By now, however, Charlotte was contentedly married with children of her own, and Jenny was no longer a girl. She was twenty-three years old. She still needed the company of her aunt, though, for she could not expect ever to marry despite the fact that she was the granddaughter of a duke. Unless, that was, some fortune hunter was prepared to make the sacrifice in order to get his hands on her money—and there were always plenty of such men lurking on the outer fringes of thetonand sometimes indeed at its very heart. Both Kitty and Jenny were alert to that particular danger.
Jenny accepted that she was not likely to marry. She really did not intend to become a recluse, however, a fact that pleased heraunt, for Kitty still loved to mingle with society. Amberwell was a lovely home in a pleasant neighborhood, and it offered some amiable and genteel company—but not nearly enough to satisfy all the social needs of either lady.
They had been to London for a part of two Seasons after Jenny turned eighteen. They had always stayed at Arden House, the duke’s town house on Berkeley Square. Jenny had been presented to the queen during their first visit. She had attended several parties with her aunt and had gone a number of times to the theater and the opera. She had seen Hyde Park and Kew Gardens from an open barouche, in which she had ridden with her aunt. Mostly, however, her social life had been confined to Arden House itself, where there was not all the bother of lifting her in and out of conveyances and in and out of her heavy and cumbersome wheeled chair. There were soirees and afternoon teas and card parties and one literary evening at Arden House. Kitty loved hosting parties, and she knew that her niece enjoyed them. The duke and duchess, both elderly now, rarely came to London themselves, and Lucas never did.
This year aunt and niece had come to London again. And she would begin their Season, Kitty told Jenny the day after their arrival, with an afternoon tea, to which they would invite as many of their acquaintances as they could expect to be already in town—perhaps as many as thirty, even possibly more.
“For there will be some who cannot attend for one reason or another,” she explained. “And we do not want it to be said that our very first entertainment here was sadly thin on numbers.”
“You would become a social pariah, Aunt Kitty,” Jenny said, laughing. “I will help you make a list and write the invitations.”
It was a task Kitty enjoyed, especially the making of a list. She always aimed for a careful balance—roughly equal numbers of ladies and gentlemen, and people of all ages and interests andcharacter types. In particular, she liked to invite young people who would be company for Jenny.
“At the very head of the list will be the Countess of Stratton and her daughter,” Kitty said. “Actually, Clarissa was my dearest friend a lifetime ago, when both of us were newly married and here in London for the Season. We have remained close friends even though we are both now widows and very rarely have a chance to see each other. But this year I am here with you, and she is here with her two daughters—Lady Philippa Ware is close to you in age, Jenny, though this is to be her first Season. Perhaps you will be friends. And there is also Lady Stephanie Ware, who is still in the schoolroom, though she is not a child.”
“I will look forward to making their acquaintance,” Jenny said. “They will indeed go at the head of the list, Aunt Kitty. Lady Stephanie too, do you think? I believe she ought to be invited. Now all we need is twenty-seven more names. Or more, so that we will be sure to have at least thirty actually here.”
Chapter Four
Philippa was absurdly excited as the carriage conveyed her and her mother the short distance from Grosvenor Square to Berkeley Square. It was only a private tea to which they had been invited, but it was her first social event in London, and it was at the home of a duke. She was wearing her new sprigged muslin afternoon dress, the one her mother had rightly dubbed her favorite. It was fashionably high-waisted with a slightly scooped neckline and short, puffed sleeves over long, close-fitting sleeves that extended to her wrists. It felt light and summery. Her hair was knotted high on her head, with far more curls and fine ringlets than usual trailing over her neck and ears.
Her mother was looking her usual elegant, poised self in dark blue. She also looked happy. She seemed genuinely delighted to be in London with her two daughters, just the three of them together until Devlin came with Gwyneth.
“Do you think there will be many other guests?” Philippaasked. She was nervous as well as excited. She was certainly not behaving like a poised twenty-two-year-old.
“I am not privy to Kitty’s guest list,” her mother said, smiling at her and patting her knee. “But I doubt she would have sent a formal invitation card with her letter to me if all she had planned was a small gathering of close friends. I would expect anywhere from twenty to forty fellow guests. I do look forward to seeing her again. She was such a... Oh, what is the word I am searching for? Such afuncompanion when we were both young brides and little more than girls. There was no starch in her even though she was the daughter of the Duke of Wilby.”
“Will he be there too today, do you think?” Philippa asked. “Is there a duchess?”
“There is certainly a duchess,” her mother said. “At least, I have not heard of anything having happened to her, though both she and the duke must be very elderly by now. Perhaps a little older even than Grandmama and Grandpapa Greenfield. I do not know if they are in town this year, though I doubt it.” The carriage rocked to a halt as she was speaking. “Here we are, Pippa, and soon all your questions will be answered. I am so looking forward to launching you upon society at last. Just enjoy yourself. It is all I ask. It is all I have ever wanted for any of my children—that they be happy.”
Twenty to forty people, her mother had predicted. There must be all of forty, probably more, in the large drawing room to which they were admitted a few minutes later after the Duke of Wilby’s butler had announced them. Philippa felt flutters in her stomach, inhaled slowly and deeply, and smiled as she let the breath out. Young and old and everything in between, she thought, and surely an equal number of men and women. One of the women, a lady about her mother’s age, with regal bearing and a welcoming smileand twinkling eyes, detached herself from one group and hurried toward them, arms wide.
“Clarissa!” she cried. “Here you are and looking not a day older than when we first met. Well, perhapsoneday older.”
“Kitty!” Philippa’s mother said as they hugged each other at some length, laughing as they did so. “What a delight it is to see you again.”
“And this must be Philippa,” Lady Catherine Emmett said, withdrawing from the hug, still smiling. “How perfectly beautiful you are, Phil— Oh,mayI call you Pippa, as I know your mama does?” She took Philippa’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “I am so sorry that the passing of your dear papa and then your grandmama delayed your appearance in society. It must have beenveryprovoking for you even while you grieved. However, all that is behind you now and I can confidently predict without even having to use a crystal ball that you are about to take thetonby storm. Your poor mama will be sweeping an overflow of suitors from your doorstep within days.”
“Never, Kitty,” Philippa’s mother said. “I have servants to do that for me.”
And the two older women went off into peals of girlish laughter over the silly joke, drawing looks and smiles their way from other guests. Philippa chuckled with them, already feeling more relaxed. She could understand why her mother liked her friend so much.
“I would have been delighted if Lady Stephanie had come too,” Lady Catherine said. “But I can perfectly well understand why she declined the invitation. She would doubtless have found the party stuffy. But come, both of you.” She took Philippa by the hand. “Let me introduce you to a few people. You probably know most of my guests already, Clarissa, but I doubt Pippa knows anyone. She soonwill, though. It will all be very bewildering at first, my dear, facing roomful after roomful of fashionable persons, but you will find after a short while that you see many of the same people wherever you go. Before long, faces will become familiar and then names. The tricky part, of course, will be putting the right name to each face.”
She laughed with delight over her own dire warning.
It was not going to be easy, Philippa agreed over the next fifteen minutes or so as she was introduced to what seemed like a very large number of people. She found herself in conversation with men and women who had known her father or who knew her mother or who just chose to be amiable to a stranger newly descended upon theton.All she had to do in return was smile and answer questions and pose a few of her own. Her upbringing, after all, had prepared her to do that without either cowering or becoming tongue-tied.
Soon she began actually to enjoy herself.
Small tables had been arranged about the perimeter of the room and set for tea with crisp white linen cloths and what must be the very best china, crystal, and silver. Each table had a vase of flowers at its center. Very few people were seated awaiting their tea, however. Most were standing in groups or circulating about the room, conversing with friends and acquaintances, greeting the few people they did not know.
Philippa found herself after a while in conversation with Sir Gerald Emmett, Lady Catherine’s son. He must be about Devlin’s age, she guessed. He had polished manners and was very charming. He was good-looking too. Philippa was aware of his mother giving a little nod of satisfaction as she moved away and left them alone together after introducing them.
“This is your first Season, Lady Philippa?” he asked her.
“It is,” she said. “Even though I am ancient.”
