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  Lady Preston immersed herself happily in an orgy of preparation. Even for so small a party, everything must be well done. The wines and refreshments must be of the highest quality, the musicians skilful and not too obtrusive, the floral decorations of original design. To be sure she had never given precisely this kind of party before, but she had done a good deal of entertaining during her husband’s official career and she anticipated no difficulty. Nor did she encounter any. The only flaw in the arrangements was the choice of Harriet’s dress. At twenty turned she was not obliged to wear white, and both ladies were agreed that the paler pastel shades were more becoming. But if the colour was right the fabric did not drape well, while in certain cases the cost of the materials was so excessive that Harriet simply could not like them. Lady Preston was almost in despair, for time was fast running out, when Harriet said hesitantly, “I know what I would like to wear for our party, if only you would consent to it.” She did not dare add, “And it will cost us nothing,” for that argument would never serve to persuade Lady Preston to agreement. Instead she said shyly, “I have been in love with it ever since I first set eyes on it, and if I could wear it I am sure it would bring me good luck. It is the ball gown that I found in Dorothea’s trunk. Do let me show you. I believe you will like it as much as I do.”

  “But I cannot let you appear at your own special party in a made-over gown,” protested Lady Preston.

  It was the reaction that Harriet had expected. “I know it seems unusual,” she said soothingly. “But the dress has never been worn. It is not as though any one would recognise it, and in any case it would have to be altered into a modern style. It is the material that is so beautiful. Do, pray, let me show you.”

  Lady Preston’s air of patient tolerance vanished at the sight of the gown. As the girl had claimed, the material was exquisite. They had seen nothing to touch it. It was a soft brocade, not too heavy for a girl, but firm enough to hold a line. The basic colour was a pale straw-gold, and it was brocaded with white daisies, lightly tipped with coral. It was youthful without being juvenile and it set off Harriet’s delicate colouring to a nicety. Lady Preston capitulated forthwith, declaring that Harriet’s dress sense was developing nicely and summoning her maid to discuss how best the brocade could be altered.

  The days grew ever busier. Harriet went to breakfast parties and boating picnics. She drove in the Park with her ladyship and rode with Dorothea. She attended a gala performance at the Opera, where Lady Preston pointed out all the notabilities. She made the acquaintance of a group of young people who were pleasant and friendly and entertaining. There was little chance of these acquaintances developing into close friendships because the groups were always shifting – breaking up and re-forming just as one seemed to be approaching intimacy. Harriet enjoyed it all to the full – and felt exactly as though she was taking part in a play. So far she had performed her part very creditably and she looked forward eagerly to the scenes that were still to come. It did not do to spend too much time in speculating as to what would happen when the play was done. Dutifully she wrote out invitations, stood to be fitted for her party dress, went shopping with Lady Preston’s maid for gloves and slippers, and began to acquire the art of keeping at a distance certain young gentlemen who seemed eager to fix their interest with her. She liked them well enough. It was pleasant to be guided through the intricacies of the dance by an arm stronger than Dorothea’s and she enjoyed such small customary courtesies as having a glass of lemonade brought for her when she was hot and thirsty, doors opened for her, a chair found. But she did not care for having her fingers pressed in significant fashion and had no desire at all to seek the seclusion of sheltered nooks in garden or conservatory in order that a few words might be exchanged in private. Such attentions drove her back immediately to Lady Preston’s side. And while that lady could not disapprove such decorous conduct, she could not help wishing that her charge would offer a little more encouragement to one or two perfectly eligible gentlemen who were showing signs of interest in her and who had not shied off, despite the knowledge, delicately conveyed by her ladyship, that her protégée had no expectations. Of course there were still several weeks to go before people began leaving Town. Perhaps the party would help matters on. The sight of Harriet in her new-old gown might be expected to have a devastating effect on gentlemen already well-disposed towards her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mr Warhurst was surprised but on the whole well-pleased to hear of the change in Harriet’s situation. He liked the thought that she was enjoying herself and hoped that Lady Preston had dealt with her independent notions more successfully than he had done. He did wonder rather anxiously what was to become of her when the Season ended. It would not be easy to go back to servitude, however easy the conditions, after a taste of the life she was leading now. The possibility that she might marry never entered his head. In his view she was still not far removed from the puny child whom he had pulled out of the river. When he had been in Town he had noticed with approval that she was growing to be quite pretty, but he kept forgetting that she was also quite grown up and still tended to regard her as one of the schoolroom party. He wondered what she was making of her new fashionable life and, remembering the way in which she had brought life to his literary labours, thought that he would dearly like to hear her own account of her experiences.

  Come to think of it, why should he not spend a few days in Town and do just that? There was nothing urgently requiring his attention at home. He remembered that he had been contemplating the purchase of one of the new phaetons. Apart from his travelling chaise he had never bothered much with carriages, preferring to ride except on long journeys. Recently he had found himself thinking that it might be pleasant to be able to tool Louisa about the lanes. One might even teach Dorothea and Harriet to drive. Yes. He would take a run up to Town and look in at Hatchett’s.

  With this laudable object in view he descended on his sister on the day before Harriet’s party, apologising for not informing his surprised relations of his intentions and begging his sister not to put herself out. If it was inconvenient for him to stay in Arlington Street, he would seek shelter at a hotel. The sorely tried Louisa assured him, with a slightly artificial smile, that of course it was convenient and that he was very welcome, but regretted that she would see very little of him as she had engagements that she really could not cancel. He accepted this cheerfully, explaining his real reason for coming to Town, which afforded her some measure of reassurance, and adding that he would probably look in at his club and catch up with the talk of the Town.

  All might have gone well if Mr Pauncefoot had not chanced to be spending one of his rare evenings at his wife’s tea-table. “Better idea than that,” he announced jovially. “You can take my place at Lady P.’s party tomorrow. You’ll do the pretty far better than I would – handsome young fellow and a bachelor to boot – and I shall be able to get down to the House after all.”

  Since Mrs Pauncefoot had been at considerable pains to coax her husband into attending the party with her, she was justifiably annoyed at this base desertion. She suggested that it was discourteous to say the least, just the sort of casual behaviour that her husband deplored in the rising generation – and then spoiled it all by adding that Lady Preston might take offence.

  “Not she!” declared her husband roundly. “Best-natured woman alive – except you, of course, my dear,” he put in hastily. “I’ll just send her a note, telling her there’s an important Division on, and she’ll understand right enough. And happy to accept my substitute, I shouldn’t wonder.” He directed a conspiratorial twinkle at Simon and ambled off to his library, there to plunge into the complicated plans that were the breath of life to him, and to forget all about matters domestic.

  Simon was a little diffident about accepting his brother-in-law’s suggestion, since, although he had heard a good deal about Lady Preston, he had never actually met her. He admitted to a certain curiosity concerning the lady, and when he
learned that the party in question was being given in Harriet’s honour, his scruples vanished, though he made a decent pretence of protest.

  His sister said crossly, “Men! You have no consideration at all. When I think of all the trouble that we have been put to – but there! Talking pays no toll. I suppose you and Gerald will have your way.”

  Mr Warhurst was a little puzzled. He really could not see that Louisa had been put to any particular trouble. And she was in general the most easy-going and tolerant of females. Eventually he ascribed her ill-humour to Gerald’s defection and set himself to make soothing conversation about his nephews and nieces until he had won her back to a more equable mood.

  He spent an enjoyable – and expensive – day, next day, visiting most of the establishments in Longacre and eventually choosing a phaeton, a real high-flyer, a shapely crane-neck which, with all the extra refinements that he decided upon would cost him well over two hundred pounds, and returned to Arlington Street feeling well disposed to all the world and in ample time to change into his evening rig – the new one that he had ordered at Christmas when he discovered that long-tailed coats were now all the crack. He studied it critically, as also the richly embroidered waistcoat that went with it, and fancied that it made him look taller. At any rate he would not disgrace his family by appearing in rustic guise, and for once he was actually looking forward to the kind of social gathering that he would normally have been at some pains to avoid.

  Lady Preston’s house was admirably designed for parties of moderate size. From a central hall the staircase rose in wide, shallow steps to a gallery shaped rather like a lozenge, the two principal rooms leading off to left and right, three beautifully proportioned arches facing the visitor as he mounted the stairs and leading to smaller reception rooms and the service staircase. There was no ballroom proper, but the drawing-room, stripped of most of its furnishings, could comfortably accommodate half a dozen sets, while the smaller rooms provided space for the card players and a well-furnished supper-room. With staircase and gallery banked with roses and brilliantly illuminated by carefully disposed groups of candles in silver holders, the scene was both festive and welcoming. Simon followed his sister and Dorothea up the stairs, marshalling in his mind the words that should express his gratitude for Lady Preston’s kindness in permitting him to substitute for his brother-in-law. For a moment or two he did not even see Harriet, absorbed in his first meeting with his hostess, trying to sum up her personality from voice and appearance. Then she presented “Miss Pendeniston” to his notice – and he realised that the lovely, glowing girl who was standing beside her was ‘his’ Harriet.

  There is a great deal to be said for a strict training in social behaviour. Patterns of conduct become so much second nature that a dazed mind seeks refuge in clinging to them. Neither Simon nor Harriet could ever afterwards remember what they had said on this notable occasion. Presumably nothing startling or outrageous, since there were no gasps or curious stares. Certainly the gentleman asked the lady for a dance, since his name was later to be found inscribed on her programme, while the lady’s pretty blush and brilliant eyes were possibly the result of a very natural excitement. Not even the watchful Mrs Pauncefoot suspected that the civilities that Harriet proffered to the guests who followed them were purely mechanical, or that her eyes saw only a tall, beloved figure in a well-cut tail coat, his unpowdered head easily distinguishable among those who clung to the older fashion. Nor did any of the ladies who exchanged polite small talk with the handsome Mr Warhurst – what a pity that he was so seldom seen at such gatherings as this – catch an echo of that inner voice that reiterated clamorously, “My darling. My little love. Oh! What a fool I have been. What a stupid, purblind fool. Pray heaven it is not too late.”

  It is to be regretted that Harriet gave a considerable degree of encouragement to her several admirers from her own sheer happiness. There was no time to think. She had read the startled admiration in Mr Warhurst’s eyes, and it had awakened her to the full knowledge of her femininity. What the future might hold she neither knew nor cared. Tonight she was beautiful, admired, desired. Tonight she would dance with Mr Warhurst. With Simon, she ventured, shaping the name soundlessly. Who cared for tomorrow?

  Instinct – or education – had served Simon well. He danced only once with his Harriet, and, indeed, danced rather stiffly and awkwardly, so intense were his feelings at seeing her swing and dip and turn her head at his ordering. But it was the supper dance, and although they exchanged little enough conversation and in any case their neighbours could overhear every word, they were together. They could exchange glances as Simon told of Mandy’s assumption of matronly dignity now that she was a full year old, a dignity that lapsed regrettably when she scampered after Meg down a rabbit track. Once Simon’s arm brushed Harriet’s as he re-filled her glass with Lady Preston’s champagne cup. They were both ridiculously, idyllically happy.

  Idylls, alas, are short-lived. Supper over and a long spell of duty dances ahead of him, Simon’s mood was less rapturous. He found it difficult to avert his eyes from the undoubted triumph that Harriet was enjoying. It was not surprising. She was adorable. He just wished that her admirers would content themselves with adoring from a distance. She made a delightful picture as she danced and smiled and chatted with partner after partner. It was not until he noticed her dancing for the second time with one particularly devoted looking gentleman that he began to feel uneasy. At first he could not think why, for it was perfectly proper to dance twice with the same partner though anything more would be regarded as fast. In fact, it was not for some time that he pinned down the reason for his discomfort, and by then Harriet had danced with several other gentlemen. He found himself disliking them all equally. It was not just ordinary jealousy, he realised. It was the fact that they were all so young. His attention once drawn to this circumstance he looked further, only to discover that with one or two exceptions he was by far the oldest gentleman on the floor. It struck him, too, that none of the young sprigs of fashion who were performing with such enthusiasm were known to him. He began to feel that despite his elegant attire and his proficiency in the figures, he was old fashioned and out of place. From that it was a very short step to the realisation that he was too old for Harriet. As he danced and bowed and paid mild compliments with affable grace, he was calculating. From what Harriet had said she must be close on twenty-one. And he was thirty-one. Almost thirty-two. Half as old again. To be sure he knew of marriages where the disparity of age was even greater, but he doubted if they could be described as happy ones. And for Harriet he wanted only the best.

  To his credit be it said that none of his partners noticed his preoccupation. In fact, had he but realised it, he scored a success that almost equalled Harriet’s. There were whispered enquiries as to his identity and history from such maidens as had not had the privilege of an introduction, bright eyes measured him from beneath demurely lowered lashes, and more than one languishing glance was directed towards him. He performed his duty faithfully. It would have been almost a relief to retire early when his sister took the reluctant Dorothea home, but his hostess urged him to stay and in view of her kindness it was the barest courtesy to consent. He joined a set of quadrilles with a child who could not have been much older than his niece, and was thankful that he was obliged to attend to the figure in order to avoid disgracing himself. At least the exercise provided some distraction from his miserable thoughts.

  He had no further private conversation with Harriet. When he came to render his thanks to Lady Preston, her charge was engaged with a group of lively young people arranging some pleasure party for the following day, and he insisted that she should not be called to bid him farewell. In his heart he had, alas, already bidden her farewell.

  He puzzled his poor sister considerably next day. She was warily prepared for any suggestion that he should take Harriet and Dorothea on some perfectly unexceptionable outing that would yet be highly undesirable. He made no such suggestion.
Instead he told her that he rather thought he would look in on Erridge and Fiona if they were still fixed in Town, and then he would be off back to Furzedown.

  “Though I may drop in on you again in a week or so, when I come up to Town to collect my new carriage.” And went on to describe the vehicle’s manifold perfections as though he had no other care in the world.

  His sister gave it up. She would never understand men, she decided. Or perhaps she had been making much ado about nothing. Apart from commenting that Harriet had looked very becomingly and had appeared to be quite at home in society, he evinced no particular interest in the girl. He repeated his pressing invitation to his sister to bring her family to visit him. Since obviously this invitation no longer included Harriet, Mrs Pauncefoot took this as further evidence that his interest in her had died a natural death, and thankfully dismissed it from her mind.

  While Simon, having paid a long overdue visit to his brother’s Town house and exchanged polite small talk with the languidly lovely Lady Fiona and her harassed-looking spouse, set off for Furzedown in a mood far different from the cheerful anticipation of his journey to Town, Harriet was wondering shyly if she might expect a call from him. The rapturous mood that had enveloped them both at supper still lingered. She was not quite sure what she expected. Nothing had been said but the rapport between them had been unmistakable, even to the inexperienced Harriet. A great many gentlemen had called this morning to pay their respects to Lady Preston and to thank her for last night’s hospitality. It seemed only natural to suppose that Mr Warhurst might also do so.

  The morning wore on to afternoon, and they were engaged to attend a military review, and still Mr Warhurst did not put in an appearance. Perhaps he would come tomorrow she thought, rather disconsolately, and went to change her dress.