis said, and wondered why she was entertaining. As they approached, however, she saw that Lady Hazlewood’s eyes, far from displaying the suffering of an invalid, gleamed with fury. In fact, they darted venom at her son.

“Lady Kilmore, Mother,” said the marquis urbanely, “and the Dowager Lady Kilmore.”

Inclining her head a fraction of an inch, Lady Hazlewood said to the dowager in a faint voice, “How do you do, ma’am.” Her gaze turned to Penny. She shuddered, sank back weakly with closed eyes, and murmured to the stout matron in lilac silk at her side, “My smelling salts, Hortense, if you will be so good.”

Thea’s mother gasped something incoherent.

“How do you do, ma’am,” said Penny coolly, as if she had not been given the cut direct. Thea was proud of her.

A second crony of the marchioness’s, on her other side, gave Penny an appraising stare and then allowed a faint smile of approval to appear. “I am acquainted with your husband, Lady Kilmore,” she said.

“Her grace of Trent.” Lord Hazlewood hastened to make the introduction.

Further words were exchanged, but Thea did not catch them. It was her and Meg’s turn to face the marchioness.