Occasionally, the duchess would go to Lady Jersey’s house for morning calls on a day of the week that did not follow a night at Almack’s. When Alice came downstairs, her mother announced that this would be their plan for the day. Alice was glad of it. She would not have the enjoyment of London for much longer and—surrounded as she was by Cleda and new friends, such as Philippa and Mr. Clavering—she was coming to appreciate it.
The duchess had arranged for Alice to leave the next day. She would travel in the duke’s carriage, accompanied by her maid, two footmen, and three outriders. She did not think she would have an opportunity to see Mr. Clavering before she left and was trying to convince herself that it did not matter—especially since he had asked her to find him a wife. He would eventually marry. A man needed an heir, after all.
Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to see Miss Chauncey today. Alice wanted a better opportunity to find out what had happened without Miss Chauncey’s every word being scrutinized. One look at Mr. Duckworth’s face had convinced her that Miss Chauncey was making a grave error. Although she could not fault her for having buckled under such pressure, it was a shame she had been forced to accept a proposal from a man she did not love when there was so clearly one she did.
As she waited for her mother to pull on her gloves, there was a knock at the door. Alice followed her mother into the morning room to wait so they would not be seen by the visitors. Within minutes, Horace came in, holding flowers. He brought them over to the side table and announced, “They are for you, my lady.”
Alice’s breath froze. She had not received flowers since her second Season. She darted an uncertain glance at her mother, not wishing to disclose who had sent her flowers. Nor did she wish to discover her benefactor in front of her mother.
The duchess had many failings, but she did not force a confidence. She would ask who the flowers were from, but she would not read a letter addressed to Alice. With a mere lift of her brow, she left the morning room. “As soon as you have read the card, we may be off.”
Alice waited until her mother had gone before darting over to the bouquet and ripping the envelope from the ribbon that tied it to a flower stem. The bouquet was full of wildflowers—the kind that could be seen in the country—rather than the more cultured roses or irises that were usually sent. She broke the seal and opened the paper.
Dear Lady Alice,
I thought a bouquet with a small note would be more appropriate and garner less notice than a letter. I hope you will forgive my presumption. I do not know when you are to leave London, but if you are able to perform one act of service before you go—aside from the one I requested of you, which is the less urgent by far—I would ask that you see if Miss Chauncey might be persuaded to meet Mr. Duckworth. It can be at a venue of her choosing. She need only say the word and he will come.
It might be too late or too complicated, but if there is any woman I know who possesses great resources, it is you.
Yours,
George Clavering
Alice ran her fingers over the lettering of his name. George. He had put his first name as well as his last. She could almost think of him that way instead of by his more formal appellation. She thought the meeting would be difficult to arrange, but Mr. Clavering appeared to have faith in her. Maybe it could be her last act of service in London. Especially since his other request could wait.
Her mother came into the room, and Alice folded the letter and tucked it into her reticule. “I am coming, Mother.”
She had only to pull her gloves back on, and she was ready. Her mother paused at the door, and the question that Alice had waited for came at last. “Who were the flowers from?”
“Mr. Clavering.” Alice could not lie, much as she was tempted to. She was also tempted to take the flowers with her when she traveled so she could press them, although she supposed that would be the height of foolishness.
“He appears to have interest in your direction, despite what you say,” her mother observed.
“None,” Alice replied firmly. She could tell her mother that he had asked her to find him a wife, but she did not wish to reveal too much.
Her mother paused only long enough to say, “Pity,” before opening the door and walking to where the footman waited.
When they arrived at Lady Jersey’s house, Alice was disappointed to see that while Mrs. Chauncey was in attendance, her daughter was not. She sat on the side of the room in what Alice privately referred to as the “second circle.” Mrs. Chauncey had enough standing to pay a call on Lady Jersey, but she would be sitting with the ladies who did not equal the ranks of Lady Jersey and the Duchess of Carr. Alice wished she could ask Mrs. Chauncey why her daughter was not in attendance, but such a thing was not done.
Instead, she went over to sit at the circle of young ladies she had known from childhood, wishing she could have the pleasure of Miss Chauncey’s more authentic conversation.
“Lady Alice,” Diana Moore called out. “Do you intend to go to the masquerade ball that the Fenleys are hosting? We were just discussing what we will wear—although I suppose we should not tell anyone what it shall be if we hope to keep our identities a secret.”
Teresa Wolfe picked up her cup and took a sip of her tea. “I have long thought that someone should host a private masquerade ball that could rival Vauxhall Gardens but that one could actually attend without being thought too fast. At last, someone else has had the idea.”
Barbara Gower nodded sagely. “The Fenleys have just the ballroom for it. I believe they must have the largest ballroom in all of London. It will be the perfect place to host such a crowd, and they will be on the lookout for any impropriety, I assure you.”
“So will you go?” Diana asked Alice.
She could not bring herself to say the words that she would not be in London. She had no desire to field off questions about her upcoming trip. There was a sense of shame attached to it. With that, a sudden reflection accosted Alice. How had her mother not thought of that? For her to go away mid-Season would surely produce talk. People would become convinced she had a purpose for leaving. And then, once she said the words, it would make it real. And she still hoped to be able to stay.
“I have not yet decided,” Alice said at last. “I am unsure what my parents’ plans are for the next few evenings.”
“That is one of the disadvantages to remaining single,” Barbara said kindly to the women of their circle, all of whom were single.
Teresa glanced over at the second circle and leaned in. “I have heard that Mrs. Chauncey has scored a victory for her daughter. I overheard her boasting about it when we came in. I wonder that her daughter is not here as well to boast of the news herself.”
Alice was not sure she would call an engagement to Lord Hicks a victory, but it would not do to further the gossip. Perhaps it might not come to anything. “There has been nothing announced,” she said.
“Nothing announced, but the way Miss Chauncey’s mother is gloating, I am sure it is only a matter of time,” Teresa replied.
Barbara furrowed her brows. “I do not understand what is taking so long. Everyone believes this to be a sealed affair, and yet there is no announcement? The banns have been read twice, apparently, but that matters less to the ton than a line in the Gazette.” She chuckled at her own cleverness before continuing. “Surely her mother must know it is creating talk. That is something I would wish to avoid, were I entering into a betrothal. I can only be grateful that my Mr. Gower did everything in the proper way, and my parents were quick to put the announcement in the papers.”
Alice turned to Teresa, struck by an idea. “You call the engagement to Lord Hicks a victory, but he has been on the hunt for a wife for ages. Why have you never sought his regard before?”
“Lady Alice,” Teresa replied with a blush of indignation. “You must not think I am the type to dangle after eligible men.”
“No, no,” Lady Alice said, her tone conciliatory. She hoped to get to the root of Teresa’s interest in Lord Hicks. “I did not mean to imply that. What do you find appealing in Lord Hicks?”
Both Barbara and Diana fell silent, and Alice wondered if she were the only one who could not abide the man?
“I do not say he is appealing—not in a manner of speaking,” Teresa replied, hedging. “It is only that his fortune is known to be vast, and that is not something to turn one’s nose up at. I know he is perhaps not the most handsome of men.” She gave a titter. “Certainly not like Mr. Clavering, who I once thought was interested in you, Lady Alice. But a life with Lord Hicks would be a comfortable one. His wife could command every elegancy, besides being titled.”
Alice’s mind was spinning with an idea, and it was not hard to pretend she had not heard Mr. Clavering’s name associated with hers. She would not deign to answer such a thing, in any case. The conversation moved on to other topics, and Alice’s mind revolved around her idea.
What if she and Mr. Clavering were able to arrange it so Mr. Duckworth won Miss Chauncey before she was led to the altar with a man she found distasteful? What if Alice could sidetrack Lord Hicks to look at Teresa instead? Everyone would be happy. He would find a wife who did not mind him, Teresa would be able to settle down—which Alice knew was something she wished for—and Miss Chauncey would be free.
The next thought came with depressing swiftness. She would not be here to bring such a thing about. She would be on her way to Cumbria.
The duchess stood and spoke a few words to her hostess in private, smiling and gaining the last few ounces of gossip that would nourish her for the next week. She gestured for her daughter to come, and Alice stood. Her mother was a proponent of short visits.
“I shall have to bid you farewell,” Alice said to the other women. “My mother is ready to go.”
“I fear I will outstay my welcome if I do not leave now as well,” Barbara said. “I arrived before any of you. Lady Alice, I can accompany you and your mother to the entrance while we wait for our carriages. I suppose you will have to wait for your mamas,” she said to Teresa and Diana, who nodded.
Barbara linked her arm through Alice’s. “I came on my own, you see. It is such a pleasure to do precisely what I wish. What freedom we married women have.”
It had begun to rain outside, and the sound of the drops entered the hall. It was not quite a deluge, but the rain was heavy enough that they would likely be soaked by the time they made it to the carriages.
Alice’s mother called for their carriage first. As they waited, Mrs. Wesley exited and stopped to speak with her.
Barbara pulled closer to Alice, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I did not want to bring up the subject of your brother, but he is being much talked about. This on-dit of his association with Mary Morgan. Has His Grace not been able to do anything to quash the scandal? I understand Lord Anley is quite set in his own ways and won’t heed anyone. That woman is far too coy for her own good—the temptress herself. No one can resist her, I am told.”
The words were a stab in Alice’s heart. Her poor brother, being talked about by the likes of Barbara Gower and the rest of London. How was it possible that he could not see what was happening? She did not think him precisely simple, but how could he have let things go this far?
The butler peered out the window, then turned to them. “Your Grace, your carriage is here.”
“Come, Alice,” her mother said, sweeping forward.
Alice followed her mother out the door and down the few steps to the street. The footman put out his arm for the duchess, and she held on lightly as they descended the stairs.
When they reached the stone flagway, Alice’s mother stepped on a thin sheet of water, and her foot shot forward. She started to fall, and the footman twisted to try to catch her with his other hand, but he was not quick enough. The duchess fell to the ground with a grunt, and she could not move or speak for a minute.
Alarmed, Alice hurried over and reached down for her elbow. “Mother, you will be soaked through. Can you move?”
Her mother’s voice was sharp with pain. “You! Assist me to my feet.”
The footman who had been helping her looked abashed. He started forward at the same time the butler hurried down the stairs. Barbara and Mrs. Wesley both stepped outside to see what had happened.
“Your Grace!” they called out.
Neither woman was particularly helpful, however, as they did not wish to leave the protection of the marquise that kept out the rain.
Alice’s mother ignored them and allowed the butler and footman to come to her aid, then assist her into the carriage. Alice walked around to the other side of the carriage to climb in and called up to their groom, “Take us home directly. My mother has been hurt.” She shut the door and sat, then looked at her mother with compassion.
“Does it pain you very much?”
Her mother’s face was pinched. “What a clumsy oaf. That footman could not even carry out the simple task for which he was hired. I hope Lady Jersey will see fit to let him go. He deserves to be relieved of his position without a character.”
Alice felt for the footman. Her mother was not light, and once she was headed downward, nothing would keep her on her feet. She kept her peace, though. It would not do any good, and she knew that a dose of pain and humiliation did not necessarily lead one to grace.
When the carriage pulled up to their house, her mother attempted to shift in her seat and shook her head. “I cannot walk at all. My hip and ankle are both paining me. Send the groom in for our footmen to come and assist me. See to it that no one is walking by when they do so.”
Alice did as her mother bid, and as it was still raining—a blessing for her mother, who did not wish to have an audience—Alice reentered the carriage without spotting a single soul. She glanced at her mother again, wondering if she would welcome comforting words or gestures. Alice decided she would not.
“I have news for you,” her mother said. “And as much as it displeases me, I am sure you will regard it as good. I will not be able to walk—that much is clear—and I do not know how long it will take to recover. I have no choice but to postpone your trip to see your sister, for you will have to run the household during my convalescence.”
“Yes, Mother,” Alice replied in as neutral a tone as she could summon.
The door to the carriage opened on her mother’s side, and the butler stood with two footmen. He clucked in concern and began giving orders to the footmen.
Alice could hardly believe what her mother had just told her. It would be unkind to call this turn of events a piece of good fortune; but in full honesty, she could only view it as that.