10
The evening was not an immediate disaster. Indeed, before the guests arrived matters were progressing beautifully: Eliza returned home to find a note of acceptance from Mrs. Winkworth, the dining room dressed beautifully with fresh flowers, and that Perkins and the cook had managed to concoct a delicious menu that did, miraculously, include veal. And once Eliza and Margaret had dressed for dinner—Eliza in a chemise of black Italian gauze, fastened in the center with a jet brooch, and Margaret in a gown of Berlin silk that matched her eyes—they were so well pleased with their reflections that Eliza began to tentatively hope that despite the impulsive nature of the plan, and despite the fact that a more ill-matched group of persons could not be found in England, the evening might not turn out too badly.
It was a hope that lasted until the Winkworths’ arrival, ten minutes early. For when they learned the Melvilles would also be in attendance that evening, their pleasure at being invited to dine with so many members of the peerage subsided dramatically.
“Did you know of this?” Admiral Winkworth demanded of his wife.
“Lady Somerset made no mention of it in her note,” Mrs. Winkworth said.
“Is there an issue?” Eliza said. Eliza had known the Winkworths did not like the Melvilles, but she had hoped their social pretensions would be sufficient motivation to overcome it.
Admiral Winkworth rustled his moustache with vigor enough to sweep the floor.
“When I was stationed in Calcutta, my lady,” he said, “it was common enough for the soldiers to consort with native women, but for a member of our nobility to marry, to mix his British blood with that of—”
“Lord Melville and Lady Caroline are my guests!” Eliza interrupted, frantically. “I must request you treat them with civility.”
“If I may speak plainly—” Admiral Winkworth began.
“No!” Eliza blurted out. “No—I am sorry, but I would prefer that you do not, sir.”
Eliza’s heart was beating with nauseating quickness. She exchanged panicked glances with Margaret.
“If you cannot be comfortable in their company, then . . .” Eliza trailed off. They could not ask the Winkworths to leave—could they? No. The clock was striking half past the hour, and she could hear the front door being opened again below—it was too late.
“Of course we can!” Mrs. Winkworth stepped in, shooting her husband a quelling look. “Can we not, husband?”
“The Right Honorable. The Earl of Melville, and the Lady Caroline Melville,” Perkins announced.
“Good evening,” Eliza whispered.
The Melvilles looked characteristically dashing: Lady Caroline in a gossamer satin robe of dove grey with white lace striping across the skirt, her hair dressed with pearls, and Melville in a close-fitting black coat, plain white waistcoat and pantaloons—his curls a little dampened by the rain that had begun to fall.
“Behold!” he said, with a flourishing bow before Eliza. “We are on time.”
“You seem very proud of yourself,” Margaret noted, with more calm than Eliza felt herself capable.
“Oh, it is a veritable coup,” Lady Caroline assured her. “We have not been so punctual in years.”
“In the navy, we flogged the late,” Admiral Winkworth said.
There was a beat of silence.
“It becomes instantly clear why military men are all so dreary,” Lady Caroline observed.
Margaret laughed, Admiral Winkworth grunted, Mrs. Winkworth’s posture was very tense, and her daughter stood silent, tremulous with anxiety—and so when Somerset was announced shortly after, Eliza could have fainted with relief. She was even pleased to see the Selwyns.
“Somerset, you have of course already made the acquaintance of Lord Melville and Lady Caroline,” Eliza said. “But Lord and Lady Selwyn, I do not believe that—”
“No, we have not, and I consider it a veritable travesty!” Lady Selwyn declared, her face wreathed in smiles. “When we have so very many common friends who ought to have made introductions years ago.”
Lady Selwyn could be charming when she chose and Melville was certainly falling for it, returning her curtsey with a bow and her smile with a grin.
“What friends are these?” he said with mock outrage. “We must berate them severely for such a failure.”
“Southey, for one,” Selwyn supplied, taking this enquiry literally. “Scott. Sheridan.”
“Oh my, Sheridan,” Mrs. Winkworth murmured, much impressed.
“Dead now, of course,” Selwyn told her.
“And I believe you have met Mrs. and Miss Winkworth, Somerset,” Eliza said. “Though perhaps not the Admiral . . .”
“No indeed, we have all met his lordship once before, have we not, husband?” Mrs. Winkworth said, stepping forward.
“The races, wasn’t it?” Admiral Winkworth agreed.
“The opera, I am told,” Somerset corrected mildly, catching Eliza’s eye, and she ducked her head to hide a smile.
Would she ever stop feeling quite so flabbergasted by the mere sight of him? A moment before she had been miserable with nerves and now, with one caught glance, she felt suddenly seventeen, as tremulously excited as if she were about to dance for the very first time. A moment later, Perkins appeared to declare dinner to be ready and Eliza led the party downstairs, a measure calmer. The Selwyns, previously the villains of the day, seemed now her salvation—and so long as Somerset remained smiling at her, she could be satisfied.
They sat according to gender and rank: Eliza at the head of the table, with Melville and Somerset on either side of her, Lady Selwyn and Lady Caroline next to them, then Admiral Winkworth and Selwyn, Margaret and Mrs. Winkworth, and finally Miss Winkworth at the end. The foot of the table, of course, remained empty and as they seated themselves Lady Selwyn sent a sorrowful look down toward it.
“A melancholy reminder indeed,” she observed to the room at large, “that my dear, dear uncle should rightfully be with us tonight.”
Since Lady Selwyn had been perfectly content dining after the funeral, Eliza was hard-pressed to believe her sorrow genuine, but the comment cast an immediate pall over the table.
“I hear he was a great man,” Admiral Winkworth grunted.
“The best,” Selwyn said sycophantically.
Eliza cast about for a change of subject.
“Indeed, it is not I, but Lady Somerset, who merits your comfort,” Lady Selwyn said, before Eliza could think of anything. “For rarely have I seen a couple more in love than she and my uncle.”
The lie was so unexpected that it rendered Eliza speechless. Beside Eliza, Somerset shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Eliza cast him a quick, worried glance but his eyes avoided hers. Pressing her advantage, Lady Selwyn extended a hand in Eliza’s direction.
“I admire your fortitude, my lady,” she said, voice brimming with affected sympathy. “Merely looking at his seat renders me on the point of tears—I wonder that you can bear it.”
At this, Eliza’s voice returned to her.
“Your admiration is gratifying, my lady, but unnecessary,” she said. “Since the last gentleman to claim that seat—a Mr. Martin, I believe—is very much alive and well, the chair does not cause me pain.”
“Indeed, there is not the smallest need to weep over any of our furniture,” Margaret agreed. “Unless it is the oak itself you find upsetting, Lady Selwyn?”
Her retort sent the smugness fading from Lady Selwyn’s gaze and Lady Caroline gave an amused snort of laughter—but Mrs. Winkworth’s eyes were darting around the table and Eliza could practically sense her composing the tidbits of gossip she would be circulating the next day.
“I think the rain is like to continue,” Eliza said with forced brightness. The gentlemen began to serve out the first course: white soup, a cod’s head, and the promised loin of veal, accompanied by a few larded sweetbreads, a raised pie and vegetables dressed in melted butter.
Outside, a loud knell of thunder sounded.
“I think you might be right,” Lady Caroline said dryly.
“Only in England could rain be considered good conversation,” Selwyn said unctuously. “In Paris, the standards are far higher, are they not, Lady Caroline?”
“Have you spent much time in Paris, Lady Caroline?” Margaret asked, ignoring Selwyn.
“Yes, it is quite my favorite European city,” Lady Caroline said. “I was very much in favor of our removing there this spring, but Melville deemed it too expensive and so . . . Bath it was.”
The disparaging tone of her voice had the effect of irritating both Margaret and Mrs. Winkworth—an otherwise unlikely alliance.
“I am sure we consider ourselves very fortunate,” Margaret said.
“Perhaps there is still a chance you may change your mind?” Mrs. Winkworth suggested.
“Oh brava, Caroline, you have offended half the table in one thrust,” Melville said. “Am I expected to act as your second if Miss Balfour calls you out?”
“Oh no.” Lady Caroline shook her head. “You are a terrible shot, Melville.”
There was a tinkle of laughter around the table. Easier ground having been achieved at last, Eliza asked Mrs. Winkworth, who was so closely acquainted with both Masters of Ceremonies, what concerts they could look forward to next month. This conversational essay went down well: Mrs. Winkworth warmed to the flattery and Selwyn was so equally delighted to display his musical prowess that the resulting discussion lasted until the second course.
“Now, Melville, I must ask,” Selwyn began portentously, as plates of partridges and dressed crab were brought to replenish the table, accompanied by a fricassee of chicken and a cream of spinach, “when might we expect you to publish again?”
“We do await your next instalment with a great deal of impatience,” Lady Selwyn added.
“Doesn’t everyone,” Lady Caroline muttered into her glass.
“It pains me to disappoint a lady,” Melville said, “but I must: I am not writing currently.”
“But why!” Selwyn exclaimed. “When you have the ton waiting on your every word?”
Melville gave a shrug and took a draught of wine.
“One cannot know when Lady Inspiration will visit.”
“You have me jealous, Melville.” Somerset spoke up for the first time in several minutes.
Melville turned to regard him.
“Sayeth more,” he invited.
“It must be agreeable to always have such a ready explanation for impotence—in the military, such excuses did not fly.”
“Have trouble with your musket, did you?” Melville asked.
Somerset choked on a mouthful of burgundy.
“Are you writing anything new, Lady Caroline?” Eliza asked loudly.
“I am,” Lady Caroline said. “A sequel to Kensington, in fact.”
“Truly?” Eliza asked, startled. It had been three years now since the publication of Lady Caroline’s eyebrow-raising novel, Kensington—a satire that had so pointedly lampooned lords and ladies in political circles that she had reputedly been banned from Almack’s ever since. Eliza would have thought this harsh consequence reason enough to prevent Lady Caroline from continuing.
“There are many figures in society that have yet escaped my pen,” Lady Caroline said.
“Ought we to be frightened, Lady Caroline?” Mrs. Winkworth said archly. “If you are to write such a novel in Bath, do you plan to feature us in it?”
“That depends, Mrs. Winkworth,” Lady Caroline said. “Do you plan on doing something interesting?”
Mrs. Winkworth snapped her mouth shut and Margaret gave a choke of laughter, while Lady Selwyn’s eyes darted around the table and Selwyn shook his head in disapproval. Admiral Winkworth, thankfully, appeared too busy with the cod’s head to attend the conversation.
“I wonder, Melville,” Somerset said. “Was it only economy that made you choose Bath over Paris?”
Eliza thought this conversation long over—apparently not.
“The fine company was also a draw,” Melville said. “And the—ah—scenery, too.”
“Your estate could not offer you scenery?”
“Oh, Alderley Park is far too large for two. We have let it to friends, so that others might make more use of it.”
“How extremely charitable.” Somerset speared a floret of broccoli with unusual aggression.
“Why thank you, Somerset, I am flattered you think so.”
“It was not necessarily intended as a compliment.”
There was a new tension thrumming in the air—one Eliza did not fully understand.
“Nevertheless, I have chosen to take it as one.”
“Then perhaps I worded it incorrectly.”
“Ah, not everyone can be a wordsmith.”
“I think we are ready for the final course now, Perkins!” Eliza said loudly. Perkins, Eliza’s only true ally tonight, had the table emptied in a trice, setting out a simple dessert of preserved fruits, a Savoy cake, and a plate of roasted chestnuts.
Silence now reigned. All seemed a little fatigued from the tussle of conversation, and Eliza racked her brains for another easy, neutral topic on which they could speak, one that was neither dreadfully boring nor disturbingly antagonistic. Nothing sprang to mind. She could not bear to look at Somerset. He must certainly be regretting that he had ever agreed to such an invitation, as Eliza was wholeheartedly regretting issuing it.
Think of something, Eliza begged her own mind, anything.
Rescue came, in the end, from an unexpected direction.
“Is Miss Selwyn keeping well, my lady?” Miss Winkworth said, so softly she would surely not have been heard, had the table not already been so quiet.
“She is,” Lady Selwyn said, looking up from her plate. “Are you acquainted?”
“They attended school together,” Mrs. Winkworth boasted.
“Is that so, Miss Winkworth?” Somerset said, smiling down to her. Under his kind gaze, Miss Winkworth seemed about to muster sufficient courage to speak, but as she parted her lips Mrs. Winkworth interjected.
“Yes, indeed. Winnie is forever wishing they might meet again.”
“You may be in luck,” Somerset said, looking directly at Miss Winkworth as if it were she, and not her mother, who had spoken. “My sister is considering hiring rooms in Bath this spring.”
“Is that indeed so?” Mrs. Winkworth demanded, leaning forward.
“It is not yet decided,” Lady Selwyn said. “But we may bring out Annie a little into society here before we depart for the London Season in April.”
“A famous idea!” Mrs. Winkworth said. “She would undoubtedly benefit from the experience.”
“I agree,” Somerset said. “A person’s first Season can be so very . . . overwhelming.”
Across the table, his eyes met Eliza’s very briefly. She wondered if he, too, was thinking of the same memories she was: the dances they had shared, the confidences, the whispered conversations.
“You are bringing Miss Selwyn out already?” Eliza asked.
Annie had been just a girl when Eliza had last seen her, with huge eyes and tangled hair and a tongue so impertinent even Lady Selwyn had not been able to curb it.
“She is turned seventeen,” Selwyn said.
“Oh, practically ancient,” Margaret muttered under her breath and Eliza shot her a repressive look, though her heart did go out to the absent girl.
“We ourselves have had Winne out in Bath for a year now,” Mrs. Winkworth said, “in the hope of curing her of some shyness before she is pitchforked into London.”
Miss Winkworth flushed.
“One does not at all mind a little shyness, when one does it so charmingly as Miss Winkworth,” Somerset said.
“Exactly so,” Eliza agreed, with a rush of affection for his kindness.
“A little is fine,” Admiral Winkworth grunted. “An excess is fatal.”
Miss Winkworth’s pink complexion turned saffron.
“Do you have a match in mind for Miss Selwyn?” Mrs. Winkworth asked.
Eliza hoped for Annie’s sake that her mother was not quite so ambitious as Eliza’s had been. The graduation from girlhood to womanhood was not an easy one in any case, as Eliza could easily recollect: the weight of expectation suddenly felt, the constant admonishment, the pressing need to be daintier, prettier, more in every way—the anxious, sick feeling one carried around in one’s very soul, that it would not be enough.
“Certainly,” Selwyn said. “One does not allow one’s daughter to marry willy-nilly.”
“No, no, of course not,” Margaret said, deepening her voice into a clear imitation of Selwyn’s bluster. “One cannot simply allow women to make their own decisions.”
Eliza bit back a moan of despair. Did she have to imitate him?
“Stands to reason,” Lady Caroline agreed. “Where on earth would it lead?”
Was it too soon for the ladies to retire for tea?
“Of course, Lord and Lady Selwyn would never want Miss Selwyn to marry where affection was not,” Somerset interjected in swift defense. “Only to offer guidance!”
Eliza looked down. Guidance was so soft a word, but she knew better than most how insistent it could be, how inexorable. Lord and Lady Selwyn might not order Annie to marry the man of their choice, no. No, they would merely push and prod her, advise her against selfishness, recommend she think of her brothers, think of her cousins, the family. They would decree that first love faded, that marital affection grew from familiarity, would promise that in a year’s time she would have a baby on her knee and that by then the memory of that fellow she used to care for would have faded into obscurity . . . Guidance of that sort was not soft. It could not be resisted. It would be pressed upon one, over and over again until it was easiest, simplest—even a relief—just to capitulate.
“Oh yes, guidance is imperative!” Mrs. Winkworth said. “One would not want Miss Selwyn to marry beneath her.”
Eliza felt her mouth twist in a rather bitter smile. Somerset’s eyes skittered briefly to her and then away again. She wondered if he, too, was considering the irony of his now being on the other side of the argument, when once it was he, with no title or fortune to recommend him, who had been considered the inferior match.
“And what if her sentiments do not align with your guidance?” Margaret asked.
Lady Selwyn raised a brow and did not answer.
“I think it unlikely,” Selwyn said.
“And should such a moment arise,” Somerset added, “Annie would certainly speak her mind.”
“Has everyone sampled the Savoy cake?” Eliza asked, deciding that she could not bear to listen to this any longer. She would rather they return to any of the fraught subjects of the evening, than spend another moment discussing Annie’s future.
“Yes, delicious,” Melville said, obeying Eliza’s entreating gaze. “Perhaps I might offer it around again—”
“And in the event of such a moment arising,” Margaret pressed Somerset. “You would cede to her wishes—as the head of the family?”
Eliza tried desperately to catch Margaret’s eye—she did not know what her cousin was trying to achieve, but it was not to Eliza’s liking. If she was intentionally alluding to Eliza’s own history, then this was not the time for it. For what purpose did it serve now?
“Certainly,” Somerset said. Lady Selwyn’s mouth thinned, but she remained silent—she was too well-bred to disagree with her brother in front of so many observers.
“And if she fell in love with a pauper?” Lady Caroline said.
“I—I . . . We—” Somerset broke off. Under the twin, judging gazes of Margaret and Lady Caroline, his neck began to redden.
“She would not,” Selwyn asserted.
“Out of the question,” his wife agreed.
“Because she would never think to disobey?” Margaret suggested.
“Because,” Somerset interjected. “Because we would discuss it and—”
He broke off again, unable to answer satisfactorily.
“Parry, sir, parry,” Melville encouraged.
Somerset sent him a burning look.
“Annie knows her duty,” Selwyn interjected. “She’ll come to heel.”
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, wishing she were able to do the same to her ears.
“It would never come to that,” Somerset snapped. His gaze flickered to Eliza again, defensive and harried, and then back to Margaret.
“If Miss Selwyn is as I remember,” Miss Winkworth said softly, sending a dimpling smile in Somerset’s direction, “she has spirit enough to make her opinion known.”
“Yes, exactly,” Somerset agreed at once. His eyes locked again with Eliza’s. “A lack of spirit is certainly not Annie’s issue.”
It was as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown abruptly over Eliza. She sucked in a desperate, shocked breath, feeling as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. All nine faces around the table turned toward her, but she did not heed them—still staring at Somerset, stricken to her very bones.
“My lady . . .” Melville said very softly.
Eliza stood without making a conscious decision to do so, the legs of her chair making a dramatic screech against the floor.
“I think it is time for the ladies to retire for tea,” Eliza said. She could barely hear her own voice over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. “Margaret, if you will escort everyone to the drawing room, I will,” she caught her breath on a slight gasp, “I will join you in just a moment.”