A Desirable Husband

‘Rosie, I was not thinking of him as a husband.’

‘I am glad to hear that. You are in London to see and be seen in the hope of finding a husband, as you very well know. It is why I offered to sponsor your come-out and keep you by me for longer than a Season, which is too short when all is said and done. You are here ahead of the others and that will give you a flying start. You are, after all, the daughter of an earl.’

‘I sincerely hope no one considers that the prime reason for marrying me. If I thought that, I should most certainly turn him down.’

‘Of course it must not be the main reason, but it certainly makes a difference. Is that not so, Banny?’ she appealed to Miss Bannister, who nodded sagely. ‘There, you see! I am right. Now let us go into the drawing room and have a glass of something before luncheon is served. I want to tell you about the outings I have arranged for next week.’ She led the way into the drawing room, leaving Miss Bannister and the maid to toil up the second flight of stairs with the discarded outdoor clothes.

‘Now, let us see what is on offer,’ Rosemary said, picking up her engagement diary. ‘Nothing much happens on a Monday, so perhaps a little sight-seeing. There is St Paul’s or the Tower, though I find that a dismal place. We could go to the British Museum or the National Gallery. If you like, I am sure Rowan could arrange for us to see round the new Houses of Parliament.’

‘I should like to see it all.’

‘Not all at once, I hope.’

‘No, a little at a time whenever you have the time to spare.’

‘We shall see, but once you are out and the town fills up, we shall be inundated with invitations. You know how many we received when we went to Lady Aviemore’s. On Tuesday, for instance, we are expected at Lady Mountjoy’s at-home.’

‘Are we? I don’t remember her.’

‘She was the tall, thin lady in widow’s weeds. She is another like Lady Aviemore, a prominent figure in the beau monde, knows everyone. She can do you a great deal of good.’

‘How?’

‘By introducing you to other important people who will introduce you to more. Before you know it, you will be the asked out everywhere.’

‘Will you be doing any entertaining?’

‘Of course, invitations must be reciprocated. And I have it in mind to hold a ball for you later, when the Season gets under way.’

‘Really? Oh, Rosie, you are so kind. I shall like that,’ Esme said, thinking of Lord Pendlebury. She had managed to banish him from her thoughts for all of half an hour, but now he was back, filling her mind with an image of him in evening dress, taking her on to the floor to waltz. She would be in a beautiful ball gown with her hair done up in coils and jewels at her throat, and they would dance and dance in perfect harmony and smile at each other. But it was a futile image because he would never be invited.

What had made him so unacceptable? The fact that he smiled and tipped his hat to her? The fact that she had smiled back? Or was it that he was an acquaintance of Myles, and Rosemary had always looked down on Myles, for all he was Lord Moorcroft’s heir and one of the richest men in the kingdom, certainly richer than Papa. Or was it that he supported the Exhibition, which Rowan was determined to sink without trace? Or that he manufactured glass? What was wrong with making glass? Some of it was very beautiful.

‘If we cannot find you a suitable husband by the end of the Season, I shall have failed utterly,’ Rosemary said.

‘Suitable does not necessarily mean desirable,’ Esme said. ‘I should like to desire the man I marry.’

‘Esme!’

‘What is wrong with that? Did you not desire Rowan?’

‘That is none of your business.’ Her sister’s face had turned bright pink. ‘And not a subject for an unmarried lady.’

‘Surely it is too late after one is married to discover that one’s husband is not at all desirable? Suitable would not mean much then, would it?’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘No, I don’t and I wish I did. What is it like to feel desire, Rosie? Is it the same as love? Shall I recognise it?’

‘Oh, you are giving me a headache. Go and ask Miss Bannister your foolish questions.’

‘Oh, do you think she might know the answers?’

‘I do not know, do I? I never asked her.’

Esme did not ask Miss Bannister because Rowan came in at that moment and a few minutes later luncheon was served.

Lady Mountjoy did not believe in seating her guests unless they were very frail, on the grounds that they should move about and mix with each other. It also meant they did not become too comfortable and overstay their welcome, but for some reason her at-homes were very popular. Esme found herself in a crowded drawing room, trying to keep firm hold of a cup of tea in case it was knocked out of her hand by the constant stream of people who came and went.

Nevertheless her ladyship made sure that every young lady who arrived with her mama or guardian was introduced to every other young lady and every young gentleman, whom they outnumbered by at least four to one. Esme found herself trying to memorise their names, while listening to Rosemary explaining who they were. ‘Toby, the son of old Lord Salford, very wealthy but something of a rake; James, Lady Bryson’s son and the apple of her eye, and Captain Merton. As an army officer he would never be at home, though his wife might travel with him; and there is Lord Bertram Wincombe, the Earl of Wincombe’s heir.’ She stopped speaking suddenly and gave a little gasp of annoyance. Esme, who had her back to the door, turned to see what had caused it. Lord Pendlebury, smart in a blue tailcoat and narrow matching trousers, was striding into the room and making for Lady Mountjoy.

His entrance had caused a sudden lull in the conversation and everyone turned as the handsome stranger bowed to his hostess. ‘Lady Mountjoy, your obedient,’ he said, taking the hand she offered.

‘You are welcome, young man. Let me make you known to everyone. Take my arm and we will perambulate.’

Esme giggled at her antiquated turn of phrase. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the lady did not think of herself as one of those old-fashioned matchmakers who did nothing but suit young men to young ladies and she wondered how successful she was. Everyone had stopped talking to watch the two proceed round the room and more than one mama nudged her daughter into showing some animation at being introduced to this handsome creature. He was charming, remembered their names, made some flattering comment to each and passed on. By the time he reached Esme, she had put her cup and saucer down to stop it rattling and was trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.

‘Lady Trent, may I present Lord Pendlebury,’ their hostess addressed Rosemary while looking severely at Esme.

‘We are already known to the gentleman,’ Rosemary said stiffly. ‘Good afternoon, your lordship.’

‘Lady Trent.’ He bowed. ‘Lady Esme.’

She looked up into his face and realised he was also trying to control his laughter. It made it all the more difficult to keep a straight face. ‘My lord, I did not expect to see you here.’

‘Lady Mountjoy is an old friend of my mother. I came to pay my respects. It is a small world, is it not? You said we might come across each other and you were right.’

‘Yes.’ She wished he had not reminded her of that comment. She still smarted from the dressing-down she had had from Rosemary over it. When she said it, she had had no idea the significance her sister would put on it, nor that he would remember it.

‘Are you enjoying your stay in town?’ He did not take his eyes from her face, though some part of him registered that she was wearing a pale blue gown that was plain apart from a few narrow tucks and satin ribbon trimming, but its very plainness spoke of quality cloth and superb workmanship. It made her stand out from all the other young ladies in their fussy lace and flounces.

‘Oh, very much. We went to the National Gallery to look at the pictures yesterday.’

‘What did you think of it?’

She was acutely aware of Rosemary standing beside her, unable to stop her speaking to him and thoroughly put out that he was undoubtedly acceptable in society when she had made up her mind that he was not. ‘Wonderful. It made me realise how poor my talent is.’

‘You like to paint?’

‘I draw a little and paint in water colours, but I am not very good at it. I envy people who can draw a few lines and produce a likeness without apparently trying very hard. It did not take you many strokes of your pencil to draw Rosemary and me the other day and we were instantly recognisable.’

‘You are kind, Lady Esme, but I cannot reproduce your animation on paper. I only wish I could.’

She smiled at the compliment, but did not comment, being more interested in finding out all she could about him. ‘You are not an artist, then?’

‘No, a designer. I like to design things to manufacture.’

‘What sort of things?’ The noise that came from Rosemary’s throat sounded very much like a snort. Both ignored it.