You’re a grown lady of high rank, long lineage, and handsome dowry. You have no reason to quail.
And she merely had to marry.
Then Boxstall would be safe and she need never come to Town again.
They were taken down a passage and up a set of secondary stairs to emerge into a luxuriously quiet corridor. Soon they were installed in pleasant side-by-side rooms. They provided everything a guest could wish for, including small dressing rooms attached to each with narrow beds for their maids.
“Most convenient,” Lady Langton said. “I shall take tea in my room. Do you want some?”
“Yes, but I’ll order it in here.”
Her mother left in one direction with her maid, Lucy, and Ethel went into the dressing room to manage the arrival of the trunks and hatboxes. There were ingenious back stairs from the dressing rooms to the basement so that laboring servants wouldn’t disturb the carpeted corridors. This place was certainly larger and grander than her family’s own town house, but Ariana would rather be elsewhere.
She removed her bonnet, then rang for a servant. When a maid came, she ordered tea with two cups, for Ethel would want some. It soon arrived, with the welcome addition of small sandwiches and cakes.
Ethel came, but took her tea and some food back into the dressing room. “Maids are doing the unpacking, but they need watching.”
Ariana enjoyed the refreshments and a bit of peace to collect herself. She even found some gratitude. She and her mother had been absent from Town for eightyears and had no close acquaintance here. Ariana had written to her friend Hermione Merryhew, who was now Lady Faringay, hoping she might be here, but alas, no. Lady Cawle’s influence and patronage would be very useful.
She was pouring her second cup when Lucy came in. “This note was received from Lady Cawle, milady.”
She left and Ariana unfolded it. Their hostess apologized that her gathering was not yet over. They were to command anything they wished and she hoped they would dine with her at six o’clock.
Two hours from now.
Ariana finished her tea and rose to wander the room. The carpet was pleasantly soft beneath her feet and the brown-and-gold hangings were handsome. The fire burned generously and a scuttle of coal sat nearby in case it needed replenishing. She didn’t like the smell of a coal fire, for wood was much more pleasant, but she wouldn’t quibble at that.
She was provided with a handsome bed, a walnut washstand, a small table with two chairs, and two upholstered chairs on either side of the fireplace, along with fire screens to protect the complexion from direct heat. A rotating bookcase sat beside one of the chairs, holding a number of books. There was even a small desk, and when Ariana checked, she found it contained writing paper, pens, ink, wax, and anything she might need.
An excellent room for a guest, but one that rather suggested the guest spend most of her time in it, whereas Ariana needed to use her legs. She’d been sitting in a coach for five hours and would have enjoyed a brisk walk, even around the house.
Lady Cawle’s guests made that impossible.
She thought of slipping outside, but the light was fading. At Boxstall that wouldn’t have bothered her, but dusk made the city more dangerous, despite the gaslights, which she could see out the window were now being lit, one by one. She watched the process, muttering, “Imprisoned.”
She remembered that about Town.Don’t do this. Don’t go there. Scandalous to even think of going there and doing that!
With a sigh she went into the dressing room to decide what to wear for dinner. The unpacking was almost complete, so Ethel sent the two young maids away.
Before Ariana even asked, Ethel said, “The violet silk.” It was already spread on the narrow bed, and Ariana had to admit it was the only choice. Like all her winter gowns, it was long-sleeved and very plain, with only a slight trimming of purple and black beads. It wasn’t fine enough for a ton event, but it would do for a private dinner.
“I might as well dress, then.”
She was ready too early, with jet and amethyst jewelry, including two pins in her hair. With time to spare, she sat to continue reading a book she’d brought from home about the warrior gods of Greece and Rome. She couldn’t concentrate. She felt as if she should have been preparing for the coming encounter with the Dowager Countess of Cawle as for a war. What did men do to prepare for battle? Sharpen weapons? Check guns? She shuddered at the thought.
She’d always hated war and was deeply grateful Napoleon had finally been defeated and peace reigned. Some people hadn’t seemed to mind the casualty lists from a conflict so far away—as long as no one near or dear wasinvolved, of course. But she’d always hated those lists, even if she’d recognized no name. She hadn’t been able to block awareness of the grief each death must be causing to a wife, a mother, sisters, and friends. After her father’s death, her sympathy had become sharper, for his was the first truly painful loss in her life. He’d died during the October after Waterloo, however, so most casualty lists had ceased.
She welcomed the interruption of a knock on the door. She opened it herself to receive another note from Lady Cawle, this time still sealed. So, it had been brought directly to her.
Intrigued, she broke the seal and unfolded the heavy paper.
To aid your enterprise, Ariana, here is a list of suitable gentlemen currently in Town. Their suitability consists of their rank, fortune, availability for marriage, and height.
Viscount Churston
The Earl of Sellerden
Lord Blacknorton
