Poor Olivia indeed! As the Lady Olivia Atherton, legitimate daughter of an earl, she had always taken her place high in any gathering, but as Miss Olivia Atherton, without rank or title,she was no one. Her head was lowered as the little procession filed past her, as she tried very hard not to show how much she minded the snub.
Bertram’s heart was wrung. He stopped, and everyone behind him had to stop, too.
“Olivia?” He held out his spare arm to her. “Will you not honour me with your company, too?”
Her head shot up, pleasure written all over her face. “Why, thank you, cousin. That would be most agreeable.”
And so he walked into the dining room with a lady on each arm, in defiance of Lady Esther, who was too well-bred to show the slightest displeasure at this breach of protocol. Bertram was rewarded for his chivalry, for the two ladies set out to exert their charms on him. Olivia was always lively company, and was delighted to have achieved a higher station than her new rank merited, and Bea… well, Bea was just Bea, good-humoured and boisterous as always. But with such dinner partners, Bertram had no need to struggle for conversation, and if he puzzled over the contents of a particular dish, Bea was able to explain that it had once been quail or a lamb’s head or a leveret, before Lady Esther’s expensive cook had smothered it in unidentifiable sauce.
When the ladies withdrew and the gentlemen gathered around Mr Franklyn, Bertram was glad to yield his higher place to Kent and Captain Edgerton, and sit with the Cathcart boys where he could listen but had no need to participate. Politics, country sports and horses held no interest for him, and Mr Franklyn never allowed any discussion of a ribald nature, so he prepared to be bored for a half hour or so. However, Captain Edgerton would not allow boredom to take hold in any company he was in, and his two friends, the handsome Scotsman and the fashionable London lawyer, were almost as full of amusinganecdotes as he was. After an hour, the butler sidled in to remind Mr Franklyn that the ladies were expecting them.
The old dining room in the original house, now refurbished and renamed as the Red Saloon, was the appointed place for dancing. The carpets had been rolled up, and the elegant sofas and tables removed, leaving only chairs and a few large cabinets around the perimeter. Mrs Dewar, the vicar’s wife, was already ensconced at the pianoforte, preparing to play, with a couple of men with fiddles for support. The windows and the door that led out onto the terrace already stood open, as Bertram’s mother fought a spirited but unsuccessful campaign to have them all closed again.
“Come, girls,” she said to Julia, Emily and Penelope. “Let us place ourselves as far as possible from unwholesome draughts. Keep your shawls wrapped tightly about you, except when you are dancing. One must not take the least risk of a chill, or else it will settle on the lungs and any inflammation there is invariably fatal. One cannot be too careful in such matters.”
“Yes, Mama,” they chorused, making a show of tightening their shawls over bare arms, to be loosened the instant their mama looked elsewhere.
Where she was only taking notice of the windows, they were assessing the gentlemen as they arrived, their hopeful expressions settling into resignation, for even Julia’s lack of skill with numbers could not disguise the fact that there were considerably more young ladies than gentlemen willing or able to dance. Bertram could see at once that he was not going to be able to evade his duty. There would be no escaping to the card room this evening. The one bright spot was that he would only be obliged to dance with Bea Franklyn once. He looked around for her, planning to get this chore out of the way early, only to see her with her hand already resting proprietorially on Mr Alexander’s arm. As the music started up, he looked aroundquickly, and spotting Bridget Dewar nearby, held out his hand to her.
There was a great deal of pleasure to be had from such dancing. It was certainly not impromptu, and nothing under Lady Esther’s aegis could ever be described as informal, but there was not the rigidity of a regular ball. The older generation joined in just as enthusiastically as the younger, young ladies without partners stood up together and nobody minded much when anyone went wrong or toes were stepped on. Bertram had danced with Olivia, Alice Dewar and Lily Strong, when he was accosted by Bea Franklyn.
“Your turn to dance with me, Bertram,” she said cheerfully.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said politely.
“Shall we wait near the windows? It is so hot in here, do you not find? I declare, if I do not get a little air, I am sure I shall melt away altogether. Shall we step onto the terrace for a moment?”
Rather alarmed by her high colour, he agreed to it at once. The terrace was certainly cooler, delicately lit by lines of coloured paper lanterns which cast soft light over Bea’s gown, turning the pale silk to gentle shades of blue and pink and orange. A slight breeze ruffled the dark curls framing her face, pressing her skirts closer about her legs. She looked remarkably pretty, was his surprised thought.
She crossed the terrace swiftly, resting her hands on the stone balustrade and gazing out into the garden. The little pools of light made no impression on the darkness beyond, and to Bertram, it felt very like standing at the rail of a ship gazing into the black ocean.
“I should like—” she began, and then stopped, her breathing rather rapid.
“What should you like?” he said gently. “May I fetch something for you? A cool drink, perhaps?”
“No… no… I merely thought… perhaps…” Again her breath came very fast, but Bertram could see no cause for her agitation.
“Miss Franklyn?” he murmured, but she made no response.
Then, from behind them, came a voice high with distress. “Miss Franklyn! Miss Franklyn! Do come back inside, I beg you. The night air… so very injurious… I could not forgive myself…” Bertram’s mother materialised in a flurry of alarm, throwing a thick woollen shawl about Bea’s shoulders. “Bertram, what are you about, to be taking Miss Franklynoutside!At night, too, and when she is excessively heated from dancing. How many times must I tell you that one cannot be too careful in such matters? My dear Miss Franklyn, will you not come back into the safety of the house before you catch a chill?”
“Yes… yes, of course,” Bea said, laughing suddenly, and allowing herself to be steered back to the house. “I am so very sorry to alarm you, Mrs Atherton. But do not blame Bertram, for it was entirely my doing. I was so hot.”
“No, no! He should have prevented you. He ought to know better. Come now, you will be much better inside. Deploy your fan with vigour, and Bertram will fetch you a glass of lemonade… or an ice, if you promise to eat it very slowly. Too much icy cold food consumed in haste is just as fatal for the constitution as too much hot food. There now, here is your mother, who will feel just as I do, I am sure. No harm done, Lady Esther, for I believe I covered her with the shawl before her blood could be chilled.”
“You are all kindness, Mrs Atherton, I am sure,” Lady Esther said frostily, “but Bea hardly needs such coddling. You will have her overheating in this heavy wrap. I know you mean well, but I believe I understand my daughter’s constitution better than you do.”
“Oh… of course… a thousand apologies, my lady.”
Bertram followed them back into the house, his mother distressed, Lady Esther regally in charge and Bea… Bea wasgiggling, as if it were all a great joke. She was a strange girl, sometimes.
7: Bertram Has An Idea
In the Red Saloon, the dance Bertram and Bea were supposed to be a part of was going on without them. Lady Esther swept regally through the room, neatly dispatching Bertram’s mother to her vigilance by the windows and ordering Bertram to follow. Her exact words were, “Would you be so good as to bear my daughter company while she recovers her composure, Mr Atherton?” but it felt very like an order to Bertram.
Lady Esther found two seats for them in the room set aside for refreshments, and summoned a footman to bring two glasses of wine. “There, you will go on perfectly well now, Beatrice, and Mr Atherton will take good care of you while I return to my duties as hostess.” So saying, she sailed out of the room without a backwards glance. The few others also seeking refreshments there watched her go, then turned back to their own conversations.
“You must not mind her,” Bea said. “She’s so used to people jumping at her every word that she’s come to expect it, but she means no harm by it, none at all. I’m sure you understand that.Oh… our wine… thank you, James.” She took a large gulp, then went on , “I do hope your mother is not offended.”
