Eight

In her embarrassed haste to remove herself from Jason’s room, Anne forgot to ask her rebellious charge how he’d spent the hours of the afternoon after he’d ordered his clothes from Weston’s. She’d realized fleetingly that he could not and would not have spent an entire day choosing coats and waistcoats. But his teasingly barbarous behavior in his bedroom had driven all other matters from her mind, and she didn’t think of it again until she’d gone to bed that night. She surmised that he’d gone searching for the suit of armor he always spoke about and gave the matter no more thought.

By the next morning, however, there was no longer a need to question him about his mysterious afternoon; the whole of London was talking about it. No fewer than four of Lady Harriet’s friends called to inform her of the story that was circulating with alarming rapidity through the salons of London. The new Viscount Mainwaring, they said, had been seen racing a horse through the park against the notorious rakehell, Miles Minton. At first, Lady Harriet vehemently denied that the story could be true. In the first place, she said, her Jason didn’t know Sir Miles. In the second place, there were no horses in their stables suitable for racing. But when the ladies all insisted that Sir Miles’ opponent had been an American of noteworthy size, her confidence was shaken. And when Peter came running in to ask where they had acquired the absolutely splendid stallion he’s just seen in their stables, she realized the story must be true.

It was from Peter, however, that Anne learned the details. Peter had run to ask Jason about the horse and had heard the entire tale from the best source—Jason himself. The Viscount told Peter that, after he’d finished at Weston’s, he’d walked over to Tattersall’s stables. Tattersall was a dealer in horseflesh whose reputation extended even to America, and Jason, who was interested in acquiring a horse capable of bearing a rider of his weight, was eager to look at his stock. He’d taken one look at the stallion and had purchased it on the spot.

Just as the transaction had been completed, Sir Miles Minton had appeared on the scene. Sir Miles was a gentleman of shady reputation who could always be counted on to be involved in any disreputable sporting event or to be a participant in the most dubious of wagers. He had had an eye on the stallion for himself but, always in debt, had not had the necessary blunt. Looking the American over and taken in by his easy smile, his drawling speech and naive manner, Sir Miles had decided the Viscount was a flat. He persuaded Jason to wager, on the outcome of a one-and-a-half-mile race through the park, his new horse against Sir Miles’ magnificent saddle.

Jason had admitted to Peter that he’d been foolhardy, but the horse looked prime, and he, having been cooped up for so long, was ripe for a lark. He’d accepted the wager in the full realization that he had not the measure of either his opponent’s skill as a rider or the strength of either one of the animals to be run in the contest. But, he’d told Peter with a shrug, Sir Miles had more flash than bottom, and Jason had won easily.

Peter’s account was relayed by Anne to Lady Harriet, who had at last to admit to herself that the gossip she’d been hearing all morning was—in every one of its particulars—quite true. Jason had made a mull of things—his presence in London was no longer secret, and his recklessly rash encounter with the notorious Sir Miles was an on-dit in every London drawing room. After her usual self-warning to remain calm and five minutes of breathing exercises to regulate her pulse, she sat down to think of ways to determine how to salvage the situation.

Lady Harriet did not think of herself as a particularly clever woman (her inability to understand her brilliant son had taught her that), but she knew that she was endowed with a sufficient supply of common sense. Her common sense had taught her that one can find answers if one asks the right questions. In the case of Jason’s escapade, two problems were immediately apparent. The first was that Jason’s period of leisurely seclusion was quite at an end; the door knocker was bound to be kept busy by the curious, eager to get a glimpse of the new Lord Mainwaring, and the invitations would come flooding in. Thus, the first question Lady Harriet had to answer was how to prevent Jason from having to face the ton too soon—before he’d been properly trained. The second problem was that Jason’s reputation had been sullied by his thoughtless association with a loose fish like Sir Miles. The question here was how the ill-effects of this encounter were to be minimized.

Lady Harriet could not, even after lengthy cogitation, find satisfactory answers to either of her questions, but she answered them as best she could. She had intended to keep Jason at home for at least a month; now that would be impossible. But two weeks she must have. She looked through her social calendar in order to select the most appropriate fête for Jason’s debut. Her choice was a large, formal ball being given by Lady Dabney in two weeks’ time. She and Anne would ready him for that occasion. In the meantime, Coyne would be instructed to tell every caller for the next two weeks that they were not at home.

As for Jason’s injured reputation, Lady Harriet could only hope that his additional two weeks of seclusion would be time enough for the gossip to die down. For the time being, the family must give all their time and attention to preparing Jason for his debut.

His clothing was the most urgent need. Jason’s trip to Weston’s had been only the beginning. An amazing number of shopping expeditions were necessary to outfit him properly. A visit to Schweitzer and Davidson’s for riding clothes and sporting togs was undertaken. Then an entire day was spent at various shops on St. James Street: at number six, there was Lock’s, where, under Anne’s direct supervision, Jason was urged to order a shocking number of high-crowned beaver hats with curly brims in various shades of gray, brown and black, glossy black top hats, and a chapeau-bras (which Anne told him was merely to be carried under his arm when in evening dress); then, down the street, at the corner of Picadilly, there was Hoby’s, where Jason was fitted for long boots, Hessians, Hussar boots, top boots, Wellingtons and highlows (which, Anne explained, were absolutely necessary to wear with trousers); and finally the glover’s, where his hands were much admired for their great size and were measured for more than a dozen pairs of gloves in brown, white, blue, fawn and York tan.

At the end of an exhausting week, Jason firmly declared that he would not step foot in another store; nor would he submit to being fitted, taped, ruled, weighed, measured, turned round, surveyed, inspected, studied, scrutinized or otherwise examined. He would visit no other store. He would even give up the hunt for the suit of armor, which was the one and only item he’d wanted to purchase for himself. He completely abandoned his intention to search the stores for it. He was through with shopping forever!

Shortly thereafter, the deliveries began. Packages, bandboxes, cases and cartons were delivered in a steady stream. The poor Viscount began to complain to his instructress that there would soon be no space in his bedroom for him.

“What we must do, my lord,” she responded, “is to move you to a bedroom with a dressing room. And we must find you a proper valet to take care of your things.”

“Valet? Never!” Jason declared. “I’m quite capable of dressing myself.”

“Don’t be obstinate,” Anne said superciliously. “You must have someone to pull off your boots, for one thing—”

“I’ve always managed to pull them off before—”

“What? Those outsized monstrocities you’ve been wearing? Anyone might be able to manage those. But wait until you try to remove the ones Hoby is making for you. They’ll fit like a second skin, you know.”

“Nevertheless, I’m certain I can manage. Shucks, ma’am, does becoming a lord make a man suddenly incompetent?”

Anne did not bother to respond. However, she told Coyne privately to place an advertisement for an experienced gentleman’s gentleman in the Morning Post.

While the various tailors, bootmakers, hatters and glovers diligently labored to provide the Viscount Mainwaring with the necessary apparel, Anne worked on the man himself. For at least two hours a day, Anne instructed him in speech (“One doesn’t say ‘shucks,’ my lord. One says ‘Hang it,’ or ‘I daresay.’”), in deportment (“One does not drink coffee at tea time, my lord—not ever! And the tea is taken, not with ‘crackers’ but with ‘biscuits,’ if you please.”), and in dancing (“Right foot forward, toe extended, tap, back; left foot forward, toe extended, tap, back—no, no! Count the beat! Take me around the waist and turn me—but can you manage to do it with a little less energy, my lord? This way you are likely to fling me across the room!”).

Anne found the hours spent with her pupil to be very engrossing, although she was often irritated by Lord Mainwaring’s cavalier attitude toward the subject matter. He listened to everything she said with great attention, but she was always aware of a disconcerting lack of seriousness in his manner. The gleam of amusement was always present in his eyes, and his demeanor suggested that the whole matter was nothing but a game to him. But since he never disputed what she told him, never absented himself from a lesson nor failed (at least in the attempt) to follow her instructions to the letter, she could not find a reason to scold or to complain that he lacked the appropriate gravity or the proper regard for the importance of what they were doing.

The dancing lessons were the most difficult for Anne to handle. Lord Mainwaring would attempt to dance to the music that Lady Harriet patiently provided at the pianoforte, but he could not seem to move his feet in time to the rhythm. He counted out the beat valiantly in time to the music, but even though he kept count with his voice, his feet followed a beat of their own. Lady Harriet, watching from her place at the keyboard, would often break into giggles at his clumsy, galloping steps, which would cause the Viscount to laugh, and then he would lose count altogether. Anne would sometimes find herself joining in the laughter, but more often she would frown impatiently. Since Lady Harriet had decided that Lord Mainwaring would make his first appearance in society at the large ball to be given by Lady Dabney, now only one week hence, and since Anne was convinced that Jason could never master the art of dancing in so short a time, she saw nothing amusing in his awkwardness on the dance floor.

She increased the number of hours of dancing lessons, hoping that, by frequent repetition of the simpler country-dance figures, he might manage to get through a couple of dances at the ball. They were thus engaged on Saturday afternoon when Coyne interrupted to whisper to Anne that her friend, Miss Laverstoke, had called and was waiting in the sitting room. Instructing Lady Harriet to continue her playing, and insisting that his lordship continue to practice, she ran across the hallway to see Cherry.

Her friend was seated on the sofa, twisting her hands worriedly in her lap. “Is there anything amiss, Anne dear?” she asked as soon as Anne had entered and closed the door.

“Amiss? Of course not. Why do you ask?” Anne queried cheerfully, taking a chair opposite Cherry and looking at her with eyebrows raised.

“Then why didn’t you come to Half-Moon Street this morning?” Cherry asked in perplexity.

“This morning? Why should I have come this morning? I thought we had arranged to drive out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, we had. But did you not tell Lord Claybridge to meet you this morn—?”

“Good God! Arthur!” Anne pressed her hands to her mouth in dismay. “I forgot all about him!”

Cherry gasped. “Oh, Anne, you couldn’t have! I assured him repeatedly that some urgent matter must have prevented you—”

Anne jumped from her chair and paced the room in distress. “How could I have forgotten? It slipped my mind completely! Oh, Cherry, was he very angry with me?”

“He was quite upset, but only because he was sure that something dreadful had happened to keep you. Or that you had decided not to marry him and were too tenderhearted to face him with the truth.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I told him the other day that I had good news for him.”

Cherry stared at her friend as disapprovingly as her sympathetic eyes permitted. “I don’t understand you, Anne. How could you do something so unkind? He had been counting the days!”

Anne was conscience-stricken. “I don’t know how I could have done such a thing. It’s only that my responsibilities to Lord Mainwaring have occupied so much of my mind and my time—”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and Lord Mainwaring looked in. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to Anne apologetically, “but Aunt Harriet wants to know how long you intend to keep me hoppin’ about?”

“You see?” Anne muttered to Cherry in an undervoice. “I can’t leave him for a minute. Come in, my lord. I’d like you to meet my friend, Miss Charity Laverstoke. Cherry, this is Jason Hughes, the new Lord Mainwaring.”

Cherry was awed. Staring, she shyly extended her hand. “H-how do you d-do, my lord?” she murmured breathlessly.

Jason advanced and took her hand. Just as he was about to shake it, Anne shook her head vigorously at him and cleared her throat. With a quick glance at his mentor’s forbidding frown, he grinned and lifted Cherry’s hand to his lips. “Charmed,” he said politely, as he released it.

Anne nodded at him approvingly and returned to her chair. “Do sit down, Lord Mainwaring, and join us. Perhaps you can tell Miss Laverstoke something about America. Wouldn’t you love to hear about life in the wilderness, Cherry?”

“Oh, yes!” Cherry said with shy eagerness.

“As much as I’d enjoy regalin’ you with wilderness tales, Miss Laverstoke, I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve been instructed to practice my dancin,’ you see. I need all the practice I can get, for, naturally, a man who’s spent all his life in the wilderness could not have grown adept at such a civilized activity. With your permission, ma’am, I shall leave you to your conversation.” With a wicked glint, he nodded to Anne, bowed to Cherry and left the room.

Cherry blinked at the door, speechless.

Anne laughed. “Don’t sit there open-mouthed, Cherry. Say something.”

“Oh, my!” Cherry breathed at last.

“I know what you mean,” Anne nodded. “Overpowering, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. I must admit, Anne, that the Viscount is certainly … er …” Cherry searched for a word. “… an original, isn’t he?”

“That is just what he is,” Anne agreed.

“Are you truly giving him instruction in dancing?” Cherry asked, wide-eyed. “I would be terrified to—”

“Nonsense. What is there to be terrified of?”

“I don’t know, exactly. He’s so … large! And so … self-assured. And those eyes of his—they seem to penetrate right through one.”

“Yes, they do, don’t they?” Anne’s smile faded into a thoughtful frown. “I always feel as if he is reading my thoughts and laughing at them.”

“Yet he doesn’t frighten you?” Cherry asked admiringly.

“No, of course not. He’s really rather agreeable, you know. In fact, Cherry, I’ve been thinking … he’ll be making his bow in society in a very short time, and he’s bound to make a mark, even if he doesn’t master all the proper social graces. He’ll be considered an enormously splendid match for some girl. Why shouldn’t it be you?”

“Me? You must be joking!”

“Of course I’m not joking. Why shouldn’t it be you?”

“Why, I’d be terror-stricken just to be asked to stand up with him at Almack’s!” Cherry declared.

Anne frowned at her. “Really, Cherry, you can be such a wet-goose! Just because Jason is somewhat tall is no reason to be afraid of him. He is truly an easygoing, amicable sort. Peter thinks the world of him.”

Cherry wavered. “But even if I could find the courage to … to … Anyway, he didn’t seem to take particular notice of me a moment ago,” she pointed out frankly.

“Never mind that. He’s given me the task of finding a wife for him, and you, Cherry, are my first choice. And the sooner I arrange to bring the two of you together, the better.”

Cherry stared at her friend in fascinated horror. “But, Anne, I … I wouldn’t know what to say to such a man! And I’m not the sort who could attract … I’m sure we wouldn’t suit.”

But Anne would not be deterred. “Leave it all to me, Cherry. Tomorrow, we shall all go driving in the park together. Will you ask Arthur to come along with us? It will be the perfect opportunity for me to apologize to him, and for you and Lord Mainwaring to become acquainted.”

Cherry found a number of objections to the plan. What if Arthur did not like being part of a foursome? What if Lord Mainwaring should object? What if he should become bored? Cherry had nothing suitable to wear. What if her mother should ask questions? What would people say if they were observed?

To all these points, Anne made scornful replies. Her mind was made up. With a long list of instructions for her friend on the arrangements with Arthur, on the time of day which would most suit the situation, and on the outfit Cherry was to wear, Anne walked with her friend to the door. “Oh, Anne,” Cherry said with a fearful sigh, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Leave everything to me, dearest, and don’t fret. Lord Mainwaring will be charmed, I promise. And if he is not, then … well, perhaps then you’ll let me cut your braids. If all else fails, that may be the very thing to do the trick.”

Cherry’s hand flew to her hair. “Only if all else fails,” she pleaded. Then, before Anne could think of anything else to cause her to quail, she hastily took her leave.