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JUNE 15, 1813
Holcombe Manor, Kent
Lady Shaw,
I am in receipt of your letter regarding my upcoming house party and your niece, Miss Jane Shaw. I must caution you that I have been careful in my invitations, for I hope to secure engagements for both my sons shortly. There are, however a few young men that are unattached, and I am sure the amiable genteel niece you have described will be perfectly content in our festivities.
Regards,
Lady Harrington
PS. Any debt owing is, I assume, fulfilled in this invitation. Also, I must congratulate you on your remarkable efficiency of having twin sons; I am sure Lord Shaw is very pleased.
***
Jane Shaw’s dress was wrinkled, her legs tired and her head aching as she stepped out of the coach with Sarah, her lady’s maid. A nod to the footman and she was climbing the stairs to the front door where the butler was waiting. He bowed and provided entrance where she was greeted immediately.
“MISS SHAW, I AM LADY Harrington.” An older lady with unblemished skin and flawless grey-streaked hair greeted her. “I hope your journey was not too tiring.”
“No, my lady. Thank you.” The high ceiling embellished with frescoes made Jane blink as she failed to keep her eyes on her hostess.
“I assume you would like to freshen up before tea.” Jane snapped her eyes back to Lady Harrington as she stood a little straighter.
“Thank you, my lady. I should like that very much.” Jane breathed out. Her journey had been tiring; tea sounded very good, but a nap sounded even better.
“Mrs. Hurst will show you to your room. Tea will be served in half an hour.”
Mrs. Hurst immediately appeared, a bunchy older woman with a set of keys at her waist. Together but in complete silence, they began the ascent up the stairs, turning to the right to enter a room decorated in blues. Sarah, her maid, was already unpacking her trunk.
With a sigh, Jane laid on the puffy white coverlet but then hurried and sat up. “Sarah, I am to be downstairs in a half hour, so I had better get dressed.”
“Yes miss. The sprigged muslin traveled alright, should that do?” Sarah held it out.
“Yes, I’m sure it’ll be fine, thank you.”
And with a sigh to convey her weariness, she rose and allowed Sarah to help her change and prepare for afternoon tea.
A quarter of an hour later she heard a knock at her door. Startled, she looked at Sarah, who shook her head, but moved to answer it. There stood Lady Harrington looking as if she had something sour in her mouth.
Taking a breath, Jane stood as she said, “Thank you Sarah, that will do. Perhaps you should like to take your tea now. I don’t mind if you finish unpacking later.”
“Oh, thank you miss.” And with her eyes wide behind Lady Harrington’s back, she closed the door behind her. Jane halted her smile and faced Lady Harrington with as much poise as she could muster.
Lady Harrington began. “Lady Shaw tells me you are a very worthy young lady.”
Jane had no answer to that, and so kept her mouth shut and waited.
“My sons are both engaged, you see. That is, Lord Harrington is nearly engaged to Miss Pratt. Indeed we expect the announcement any day. Lord Petersham is hoping to make a match with Miss Annabelle or perhaps Miss Stanley, and this party was meant to...” Here she waved her hand looking for the right word. “...facilitate such a union.”
Still Jane said nothing.
“I expect you to live up to Lady Shaw’s recommendations while you are here. If marriage is your goal, I suggest you consider Mr. Makon. He is a younger son of the Baron de Paul, and with a reasonable living as the local vicar.”
Jane stepped forward. “Lady Harrington, I came here at my aunt’s request. She is hoping, I believe, to see me happily situated, but I have no demands of your house party, I assure you, beyond a pleasant experience.”
“You would be happy to remain a spinster?” Her hand stalled a response. “Forgive my bluntness. In the absence of your aunt I hope you will allow me to play the role of your guardian. You see, it is the purpose of every woman to marry well, is it not? And I cannot imagine you would be happy alone for the rest of your life.”
Jane could not think of a response to this statement, at war with the opinions she had created these past few years.
“I should also mention a Mr. Lawrence.” Lady Harrington’s mouth twisted. “He was invited by my son, and while he is nobody of consequence, if you are one of those young ladies intent upon marrying for love, perhaps he will provide an alternative choice.” Her eyebrows waited for a response.
Jane forced a reply. “Very well, my lady.”
“I will see you for tea soon, I trust?”
“Yes, my lady.”
And with that, Lady Harrington swept out of the room, taking Jane’s rational thoughts with her.
Only a few minutes more found Jane deposited at the door of the drawing room by an obliging maid. She adjusted her hair one more time and took a deep breath. Perhaps a house party would not feel so overwhelming. She frowned, thinking of Aunt Jem’s machinations in procuring invitations. It was entirely embarrassing, and despite her aunt’s promises, she worried the whole idea was ridiculous. Particularly in light of the conversation with Lady Harrington. With a brief smile and a nod at the butler, he opened the door.
“Miss Jane Shaw.” Simmons gave a short bow and was immediately absent. She turned toward the company which was made entirely of women, and taking a moment to adjust her posture, walked forward.
Miss Shaw, you are very welcome.” Lady Harrington had moved forward, her face indifferent, and Jane dipped into a curtsy.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Ladies, allow me to introduce you to Miss Jane Shaw.” The women all faced her with varying interest. “Miss Shaw, may I present the Honorable Viscountess Wyndham and her daughters the Honorables Cynthia and Annabelle Pratt.” Curtsies were exchanged as she noticed the glorious blond hair of both the mother and daughters with a pair of vivid blue eyes apiece.
“This is the Lady Cheswick and her daughter Miss Amelia Stanley.” More curtsies as she noticed the honey colored hair of Amelia with her large brown doe eyes, her demeanor more approachable than any of the Pratts. Lady Cheswick returned her gaze with a clacking of her teeth.
“And this is my own daughter, Lady Margaret Atwater.” Her tone held pride if her face didn’t and Jane looked at the younger girl with some interest, for while her curtsy was demure, her face belied that particular trait.
“Do sit down, my dear.” The Lady Harrington’s hand refused argument as she gestured to a place on an elegant but outmoded couch. As she sat, her eyes raised a bit.
“Miss Shaw, are you alright?” Lady Margaret’s tone was teasing and her mother gave her a look.
“Yes...this couch is...quite lovely.” She smiled but inwardly cringed. The couch was as hard as a church pew and as uncomfortable as one too.
Lady Harrington’s hands were folded just so in her lap. “That couch is quite an heirloom. You see, my dear Charles and I were married here at Holcombe and had the great privilege to receive Lady Sarah Lennox who was once quite the favorite of King George, you know. She was truly remarkable in her grace, her conversation...indeed I have held her up as an example for my own Margaret as someone to emulate.”
Jane’s face creased as she recalled some of the gossip surrounding Lady Lennox, but wisely decided to say nothing. Conversation continued and as her opinion was hardly called for, she was able to listen and observe to her heart’s content. Cynthia Pratt seemed a good natured girl, if a bit shallow in her desires and immature in conversation. Annabelle was a shorter copy, while Amelia Stanley was often only pressed into conversation to agree with one of them. Lady Wyndham seemed to supervise, her face approving the conversation without the necessity of participating. Lady Margaret sat next to her mother, her eyes bursting with opinions that were halted by her mother’s hand on her arm.
Tea was brought in shortly and with it, young men. The energy in the room rose considerably, and Jane watched as the other ladies immediately drew them into conversation with their smiles.
Introductions were made to those required, and Jane was free to put a name to their faces. The Viscount Petersham had a dark brown head of hair with patches that were trying successfully to stick up. That hair seemed to match his personality – a happy exuberance where everyone was a friend, and everything was pleasant. His quick smiles and sincere delight at having everyone there was catching without being childish. She looked over at Lord Harrington to see if his manner was similar. The Earl of Harrington had dark hair that appeared black, but in the light was a very dark brown. His eyes were beginning to have wrinkles, but ‘happy wrinkles’ as her father would have put it – his life had been good to him. He was very affable as well, but quieter; his smiles were genuine and his good nature apparent, so perhaps it was his responsibilities that made him appear so much older.
Miss Pratt’s conversation lost its previous immaturity and she was the very picture of feminine perfection as she spoke carefully with the two very eligible bachelors.
“Oh, I can never get my wardrobe quite right, you know. Once I was even turned away.” Lord Petersham gave a rueful smile.
“Oh, it’s got nothing to do with your wardrobe, Georgie, and everything to do with that mane on your head.”
Lord Harrington’s teasing made his brother blush. “Yes, well, we can’t all have womanly curls, old boy.” Lord Harrington grinned.
“Oh I adored Almacks, indeed it was the greatest pleasure of our time there, I’m sure.” Miss Pratt looked at Lord Harrington as she said so, her face suggesting ‘our’ pleasure was a private moment shared that only lovers of long standing would understand. She turned and caught the look of comprehension on Jane’s face. “Miss Shaw, have you ever had the opportunity to travel to London?” Miss Pratt’s smiles now had the slightest hint of condescension, which made Jane’s mouth twitch.
“I have.” Miss Pratt’s look of surprise urged her to say more. “I confess I preferred the British Museum to Almacks, though.”
Miss Pratt’s smile was now gone, replaced by another hint – this time of derision.
“I must agree with you, Miss Shaw, for an afternoon spent there was not an afternoon wasted in the slightest. Did you see the Rosetta Stone?” Lord Harrington’s questions made Miss Pratt sit back a little, and Jane wondered if she was misjudging her.
“I did, my lord. Indeed, what a marvelous addition to the Egyptian artifacts, and of course, what a truly incredible advancement for the study of hieroglyphs.” She had made her response broader for the wide variety in the group, but Lord Harrington smiled back at her.
“Indeed. Do you know I met Henry Salt once while viewing the collection?”
Delighted, she grinned, “Did you really? What was he like?”
“My dear boy, surely dusty Egyptian artifacts are not quite the topic for a drawing room.” His mother abruptly changed the subject and Jane sat back against the couch again, trying not to wince.
“We were speaking of Almacks, were we not? Come Amelia, you must tell us of your favorite experience this past season.” Miss Pratt’s smooth maneuvering raised Jane’s eyebrows.
Miss Stanley told a forgettable story about dancing with a clumsy fortune hunter, and as Jane watched the company, her eyes met Miss Pratt’s once more. “If you were at Almacks this past season, I am sure we have seen each other.” The smallest taste of curiosity spurred the remark.
Jane’s smile was patient. “I am sure with such a crush it was inevitable.”
And with that, Miss Pratt switched the conversation yet again and Jane was very quickly forgotten, which is what she preferred.
Lord Harrington watched the gaggle of women as they pandered to his supposed expectations. The clenching in his stomach persisted as he realized his actions this past season had nearly secured him a wife, and if not careful, could still put him in that predicament. He found himself restless, his eyes straying towards the window; his thoughts distracted by the ambitious plans the devastating news had created. His eyes snagged on Miss Shaw; he acknowledged her superior intellect and maturity from the few moments she had displayed them. He had not missed her lack of response to their subtle barbs and wondered with what expectations she had come to this house party. His current infallibility punched him in the stomach once more, and he turned his gaze back to the window. Responsibilities drew out the ache and with apologies to the ladies he excused himself to pursue them.
***
DINNER THAT EVENING was smaller since some of the party had yet to arrive. The quiet group suited Jane, however, and when they retired to the drawing room afterwards, she determined to know Lady Margaret better. A quiet request brought an eager response, and after a moment with her mother, she came to sit beside her.
“Lady Margaret.” Jane nodded to the younger girl who now sat on her left.
“Miss Shaw, I must tell you how grateful I am you are here. You see, Cynthia and Annabelle are alright, but I can never get a straight word out of either of them and they’re as boring as the vicar.” At that, Lady Margaret covered her mouth, her dark curls shaking. “I beg your pardon! Mother says I’m to be particularly nice about Mr. Makon, for you are setting your cap for him, although of course she didn’t use such a vulgar expression, but she is sure if I say only nice things you can’t possibly notice he is the most boring man alive, but I am sure, Miss Shaw you are the type of person who notices things about people.”
Jane laughed, for she found her spirits lifting with each comma. “My dear Lady Margaret, you are perfectly right.”
Lady Margaret’s massive brown eyes lit up. “I am? About what?”
“Everything, I think.”
Lady Margaret grinned. “In that case, you must call me Meg, for I am sure we’re to be fast friends, but you needn’t worry I say that to everyone, for Cynthia and Annabelle insisted most profusely, but they would wouldn’t they?”
“Very well Meg, and you must call me Jane.”
“I knew we would be friends, for anyone who cannot find much to say to Cynthia is bound to be the right sort.” She picked at a loose thread on her shawl.
Jane laughed silently again. “Miss Pratt is elegant and accomplished, and I am sure there is much we can both learn from her.”
Meg’s face became serious, but her hands fidgeted once more in her lap. “Oh, you are the type to always say the right things about people. I have not yet learned that skill, but Charles says I will need to be more tactful before I have my season next year. George says I won’t need to learn to say nice things until I’m married though.”
“Perhaps, but see how Miss Pratt speaks to Lord Harrington as though what he’s saying truly is valuable. With very little effort she makes him feel as though his conversation is desired and as a result, he is content.” Jane’s observations were colored by Lady Harrington’s assurance of their forthcoming engagement, but she felt sure Meg had not quite accepted it.
“Oh Miss Shaw, how much you have to learn. Cynthia would pretend Charlie was interesting if he talked out a horse’s backside.”
Jane made a noise.
“No, it is true! Or are you concerned about my metaphor? My mother must have mentioned a dozen times how they are ‘nearly but not quite but surely it’ll happen someday so they are probably engaged’.”
Jane chose to skip over the surprising metaphor. “Your summation of the conversation was surprisingly accurate.”
“That is because everyone within shouting distance has heard it since March and now Cynthia is getting desperate. But that is because Charlie left, you see, in April without a goodbye to anyone and I think it poor judgment on his part for I’m sure Cynthia finds him more mysterious now as though he needed anything else to recommend him to her.”
Jane took a moment to translate Meg’s comments, then replied. “I have only just arrived today but I confess he does not seem more attached to her than any other.”
Meg leaned closer. “That is the best part. You see, he has distanced himself from her and treats her much like everyone else which is completely infuriating her, for of course he paid her marked attention before, although George says she’s up for the challenge and Charlie will have to be on his game whatever that means, although I think I understand from context, don’t you?”
“Mmmm.” Jane agreed, but quickly decided her new friend needed a different direction for her energy.
“Meg, do you play the pianoforte?”
“I do, although not particularly well. I do enjoy singing though and even Charlie says when I sing I don’t sound like the irreverent child I am, nevermind I turned 17 last week. I suppose that’s a compliment, but I don’t think it counts, do you?”
Jane pressed her smile, once again, away for now. “I suppose not. It does sound as if you’re very good at singing though, and I hope you will perform for us one night.”
“I am sure I shall.”
“In the meantime, perhaps a game of whist would do?”
They rotated partners with the Misses Pratt and Miss Stanley and Jane was able to observe how Miss Pratt took pains to treat Lady Margaret like a younger sister, how Miss Annabelle flared her nose when frustrated, and how Miss Stanley was possibly the sweetest of them all.
***
JUNE 23, 1813
Holcombe Manor, Kent
Dear Aunt Jem,
I have arrived safely, and am writing as promised. The journey was very tiring, for Sarah snores something fierce, and I confess to feeling rather immediately out of place. However, I have made a friend in Lady Margaret, and I am optimistic in my hopes for an enjoyable experience here.
You have promised to help prepare the way for my purchase of a cottage and I now hold you to that. Please allow me this independence, for I find it is the one thing I desire. It is entirely out of my hands to find a young man whom I may engage in matrimony, but I will faithfully socialize as promised. Should I receive an offer of marriage, I promise to consider it seriously and not discard it without careful review.
Give the twins my love,
Jane