“I do not think Miss Vale to be one ever fully to relinquish such matters,” Harcourt argued in a manner to please Miss Vale.
“Indeed, sir, you are correct.”
Lady Upton intervened at that point as they were drawing a crowd. It was hardly the sort of exchange to find favour with Society’s high sticklers.
“While this discussion is, ah, enlightening, Francesca my dear, I wish to introduce you to an old friend of mine.” Very neatly, she took Miss Vale’s arm and led her away.
Frankly, Arch was surprised his mother had allowed the discussion to go on as long as it had. However, he appreciated his mother’s cunning in dealing with Miss Vale. She was not a typical Society miss. She was of age; she owned and ran an estate, not to mention several factories, and was thus fiercely independent. Were his mother to ignore that fact, she wouldmeet with resistance. Arch was impressed that Miss Vale had managed his mother so well in return.
CHAPTER 14
They had scarcely returned from the Park before Lady Upton, with the serene authority of a general who intended to capitalize upon a successful skirmish before the troops lost heart, declared that Francesca must come upstairs with her for tea. Lord Upton, who had the look of a man long accustomed to strategic retreats, kissed his wife’s cheek, nodded to Francesca with mock gravity, and withdrew to his study, where she imagined politics of a more official kind awaited him. Major Manners had been dismissed in an equally brisk fashion—having been directed to deposit Miss Vale at Upton House instead of Sir Percival’s—though not before Lady Upton had thanked him, in a motherly tone, for his escort.
Francesca had accompanied her ladyship because refusal would have required an energy she did not presently possess. The Park, though outwardly no more than a parade of equipages, glances, and conversational manoeuvres, had left her more fatigued than any honest labour at Vale Hall ever had. There was something exhausting in being studied under sunlight by people who imagined themselves subtle.
Lady Upton’s private sitting room was, however, a relief after the public staging of the afternoon. It was feminine withoutbeing fragile, comfortable without sacrificing consequence, and arranged with the excellent taste of a woman who understood that elegance ought to appear effortless even when bought at great expense. The walls were papered in a delicate pattern of trailing ivy and pale rose, their soft colours lending warmth to the room even in winter light, while the upholstery—of a muted sage silk, finely embroidered at the edges—spoke of refinement without ostentation.
Tea was brought in immediately, of course. Nothing in that household was ever unprepared for Lady Upton’s next move.
“You did well, my dear,” she said as she settled herself on the sofa.
Francesca seated herself opposite and accepted the cup offered by a maid. “Without wishing to be uncivil, ma’am, may I ask if ‘well’ constitutes slight condemnation or faint praise?”
“It is praise,” Lady Upton replied. “You ought to learn to recognize it when it comes from me.”
“I do recognize it,” Francesca said. “I am merely wary of the uses to which it may later be put.”
Lady Upton laughed outright at that and took up her own cup. “Excellent. Suspicion is one of the few things that improve a woman’s chances in Society.”
Francesca allowed herself the smallest smile. “What are the others? I would have thought lineage and beauty to be the foremost qualities.”
“Lineage of course,” Lady Upton said. “Beauty, however, is secondary to full coffers.”
There was every likelihood, Francesca thought, that her ladyship spoke the truth. It was exactly why she herself disliked so much of London.
For a few moments they drank their tea in companionable quiet. Lady Upton had the good sense not to begin at once, which Francesca appreciated almost as much as she distrustedit. This consideration did not, however, keep her ladyship from examining Francesca over the rim of her cup. Lady Upton examined everyone. Yet there was warmth in her observance, and that, more than scrutiny alone, made resistance difficult. It was easier to oppose a tyrant than a strategist who had taken the trouble to be kind.
At last, Lady Upton set down her cup and said, in the tone of a woman introducing a minor correction rather than a campaign, “You must not converse too much upon politics just yet.”
Francesca lifted her brows. “Must I not?”
“You spoke very well,” Lady Upton continued, “that is not the difficulty. The difficulty is that you will gain a reputation before the Season properly begins, whether it is justified or not.”
Francesca rested her cup in its saucer with care. “Is it not better for them to know what I am from the first?”
Lady Upton’s expression changed into amusement so polished it was nearly pitying. “No one presents their true selves, my dear.” She laughed lightly, as though the foolishness of the alternative were too obvious to require defence. “At least, not if they wish to make the best match.”
Francesca looked at her for a moment in silence. That was the reason for nearly everything she disliked in Town: not the gowns or the balls, not even the Marriage Mart in all its perfumed hypocrisy, but the universal agreement that concealment was civility and performance the proper price of acceptance.
One did not merely arrive in London. One had to edit oneself into something that could be consumed without causing dyspepsia.
“Supposing one does not wish to proceed in the approved manner, what is to be done?” she asked at last.
Lady Upton waved one elegant hand. “Then one must be much stronger than the rest, which perhaps you are. I still consider it prudent not to set up the tabbies’ bristles by announcing every principle before the first fortnight is spent.”
Francesca could not wholly deny the wisdom of that. She disliked it, but she could not deny it.
“Are you suggesting I should let them mistake me for a decorative widgeon with a large purse?”
