Mary Nichols - Devil-May-Dare

‘That, of course, would account for Longham dancing attendance on her,’ they said over the teacups, having heard accounts of the profligate ways of the Duke of Sutton and his elder son and assuming the younger was cast in the same mould. It was their duty to rescue her from this mountebank. And if their informants should be wrong and the Marquis was not a spongeing toadeater but a man of consequence, then all the more reason to detach him from Miss Wenthorpe and speedily attach him to their own daughters. They were prepared to expend any amount of time and energy on the project. And thus it was that so many invitations poured into Wenthorpe House, Lydia and her aunt were hard put to it to decide which to accept.

In spite of this, Mrs Wenthorpe held to her original view that Lydia ought to try her wings at small functions and not come out in a blaze of glory at a high-stepping affair, where one false move, one little slip could ruin all their plans. ‘Besides,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘keep ’em waiting, that’s what I say. Make ’em dangle a little.’

Her aunt’s choice of phrase did nothing to make Lydia feel any better about coldly setting out to catch a husband, but if she had to, then she would take her time. Accordingly, they accepted invitations to quiet little suppers and tea parties, drove in the park in the new phaeton, drawn by a pair of greys which, though not up to the Marquis’s bays, were creditable enough to win admiring glances, made up a party to visit Vauxhall Gardens with Tom and Frank Burford as escorts, were seen at the theatre and the opera, were almost squeezed to death in the more popular routs and generally conducted themselves with genteel reserve. In the course of three weeks they had made the superficial acquaintance of almost everyone who was anyone, but no young man had been singled out, so that it became a kind of game to be noticed by the nubile Miss Wenthorpe.

Occasionally the Marquis of Longham was seen in Lydia’s company, but always within a party, and his behaviour gave the tongue-waggers no cause to think he was making any progress with her if that was his intention. Indeed, Lydia herself was inclined to think him too high in the instep by far and, though always polite, she would not go out of her way to show him any favouritism. When he chose to unbend and make himself agreeable, then so might she, but until then she would keep him at a distance.

It was the only thing on which she and her aunt disagreed, for Mrs Wenthorpe had, on closer acquaintance, taken a shine to the young man and enjoyed his company, especially as he did not appear to think her dress anything out of the ordinary. In fact he had, on one occasion, complimented her on her looks. ‘And he was not funning me,’ she asserted over nuncheon one day. ‘He is the very embodiment of good taste and sensitivity.’

‘He’s bought a bang-up rig — prime cattle and a spanking new curricle,’ Tom said enthusiastically. ‘He let me take the ribbons the other day and felicitated me on my handling of them.’

‘You mean he did not go back and buy the high-perch phaeton after all?’ Lydia asked, choosing to ignore the fact that the Marquis had not actually said he intended to buy it.

‘Apparently not,’

‘Then I was right. He pretended to want it only to prevent us from having it.’

‘And glad I am he did,’ Agatha put in with a twinkle in her myopic eyes. ‘Can you imagine me riding as high as the house-tops in one of those?’

‘Do you know his circumstances, Aunt?’ Tom asked. He saw in the Marquis an entry to the ton and invitations to places that young ladies like his sister had no idea existed, or, if they did, spoke of them behind their fans with bated breath and a sense of daring. He liked the cut of Longham’s jib, his self-assurance, his air of command and he had every intention of modelling himself on this aristocrat with the long nose and the haughty bearing. ‘Has he taken you into his confidence?’

Mrs Wenthorpe smiled enigmatically. ‘If he had, I would not break it to satisfy your curiosity, young man. All I know is that he is a soldier, or he was, and highly thought of by Wellington, so I suppose he must have been a good one, but since the peace he has been little seen in Society. His father, the Duke, is a buffle-head without a feather to fly with and his brother was a dissolute rake and he will have his work cut out to bring everything to rights.’

‘Well, I take no note of the gabble-grinders,’ Tom informed them cheerfully. ‘He ain’t one to shout the odds about his affairs, plays his cards close to his chest, but that don’t mean he’s dished up. But if he offered for Lydia…’

‘That would be an entirely different matter,’ his aunt said. ‘Then it would be my duty to make enquiries…’

‘But as he has made no such offer,’ Lydia put in with some asperity, ‘and I would not accept him if he did, we need not trouble ourselves about him.’

Her aunt sighed. ‘He is not likely to offer when you give him so little encouragement.’

‘I am not going to lick boots to find a husband, Aunt Aggie, and I am sure Papa would not expect me to.’

Mrs Wenthorpe smiled. ‘No, but he might hope that you would make just a little push, my dear.’ She smiled suddenly and her blue eyes lit with mischief. ‘No matter, it is still early in the Season.’ She paused to pick up a gilt-edged invitation card to a ball to be held at Thornton House, Park Lane on the following Friday week. ‘Let us see what this brings forth, for everyone who is anyone will be there.’ She tapped the card against her chin, pretending to think. ‘Now, who shall be your escort? I think Longham, don’t you?’

‘Frank Burford has already asked me,’ Lydia put in quickly.

‘Frank?’ Tom repeated. ‘You haven’t been such a ninny as to agree?’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, Frank is a capital fellow, I’ll allow,’ he said. ‘But you may as well have stayed at home and saved Papa a deal of blunt if you are going back to Raventrees on his arm. You’ve known him since he was in short coats.’

‘I’m comfortable with him and, as he has been so good as to ask, I have accepted.’

‘I hope you have not held out any false hopes, Lydia,’ her aunt said, rising from the table. ‘It would be most unfair of you.’

‘Not in the least,’ she said cheerfully, putting down her napkin and following her aunt from the room. ‘I know he has a penchant for little Miss Thornton, but so far she has not deigned to notice him.’

‘Miss Thornton!’ exclaimed Tom, deciding that as there were no other men with whom to smoke and drink he might as well join his sister and their aunt in the withdrawing room, where they settled themselves to await the arrival of the tea tray. ‘She’s a little above his touch, don’t you think? I cannot see her mama agreeing to that match.’

Lydia was inclined to agree with her brother when, ten days later, they took their turn in the long line of guests waiting to be received by Lord and Lady Thornton, and realised what a lavish affair it was. And all in the cause of marrying off their daughter.

The ballroom was filled to capacity and noisy enough to have been a battlefield. The orchestra which was tuning up on a dais at the far end of the room could hardly be heard above the din of people greeting acquaintances, being introduced and exchanging the latest on-dit . The heat from the gas lamps was already intense and ladies’ fans were much in evidence, not only for cooling purposes, but for whispering behind.

‘What a squeeze!’ said Frank, resplendent in a yellow brocade coat and matching satin knee-breeches, tied above his white silk stockings with ribbon bows. He looked a little ridiculous, Lydia thought, but not for a minute would she have hurt him by letting him know her thoughts, any more than she would have wounded her aunt by commenting on her lavish rose satin décolleté ballgown with its wide panniers, a fashion at least a generation out of date.