Chapter Four

“What a dull afternoon!” The weather was behaving inconsistently as spring was wont to do, and Ariadne was disgruntled. The prospect of sitting with her family beside the fire held no appeal. It was too inclement to go for a walk and so far, no intrepid visitors had called.

Then Stalley, in his usual bland tone announced, “Sir Ivor Stafford.”

It had an electrifying result. Mr. Yardley glanced up from his newspaper and tossed it aside. Caroline and Mrs. Yardley looked mildly polite. Ariadne squeaked and patted a wayward curl. Miss Marshfield, repairing a hem on one of Ariadne’s flounces, blushed unaccountably.

“Show him in. Show him in,” Mr. Yardley said impatiently. So instead of showing Sir Ivor to Mr. Yardley’s study as usual, the butler brought him to the withdrawing-room. Helena signaled to Stalley to await her instructions. As she left the room, she met Sir Ivor in the doorway. He bowed slightly in Helena’s direction. “We meet again, Miss Marshfield.” Helena, her mind distracted by thoughts of refreshments suitable at four o’clock in the afternoon, smiled vaguely and bobbed a quick curtsy. It was to be hoped that Poppy the Cook was not in one of her disagreeable moods.

On her return to the withdrawing-room she was amused to hear Sir Ivor chaffing Ariadne on her summery attire. “Tell me, Miss Yardley, I hope you did not catch cold the other day?” he inquired solicitously.

“Oh, no, Sir Ivor! I am very healthy you know, and I never catch cold,” Ariadne replied in a far from innocent tone.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Yardley promptly began rattling on in the same vein, pointing out to Sir Ivor Ariadne’s obvious vitality making Ariadne sound like a brood mare. The conversation had definitely entered the realms of bad taste. Caroline wriggled in her seat, as embarrassed as Helena, and Sir Ivor turned to her politely. “And you, Miss Caroline, did you enjoy your walk?”

Miss Marshfield mentally blessed him for his good manners in both changing the subject and including Caroline in the conversation.

Caroline blushed but commented, “Miss Marshfield and I enjoy walking, although I prefer walking to a specific venue such as the library, rather than just strolling through the park.”

“Yes. I saw you and Miss Marshfield at Hookham’s recently, did I not?” He smiled. “You both looked very intent on your business.”

Helena colored again, remembering that backward glance which Sir Ivor had returned. She dipped her head.

Mr. Yardley broke in. “These two are always filling their heads with that Italian and French stuff.” He sounded very proud of them both, but also insinuated that he did not necessarily endorse education for females.

However, Sir Ivor appeared to be interested, or perhaps he was merely being polite. Turning to Helena where she was presiding over the tea tray he said, “That’s interesting, Miss Marshfield. I would that my young sisters had the felicity of having such an informed governess. I believe they spent most of their time exasperating ours. My mother was firm about their devoting as much time as possible to studies, but I doubt they ever learned much beyond the pianoforte and a little poetry. Naturally they would tell you otherwise.” He laughed, obviously very fond of his sisters just the same, and Helena liked him all the more for it.

“Where are your sisters at the moment, Sir Ivor?” Mrs. Yardley, never one to stand on ceremony, asked.

“They are at Ryewolds, in Norwich, with my mother. They are coming down for the Season in about two weeks. Nerida has just become engaged to the Honorable George Chiswick so they are in no hurry to leave Norwich. His father’s lands lie adjacent to ours. So our Season this year will be busy. Incidentally, Miss Marshfield,” he said turning to her, “I believe my young brother was up at Magdalen with your brother, Sir Robert. My brother is Ned Stafford,” he added by way of explanation.

“Oh yes, of course! I remember Robert mentioning Ned and…Tally Wishart, was it not? It seems they were all particular friends.” Helena hoped that here was one person who would be au fait with the Marshfield difficulties but perhaps not so critical of them.

“Hmm. I gather some of their exploits don’t bear mentioning in mixed company.”

Helena tried to keep smiling but the smile became strained and mechanical as she turned away from him to hand around the tea things.

Mrs. Yardley interposed in the tones of one wanting to settle down to a good gossip, “Sir Ivor, isn’t it dreadful about Miss Marshfield’s brother?”

Ivor Stafford looked startled.

“Injured,” Mr. Yardley explained succinctly.

“Miss Marshfield…I do apologize. I didn’t know. Ned wondered how he was. We heard only that he had gone to the Peninsula.”

She bent her head. “I heard from his commanding officer,” she murmured. “Sir Henry has been very kind when you consider—”

“We’ve told Miss Marshfield that Captain Marshfield is most welcome to come to Yardley House to recuperate,” Joshua Yardley interrupted. He had cut across Helena’s conversation, but she had become quite used to that. However, as she had made no decisions about Robert’s future—indeed that was up to Robert, not her—she was embarrassed. She did not wish to give Sir Ivor the impression that the Marshfields were going to make themselves at home at Yardley House in the manner of poor relations. She opened her mouth to object, then subsided. It was not at all the thing for her brother to come to her place of employment to recuperate. There were so many problems inherent in that idea! She had already resolved to say nothing further but keep her own counsel and await developments.

On the pretext of replacing his cup, Sir Ivor moved to her side. “Miss Marshfield, forgive me. I had no idea that your news was so recent. Not that it makes a lot of difference whether such news is recent or not. But I had no intention of distressing you.”

She gazed up into the concerned gray eyes and said simply, “Thank you, sir. I shall rest easier when I have heard further about his condition. At the moment I am somewhat distracted.”

“’Tis not to be wondered at. Have you any relatives where your brother may convalesce?” Helena noted that he, too, considered it unsuitable for Robert to convalesce at Yardley House.

“None who care to own themselves our relatives anymore,” she answered bitterly.

There was a short silence.

“I see.”

Ariadne felt she had been ignored for long enough. “Sir Ivor! Tell us what you think about Papa’s proposal to purchase a country estate.”

Considering Sir Ivor spent a good part of each year at his ancient, elegant family seat in Norfolk, and that Ariadne’s idea of a country seat was of a faux baronial manor no more than twenty miles from Town so that she would not miss any of its entertainments, this debate was doomed to failure from the start. Caroline wisely chose not to enter the discussion, and when Helena’s opinion was sought on what she thought constituted the ideal country seat she demurred, saying that both Sir Ivor’s and Ariadne’s opinions had their merits but that she did not feel qualified to proffer any fresh ideas. Predictably, Ariadne pouted.

Helena caught Sir Ivor’s eye at that point and saw the lurking twinkle. “Very diplomatic,” he murmured quietly, for her ears only. She dimpled and turned away.

“What did you want to discuss, Sir Ivor?” Mr. Yardley inquired.

Stafford rose to his feet again. “It’s best discussed in your study, I think.” The men left the withdrawing-room, and Helena and Mrs. Yardley had their hands full in coping with what Ariadne saw as Sir Ivor’s defection. Had there been any other men in the room she would have had no hesitation in playing one off against the other, but there being no other amusements to hand, she had enjoyed being the center of Sir Ivor’s attention.

“Not fair, Mama,” she railed. “Why must Papa take Sir Ivor away whilst we were having such fun?”

“Hush child, ’tis business,” Mrs. Yardley expostulated. Helena wondered idly, as she often had, what business Mr. Yardley and Ivor Stafford had in common.

Happily for them all, a messenger arrived with a card from Ariadne’s particular friends, Anna and Charlotte Morris, begging her attendance at a hastily contrived early turtle dinner followed by a get-together of young people to be chaperoned by Mr. and Mrs. Morris themselves. Mrs. Yardley had no hesitation in approving this scheme because, as she confided to Helena, “I am finding her a proper trial lately, Miss Marshfield, as I’m sure you are too. I’ll be glad of a comfortable coze by the fire, and we can discuss your plans for your brother and plan some of Caro’s dress-party in peace, without Ariadne’s interruptions.”

Helena would far rather have retired to her room to be alone with thoughts of her brother. But her duties came first. Fortunately during her coming-out year she had perfected the art of appearing to listen attentively to aimless social discourse whilst thinking her own thoughts. That way she needed only to attend to part of any conversation in order not to lose the thread. It was a gift that had come in very handy since she had moved into the Yardley household.

Taking up her needlework she drifted away in her thoughts, speculating about the association between Sir Ivor Stafford and Mr. Yardley. She automatically came back to her senses when she heard Mrs. Yardley frame a question.

“My dears,” Mrs. Yardley said. “How would it be if we decked out the entire house in green silk?” Seeing the puzzled looks on Helena and Caroline’s faces, she elucidated, “To represent spring of course!”

“Oh…er, charming.”

“Now Miss Marshfield, I can see you are not happy with my little scheme.” She sighed. “Mrs. Everton draped silk all around her foyer and it did look ever so lovely.”

Helena reflected that Mrs. Everton had had the taste to decorate only her foyer and not the entire house.

“My dear ma’am, you know you want to be a leader, not a follower. Confess now.”

“Dear Helena, you are quite right. Where would I be without you? Well…what do you suggest then?”

“Ah, I’m not sure, Mrs. Yardley. Perhaps something elegant and uncommon. Let us think.” She recalled her own coming-out ball just after being presented to Queen Charlotte. “Mmm…fresh and green. What about decking the receiving room and the ballroom in willow buds or fresh flower buds if there are any to be had? That could be interpreted as ‘just out’ don’t you think?”

And within a few minutes, Mrs. Yardley was convinced that the decorations had been all her own notion.

“How clever of you, ma’am! I know it’s going to be all the rage. Caroline and I noticed in The Lady’s Magazine at Hookham’s last week that the Duchess of Arumchester employed the use of hundreds of potted ferns at her daughter’s dress party. So we are in vogue!”

There was nothing Mrs. Yardley enjoyed more than knowing she was joining a trend set by her social superiors. She oozed enthusiasm. “Well, my dears. Ours will be one of the most successful dress-parties of this Season I am sure, even if the nobs don’t get to hear about it. Now Caroline love, we must consider your dress.”

Naturally Caroline’s dress was very important. Although she did not show to her best in white, it was the most unexceptionable and appropriate color for a young lady at an informal coming-out. Mrs. Yardley had made an appointment for the morrow with Madame Yvonne Férant in Bond Street. Mrs. Morris had recommended this establishment to the Yardley ladies, saying that if one wished to cut a dash, it was essential to frequent this establishment.

Madame Férant was apparently an emigrée from France. Her exceptional dressmaking skills had earned her the patronage of many aspiring hopefuls to the ton. Her true talent, apart from flair and artless sophistication, was that of individual design. It was said that with just a few lines on her sketchpad she could alter the line and fall of fabric to suit an individual’s form, so that even the most difficult figure was successfully disguised. And Caroline’s was by no means a difficult figure. It should not be too arduous a challenge for Madame Férant to create a delightful confection for such a well-proportioned young lady.

As Caroline and Helena went upstairs, Helena asked Caroline if she had any particular preferences for the trimming of her dress. “Caroline, this is the dress you will remember all of your life, so you must make your wishes known to your mama and Madame Férant. Don’t feel that you have to fall in with Ariadne’s ideas, or anyone else’s for that matter,” she added diplomatically.

Caroline clasped her hands together. “Oh, Miss Marshfield, truly I don’t mind. I shall be guided by you.”

Helena laughed. “Caroline, you will have Madame Férant to guide you. Let us accede to her advice.”

“Miss Marshfield, tell me about your coming-out gown. What was it like?”

“Oh…” Helena was flummoxed. Being presented to royalty was a far cry from Caroline’s party. She had no wish to seem superior and struggled to describe her experiences which all seemed so far away now, even though it was only six years ago.

“Let me see. It had a train of course, and one had to back out of Her Majesty’s presence which made it difficult. I was terrified I would trip over the train. We were not presented to the King but to Queen Charlotte. I believe the King was going through one of his bad spells at the time. And we all had to wear feathers as a headpiece—somewhat old-fashioned but that was the stipulation. I remember that my hair was my biggest problem. It is so thick you see, and the feathers just would not stay in properly.”

Caroline looked taken aback that Helena could regard her glossy, dark tresses with disfavor. “How can you say that? Your hair is perfect!”

Helena rolled her eyes.

“And did you wear any jewelry?”

“Hardly any. It is not really considered the thing for young women only just out to deck themselves liberally with jewels, my dear. Also, one has to make sure when being presented to Royalty that you do not exceed the value of their jewelry. I remember my aunt was rather scathing of that dictum. My father had presented me with a beautiful diamond pendant for my coming-out, but of course I could not wear it on that particular occasion.”

“Oh, how lovely! Do you still have the pendant?”

“Oh…I can’t remember,” Helena said vaguely, knowing full well that Rundell & Bridge had been ecstatic to receive such a distinctive and beautiful piece of jewelry on behalf of the estate.

Unable to drag any more information out of her governess, Caroline took herself off to bed to dream of angoulême lace and spangled gauze.

Helena went to her little room at the top of the house hoping that Caroline would not be too strongly influenced by those of lesser taste. Preparatory to pulling the pins from her troublesome hair in order to give it her customary one hundred brush strokes, she opened her precious hoard of Denmark Lotion and spread a little over her face. After all, she might be only a companion, but that was no reason to let her complexion become ravaged before its time. She despised women who simply did not try. She leaned into the mirror. No, she was not a mean bit yet. One could not say the expenditure of an inordinate sum for the jar of lotion was precisely wastage because one had self-respect, after all. Naturally, going about town, all the ladies tried to protect their skin from the dust and grime of London. Then she smiled a twisted smile. Who did she think she was fooling? Her father had spoiled her dreadfully and brought her up to adhere to certain standards. That was the crux of the matter.

Pushing away the worrying news of her brother, she tried to think what Mr. Yardley and Sir Ivor might have in common that they should discuss so much business together. She understood from Ariadne’s artless conversation that though now a respectable member of the ton and a responsible landowner, in the past Sir Ivor had had quite a reputation as a man about town. Ariadne described him as a “rake” with wide eyes. She was obviously not fully conversant with what “a rake” signified.

but she knew it was something daring and exciting. Miss Marshfield could well believe it. She had seen for herself how agreeable he could make himself, with very little effort. She had found herself responding to the glint in his smile without any hesitation. She had met a few rakes during her coming-out year, and without exception they were all charming men. They were not for débutantes but were best left to entertain themselves with ladies of questionable virtue. Some of those rakes eventually matured and over time became responsible citizens, but Helena was of the opinion that once a rake, always a rake. And the rakes of the world were not for the likes of her either, tempted though she might be to be drawn into witty discussions where innuendoes were dropped to see what resulted. Any witty conversation would be acceptable at times, as two schoolroom misses did not precisely sparkle with witticisms.

And whatever Sir Ivor’s salty reputation as a rake had been before he succeeded to the title, he had today undoubtedly been kind to her, a mere companion. Nice manners, she decided briskly, blowing out her candle. But it wasn’t his manners that stayed in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.