A Lord for Miss Larkin Read online

  “My dear, you must not be offering to do the servants’ work for them. It is not at all the thing.”

  “I beg your pardon. I am not used to having servants, you see, except for Mrs. ‘Anis—Harris—three days a week, though Aunt Zenobia hired a maid and Mrs. Colonel Bowditch is helping her find more. Be-sides, Miss Carter cut my hair so beautifully, it did not seem fair that she should have to sweep up the debris as well.”

  “And do not call her Miss Carter, pray.”

  “Is she married? I hope I have not offended her.”

  Lady Emma sighed. “No, I am sure you have riot, but it is proper for you to call her simply Carter.”

  “I am shockingly ignorant, am I not? Pray do not despair, I will learn.”

  “Of course you will. Now, let us see which dress you are to put on.”

  Alison opened her wardrobe. Its sparse contents seemed to her like riches. There were two morning gowns, one of white muslin sprigged with pink rosebuds and the other white cambric embellished with knots of green ribbon at the high waist and down the front of the skirt. Beside them hung a pale blue walking dress and a dark blue pelisse. Lady Emma’s dressmaker had run them up in a hurry and was working on several more, though Alison could not imagine when she would wear so many.

  “The sprig muslin will do. I am expecting one or two callers this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon? Shall I dust the. . . No, I daresay your parlourmaid has already dusted the drawing-room. I wish there was something I could do for you,” said Alison wistfully. “You are so very kind to me. Would it be all right if I made you a cap? I always made my aunts’, but they are very plain. I should enjoy working with satin ribbons and lace.”

  “Nothing could be better. Needlework is an eminently suitable occupation for young ladies, and I am always glad of a pretty new cap. Carter shall find you a piece of muslin and some odds and ends of ribbon so that you will have something to occupy your hands this afternoon.”

  “Is Mr. Trevelyan coming? He is a good friend of yours, I think.”

  “I do not particularly expect him, but he may call. I have known Philip since I was a child. He was used to pull my pigtails.”

  “I cannot imagine him being a naughty boy.” She was astonished. “He seemed prodigious starchy and proper and I fear he disapproves of me.”

  “Philip’s opinion need not concern us. Mrs. Talmadge’s is another matter. She will be one of our guests this afternoon. I want you to sit quite quietly and listen to the conversation. Of course you will answer when spoken to, but she rarely pauses to allow anyone else a word. That is why I invited her to drink tea today.”

  Alison laughed. At first she had been nonplussed by her chaperon’s dry humour but she was growing accustomed to it. Lady Emma was near to perfection in her eyes, a patterncard to be copied as closely as possible.

  Lady Emma wore her dark blond hair plaited and pinned up, with only a few short curls showing beneath her cap, but Alison knew her own hair would never behave so demurely. It was better short. Nor could she remedy her lack of inches, for Lady Emma was somewhat above middle height. However, Alison was determined to strive to emulate the graceful dignity of her mentor’s carriage, her composure and serene assurance.

  It was difficult, when life was so exciting she felt as if she were full of bubbles and might float away across the rooftops at any moment.

  The drawing-room had indeed been dusted by the competent parlourmaid. Nonetheless, Alison found herself looking automatically for dog hairs on the red-and-cream striped satin sofas. Naturally there were none, nor dog nose smears on the window panes. The satinwood tables gleamed, the Axminster carpet was spotless, the whole room breathed a calm, cheerful elegance.

  Into this haven trotted Mrs. Talmadge. She was a tall, thin woman, dressed in Pomona green with quantities of fluttering scarves draped about her. Her large, unnaturally white teeth presented no obstacle to the endless stream of words that flowed from her lips.

  While Alison’s deft fingers fashioned a ruff of tiny pleats and a rosette of buttercup-yellow ribbon, she listened, fascinated, to the gossip. She could not help wondering when the lady ever stopped talking long enough to gather the tidbits she so generously passed on.

  “Well, my dear Lady Emma,” said Mrs. Talmadge at last, rising to take her leave, “such a comfortable cose as we have had. Good day, Miss Larkin.”

  Alison hastily set aside her sewing and curtsied.

  “Good day, ma’am.”

  “A pretty-behaved child,” the visitor said to Lady Emma in a loud whisper, nodding her approval. “She will do.”

  The footman showed Mrs. Talmadge out. Alison

  turned to Lady Emma.

  “Must I learn to talk so?” she asked.

  “By no means. It is not a style of conversation I care for and in a young girl can only give disgust. Henrietta is at least well intentioned.”

  “How ever does she find Out all that information?”

  Lady Emma smiled. “I have heard that she employs a maid solely to gather rumors. However, her information is usually accurate and she never invents malicious on-dits, unlike some I could name. She is no scandalmonger—you will have noted that she generally has a kind word to say of everyone. For the next few days she will go about telling all and sundry that my latest protégé is a pretty-behaved girl.”

  Alison clapped her hands. “How clever you are!”

  “I must return the compliment. What a charming confection you have created from a few bits and pieces.”

  “Do you like it? Caps are quite easy. I once tried to stitch up a gown and I made a sad mull of it. Aunt Di had to take the whole thing apart and start again from the beginning.”

  “Well, there is no need for you to be sewing your own gowns, but I think it a very good plan for you always to have some fine work about you. Needlework is a ladylike occupation and provides an unexceptionable topic of conversation. Besides, if you are not sure what to say, you can always set a few stitches while you are considering. I shall give you my tapestry work-bag. It is pretty enough to carry about with you.”

  Her advice proved useful a few minutes later, when another caller arrived. The Honourable Robert Gilchrist, Lady Emma’s younger brother, was a gentleman of poetical aspirations. His stocky form was clad in a crimson velvet coat with an embroidered silk waistcoat and a multicoloured silk handkerchief about his neck in place of a cravat.

  His flowery compliments put Alison to the blush, and she was glad to be able to bow her head over her needle.

  “He said my eyes made him think of woodlands full of bluebells,” she told Lady Emma later.

  “Highly unoriginal,” said his unimpressed sister. “Robert is quite harmless, however. You need not take anything he says seriously, which is fortunate as it is impossible to take seriously anything said by anyone dressed in that extraordinary manner.”

  “I did think his clothes a little unusual,” Alison confessed.

  “He thinks they make him look like a poet. I fear he was deeply impressed by a portrait of Lord Byron in Turkish dress, though he does not go quite so far, thank heaven. He can usually be persuaded to dress conventionally for an evening party, and as he is an excellent dancer he will do as an escort until you are acquainted with a few gentlemen. The dancing master comes tomorrow for your first lesson. I must give orders to have the carpet in the drawing-room rolled back.”

  Learning to dance was not the unalloyed pleasure Alison had expected. Signor Pascoli was tall and thin, with a drooping moustache. According to Lady Emma, his air of romantic melancholy made him the most fashionable dancing master in London. Whenever Alison turned left instead of right or curtsied when she should have promenaded, he sighed as if his heart was breaking, his dark, liquid eyes reproachful.

  “And he hums out of tune!” she said indignantly.

  “I shall play the spinet for your next lesson.”

  “It seems odd to be learning English country dances like the Lancers and the Dashing
White Sergeant from an Italian.”

  “He is a good teacher. You are picking up the steps remarkably quickly. Of course, that is partly because you are an excellent pupil.”

  “Because the faster I learn, the fewer lessons I shall have to take from him!”

  “I daresay, but in general I am excessively pleased with the way you remember my suggestions. You never repeat a mistake.”

  “I am trying very hard. I cannot expect a lord to fall in love with me if I do not behave like a lady.”

  “A lord to fall in love with you? You are looking to break a few hearts, are you?” asked Lady Emma, smiling.

  “Oh, no, I would not want to hurt anyone’s feelings. When he falls at my feet and offers his heart I shall not refuse him. Would it not be the most romantic thing in the world?”

  A look of pensive sadness crossed Lady Emma’s face. It was a moment before she spoke, and then there was a hint of irony in her gentle tone. “Vastly romantic. Have you a particular lord in mind?”

  “I am not acquainted with any. I shall meet some, shall I not?”

  “That much I can guarantee. I hope you are not expecting too much of your Season, Alison. I doubt, for instance, whether it is worth applying for vouchers to Almack’s.” She frowned in thought. “Though it might be managed, I vow. Philip is on excellent terms with Castlereagh, and Lady Castlereagh is one of the patronesses.”

  “But Mr. Trevelyan does not approve of me,” Alison reminded her. “You must not think I mind not attending Almack’s. I know the subscription balls are monstrous exclusive, but my friend Letty told me she heard that the rooms are nothing out of the ordinary and the suppers are positively nipcheese. Is it true they serve only lemonade and bread and butter?”

  “And stale cake.”

  “Then I do not care if I never go. After all, I never expected any of this at all.” Her gesture embraced the world of high society, of balls and fine clothes and elegant surroundings. “I thought I should have to choose between dwindling into an old maid like my aunts or marrying the apothecary’s assistant, who has damp hands and a drip on the end of his nose. Sometimes I think I shall wake up in the morning and find that everything has vanished, like Cinders’s magic coach. So I mean to enjoy every minute, then I shall have pleasant memories of dancing with lords even if I never find one who wishes to marry me.”

  “I shall see that you have those memories,” Lady Emma promised. “But forgive me, your aunt gave me to understand that you are as good as betrothed to Mr. Osborne.”

  “I am not! Can you think of anything less romantic than a middle-aged India merchant? Aunt Zenobia said only that if I do not find a husband this spring, Mr. Osborne is willing to take me as his bride.”

  “I see. Then you are perfectly free to have any number of peers swooning at your feet.”

  “Have you read Mrs. Cuthbertson’s novels?” asked Alison eagerly. “Letty has lent me most of them. I do think, though, that her heroes and heroines waste a lot of time in fainting fits. We counted them in one book, Santo Sebastiano I think it was, and there were twenty-seven swoons altogether. I have never fainted in my life. Perhaps you could teach me how?”

  Lady Emma laughed. “If you are going to swoon, I daresay you ought to know how to do so gracefully. I have never fainted myself, you understand, but the most important point, I believe, is to be sure that the correct gentleman is standing in the right position to catch you.”

  “And I expect one ought to give him some sort of warning,” said Alison with a giggle. “It would be horridly disconcerting to hit the ground before he realized what was happening!”

  “Horrid! Heavens, look at the time. We have shopping to do today. Run and change into your walking dress.”

  The door knocker sounded as Alison was crossing the hail. She managed to resist a momentary feeling that she ought to answer the summons, and she was half-way up the stairs when the footman, Henry, opened the door. Curious, she paused.

  “Is Lady Emma at home?” enquired Mr. Trevelyan’s languid voice.

  Alison had not the least desire to meet him again. She went on up to her chamber, frowning. It was ridiculous to allow the man to intimidate her, but there was no point pretending he did not make her feel uncomfortable. She was not used to being looked upon with disfavour, for in general she liked people and they returned the compliment. What a pity that he was such a good friend of Lady Emma’s. She was bound to see a good deal of him.

  Common sense came to the rescue. She had no way of changing his opinion, and as long as he did not turn Lady Emma against her, whether he liked her or not made no difference to her. She would ignore his disapprobation and treat him as she would anyone else. As she took the blue walking dress from the wardrobe, she could not help hoping that the odious Mr. Trevelyan would at least notice the improvement in her appearance.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mr. Trevelyan had noticed a neat ankle disappear round the turn of the stairs as he stepped into Lady Emma’s front hall. He averted his eyes. He had never denied Miss Larkin’s physical attractions, he told himself. It was her upbringing he objected to.

  “So the girl has moved in,” he greeted his friend. “I hoped you had changed your mind.”

  “On the contrary, I am growing quite fond of Alison already. She is quick to learn, and excessively grateful for instruction. She made the cap I am wearing.”

  “Vastly becoming, but that does not alter my opinion of the chit. She is not setting up as a milliner, after all—though come to think of it that might be the very thing for her. You are inviting trouble, trying to persuade the Polite World to accept her.”

  “Take care, Philip. You are beginning to sound like a cross-grained old bachelor twice your age. I own that with her background I cannot expect her to take the ton by storm, but I do not doubt that she will have a modest success. Nor do I despair of her reaching her goal. She has set her heart on marrying a lord.”

  “She told you so? At least she has the merit of honesty, the mercenary, vulgar little wretch.”

  “Hardly mercenary,” said Emma drily, “when her aunt’s fortune is enough to buy and sell a dozen peers I could name.”

  Philip was taken aback, but he quickly rallied. “So she merely wants to purchase a title. It is not uncommon these days, to be sure, but no less distasteful for that.”

  “You only think so because the Trevelyans have steadfastly rejected a peerage these past five hundred years. My ancestor was happy to provide Henry VII with funds in exchange for his earldom. How determined you are to think ill of Alison! She is still unused to her sudden prosperity and I do not believe the notion of purchasing a title ever crossed her mind. Far from being a ‘vulgar wretch,’ she is simply a romantic child.”

  “I suppose you will tell me next that she is a slave to Minerva Press novels?”

  ‘‘But of course.”

  “I might have guessed.”

  “As I was at that age,” she observed.

  He laughed and capitulated. “Very well, you win. I suppose you want me to help you to establish her.”

  “Will you, Philip? I confess I should be glad of your support, since she has no connexions of her own to assist us. Robert has agreed to escort us, but he is such a mooncalf that that will impress no one. I believe he is in the throes of a sonnet to her eyes.”

  “He will grow out of it. You must admit poetry is preferable to the days when he was forever challenging all and sundry to duels.”

  “Yes, but what will he fall into next? Ah, Alison, come and make your curtsy to Mr. Trevelyan.”

  Philip turned. A curious sensation in his chest robbed him of breath as he took in the enchanting vision poised in the doorway. From the artless froth of ebony curls to the tips of her blue kid half-boots, Miss Alison Larkin was a delight to the eye.

  She advanced into the room with a tread so light he thought again of leprechauns. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes was missing, however. Their vivid blue was no less brilliant than he remembered
, but they seemed larger, more expressive, and there was a hint of wariness in their depths. Her smile was friendly, though, and her curtsy a model of decorum. He wondered why he was trying so hard to dislike her.

  And why, if she wanted to marry a lord, had she been so pleased to discover that he was not one?

  “Will you allow me the pleasure of driving you in Hyde Park this afternoon, Miss Larkin?” he enquired. It would be a feather in her cap to be seen taking the air in his carriage, for he rarely took up females.

  “Thank you, sir, but I believe Lady Emma has other plans.” She was unperturbed.

  Ridiculously disappointed, he glanced at Emma. She appeared amused.

  “We really must do some shopping today, Philip. Tomorrow, perhaps, if it is fine?”

  “I must be at the House at four tomorrow, but we might go to the Park early. Will two o’clock do?” Emma nodded.

  “That will be delightful,” said Miss Larkin primly.

  She did not sound delighted, nor did she appear to be aware of the signal honour he was granting her. He took his leave in something of a miff.

  The door had scarcely closed behind him when Lady Emma said, “I do hope Mrs. Gribbins has finished your carriage dress. We shall go to her first.”

  “But I can wear this gown,” Alison protested. “I know you called it a walking dress, but it will be perfectly comfortable in a carriage, too.”

  “Possibly, but Philip saw you in that one today. It will never do to wear the same again tomorrow. Come and put on your bonnet, we must be off.”

  Alison followed her from the room. “You mean I cannot wear this dress again? But it is so pretty, and I have the matching pelisse and bonnet.” Dismayed, she looked down at the pale blue jaconet with its ruffles of white mull muslin. The bonnet, which she had set on the hall table when she came downstairs, had blue silk roses about the crown; she could not bear the thought of wearing such a delightful confection only once.

  Lady Emma reassured her. “Certainly you shall wear the outfit again, but not for a few days, not when you expect to see Philip.”