Читать книгу A Desirable Husband - Mary Nichols - Страница 9

March 1850

‘Are we nearly there?’ Esme turned from watching the countryside flying past the carriage window at a speed that would have frightened her had she been a young lady given to attacks of the vapours, which she certainly was not.

It was not her first ride in a train because she had travelled by this means the short distance from her home in Luffenham to Leicester to visit her married sister, Lucy, but that went at the pace of a snail. This was the first time she had undertaken such a long journey, and without her parents, too. Lucy had intended to accompany her, but five-year-old Harry had gone down with a cold and she would not leave him. So here she was, being escorted by her brother-in-law, who had business in town, and Miss Bannister, her old governess, who was going to act as companion and maid.

‘Not long now,’ Myles told her. ‘Are you tired?’

‘Not especially, I’m simply impatient to arrive.’ Papa had said he could not give her a Season—at least, not one befitting the daughter of the Earl of Luffenham—and she would have to take her chances on finding a husband among the local gentry, which would be very nearly impossible. She knew them all and there wasn’t one she liked well enough to want to spend the rest of her life with. The whole family talked about it, arguing to and fro as if they were talking about what to do with a problem servant. Both Lucinda and Rosemary had had come-out seasons and it didn’t seem fair that Esme should be deprived of one, for how else could she find a suitable husband? In the end, Rosemary, who was married to Rowan, Viscount Trent, and lived in a smart mansion in Kensington, had persuaded her husband to provide the wherewithal. Esme could not wait to see what social occasions had been arranged for her.

At nineteen, the youngest of the Earl of Luffenham’s three daughters, Esme was as excited as a child. With her flawless skin, rosy cheeks and big blue eyes, she looked younger than her years—a state of affairs she was anxious to correct. She was a young lady, a marriageable young lady, and she wished everyone would not treat her like a schoolgirl. Mama and Papa and Lucy had spent the whole of the day before giving her advice on how to behave. ‘Do this. Don’t do that. Remember you are a lady. Be courteous and friendly, but do not allow any of the gentlemen to whom you are introduced to take liberties.’ She wasn’t quite sure what they meant by liberties; she supposed kissing her would be one. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a man, but she hadn’t dared ask.

The journey had begun very early when they boarded the local train at Luffenham Halt to take them to Peterborough, where they changed on to the London train. It was all made easy for them because Myles was someone important in the railway world; porters and guards and everyone working on the railway, fell over themselves to ease his passage. But even so, sitting in a closed carriage for five hours was about as much as she could bear.

‘Another few minutes,’ he said. ‘We are slowing down already.’

She turned her attention back to the window and realised they had left the countryside behind and there were smoke-begrimed buildings on either side of the line. A minute or two later they drew into the Maiden Lane terminus and the platform came into view with people standing about, perhaps to meet others coming off the train, perhaps to board it for its return journey. Porters scurried here and there, carrying luggage, mysterious parcels, boxes of cabbages and crates of squawking chickens. A dozen empty milk churns stood ready to be sent back whence they came, no doubt to be returned full the next morning.

They stopped in a hiss of steam and the door of their carriage was opened by a porter. Myles stepped down, then turned to help her. She remembered just in time that she was supposed to be a decorous young lady and resisted the temptation to jump down on to the platform and allowed him to hand her down. Miss Bannister followed while he was giving instructions to the porter about the delivery of their luggage.

Esme felt firm ground beneath her feet; she was here at last, in the great metropolis. The excitement bubbling up in her was hard to contain, but overexuberance was one of the things Mama had warned her against, so she walked sedately beside Myles as they left the station and he hailed a cab to take them to Kensington. Familiar only with Leicester and Peterborough, the two towns nearest her home, the city seemed never ending: warehouses, shops, poky little houses and grand mansions in juxtaposition lined their route, and then a long wide avenue running alongside a park.

‘That’s Green Park,’ Myles told her. ‘Buckingham Palace is on the far side of it. We’ll come to Hyde Park soon. That’s where the Exhibition is going to be held next year.’ He leaned forward and pointed. ‘That’s the Duke of Wellington’s house.’

‘Shall I meet him?’

‘I don’t know. You might.’

‘But he is your friend?’

‘He is certainly an acquaintance, I would not be so presumptuous as to claim him for a friend.’

‘Shall I meet Prince Albert? Will he be present when I make my curtsy?’

‘Goodness, child, I don’t know.’

‘I am not a child, Myles. You sound just like Banny.’

He grinned ruefully at Miss Bannister while addressing Esme. ‘Then I beg your pardon. I shall remember in future to address you as my lady.’

‘Now you are being silly.’

Nothing could repress her for long and she was soon smiling again. A few minutes more and the cab driver turned into a wide street lined with imposing town villas and pulled up outside one of them. ‘Trent House,’ he announced.

Myles got out, handed Esme down and then her companion. He was always courteous and polite to Miss Bannister and treated her like a lady, for which he received her undying support.

Esme was standing uncertainly, looking about her, when the front door of the nearest house was opened and her sister, in a dove-grey dress and white cap, stood waiting to greet her. Esme started to run to meet her, but remembered in time that running was not ladylike and walked to the door.

‘Here at last.’ Rosemary offered her cheek to be kissed. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘Yes, very good, but I’m so glad to be here.’

‘You are very welcome, sister dear.’ And to Myles, offering her hand, ‘Myles, welcome. Come along in. I’ll take you to your rooms, then when you have settled in, we shall have some refreshments and you shall tell me all the news from home.’

Ignoring Miss Bannister, she led the way into an imposing entrance hall and up a flight of stairs. ‘The drawing room,’ she said, waving at a closed door. ‘And that’s the dining room. The door farther along is the small parlour where we sit when we are alone. That’s where I shall be, so come there when you are ready.’ On she went up a second flight of stairs. ‘Bedrooms on this floor,’ she said, flinging open a door. ‘This one is yours, Esme. I have put Miss Bannister next door, for your convenience. Myles, a room has been prepared for you at the far end of the corridor.’ She pointed at a farther flight of stairs. ‘Nursery suite and servants’ quarters up there, though they have their own staircase. That’s it, except for the ground floor, which contains anterooms, a large room we use for dancing, soirées and suchlike, the library and Rowan’s study. I’ll show you those later.’

Miss Bannister and Myles left them and Rosemary followed Esme into her room and sat on the end of the bed to watch as her sister removed her gloves, cloak and bonnet to reveal a tiered skirt in a soft blue wool. It was not new. Nothing she had was brand-new. ‘Esme, did you have to wear that dress?’

Esme smoothed her hands over her waist. ‘What’s wrong with it? Mama said it was perfectly adequate for travelling.’

‘It’s years old. I remember you having that when I was still at home.’ She stopped speaking to answer a knock at the door. Two footmen had arrived with Esme’s trunk. They were waved inside and told to put it on the floor at the foot of the bed. They had no sooner gone than Rosemary had it open and was pulling out the contents. ‘Esme, I could swear this was Lucy’s jacket. And this skirt.’ She delved deeper into it. ‘And this gown…’

‘So they are—Mama said no one would ever know.’

‘Haven’t you brought any clothes of your own?’

‘Not many,’ Esme confessed. ‘They are all so old and some of them are too short for a young lady and Lucy said I could have these. She has grown a little plumper since she had Vicky and they are the very best materials. We hardly had to alter anything, except to shorten them. Lucy is inches taller than I am.’

‘Whatever was Mama thinking of, to send you with nothing but hand-me-downs? You’ll never find a husband that way.’

‘No one knows they are hand-me-downs.’

‘Myles knows.’

‘Of course he does, but he’s family, and Lucy asked him if he thought it was all right for me to have them and he said they were her clothes and she could give them to whomever she pleased.’

‘He would.’ There was a deal of meaning in those two words and conveyed perfectly what Rosemary thought of her brother-in-law. He was an upstart, a nobody, for all he was Lord Moor-croft’s heir; it was a new peerage and meant nothing at all, except that the working classes were aspiring to become nobility, which they never could do. They did not have the breeding. She tolerated him, even managed to be polite and treat him like an equal, but that was for Lucy’s sake, not his. ‘I can’t take you out and about unless you are dressed appropriately. Whatever will people think of me?’

‘I shouldn’t think they will think anything of it.’ Esme had forgotten how repressing Rosie could be. Nothing and nobody was good enough; even her poor husband was bullied into conforming to her ways.

‘Nevertheless, you shall have a new wardrobe. Thank goodness the Season hasn’t started yet and there will be plenty of choice in the shops and dressmakers with little enough to do.’

‘I am sure Papa cannot afford it. He has been lecturing us for years about not being extravagant and it’s got worse since he lost money investing in the Eastern Counties railway.’

‘More fool him for doing it. No doubt he listened to Myles.’

‘It wasn’t Myles’s fault, he advised against it. I believe it was Viscount Gorridge, though his lordship cannot have taken his own advice because he is richer than ever.’

‘Well, whatever it was, you are going to have new clothes. Rowan will pay. He always gives me whatever I ask for.’

‘Aren’t you lucky,’ Esme said, which made her sister look sharply at her, but there was no malice in Esme’s expression.

‘Yes, I am.’ She went to the door to the adjoining room. ‘Miss Bannister, Esme requires your help changing her dress.’ To Esme she said, ‘Hurry up. I’ve lots to tell you. And I want to hear how Mama is.’ And with that she took her leave.

Esme turned to look at the room. It had a large canopied bed, a huge walnut wardrobe, a table and two upright chairs, a little desk with another chair, a chest of drawers and, beside the bed, a bookcase containing several matching books. She went over to the window, which had view of a park, neat gardens and a stretch of water.

‘Did you hear all that?’ she asked Banny, who had joined her.

‘Yes.’

‘She made me feel like a poor relation. I was so pleased when Lucy gave me those clothes; they fit me very well and I do not feel such a schoolgirl in them. I am not a schoolgirl and I do hope that Rosie isn’t going to buy me a lot of silly frilly stuff. I am grateful to her for having me, but I want to be me, not her baby sister.’

Miss Bannister smiled. ‘I think you can stand up to her, my pet, but take my advice, be diplomatic about it. What shall you wear now?’

‘I don’t mind. It’s not important if I am going to be lectured about it.’

Twenty minutes later, washed and dressed in a green-and-yellow striped jaconet with her hair freshly brushed and held back with combs, she went down to the small sitting room to find her sister presiding over the teapot. Myles was standing looking out of the window. He turned to smile at her as she entered and she felt at least here she had an ally.

They drank tea and nibbled little cakes; Myles told Rosemary all the news of Lucy and young Henry and baby Victoria and was regaled in turn with the cleverness of Master John Trent, who had just had his first birthday. Esme sat and appeared to be listening, but her mind was wandering. In spite of her defence of Lucy and her gratitude for the clothes, she was looking forward to having a wardrobe of her own, something bought and made especially for her. Shopping would be a rare treat, but after that…

Mama had told her what her own come-out Season had been like and said all Seasons followed an established pattern. The first and most important event was her presentation to the Queen. Along with a long line of others, she would have to walk sedately into the room without falling over her ten-foot train and on reaching her Majesty make the deepest curtsy, until her knee was almost on the floor, and hold that position while kissing the Queen’s hand and bowing her head. And then she had to get up again without falling over. The trickiest bit was scooping up her train and making her way backwards out of the room.

After that she would be well and truly out and could accept invitations to soirées and routs and balls at which she would meet many new people, including some young men out looking for a wife, who would flatter and cajole. She was not, under any circumstances, to have her head turned by them. Rosie would say who was and who was not suitable and whom she could safely encourage.

She came out of her reverie to hear Rosemary saying, ‘Esme is a hopeless romantic and is unlikely to make a push to find a suitable husband herself, so I will have to take her in hand and point her in the right direction.’

‘Is it like a paper trail, then?’ Esme asked and was gratified to see a smile crease Myles’s face, which he quickly stifled.

‘Don’t be flippant, Esme,’ her sister said. ‘It is a serious business. You have to choose a husband carefully because you have to spend the rest of your life with him.’

‘But the same must be said of him, surely? He has to spend his life with me.’

‘It’s different for a man.’

‘How?’

Rosemary looked discomforted. ‘It just is. A man is looking for a lady to be an asset to his position in life, someone to be a credit to him, someone to manage his household, entertain his friends, be a good mother to his children, look elegant on his arm.’

‘What about being in love?’

Rosemary suddenly found it necessary to fiddle with the tea caddy and it was left to Myles to answer her. ‘He must be in love with his wife and she with him, that goes without saying, otherwise the marriage is doomed to failure.’

‘Well, of course,’ Rosemary said, and rang the bell for the parlour maid to come and remove the tea things. As soon as they had been taken away, she stood up. ‘I always have a half hour with John about this time before he is put to bed. Would you like to come and say hallo to him, Esme? Myles, I am sure you can amuse yourself. There is a newspaper on the side table. There’s little enough news in it, except the plans for the Exhibition. “The Great Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations.” What a title!’

The proposed exhibition was the brain child of Henry Cole, a man of many talents, who had been involved in smaller exhibitions all over the country. He had approached Prince Albert with the idea of combining the art and manufacture of the whole world in one enormous exhibition and his Highness had embraced it enthusiastically and become its principal patron. It was why Myles had come to town, invited to a banquet by his Royal Highness and the Lord Mayor of London aimed at furthering the project among influential people in the provinces.

Esme followed her sister from the room. She wanted to be married, like her sisters, but she was not going to let herself be pushed by Rosemary into marriage with someone she did not love. Myles had said it was important and so had Lucy. Lucy had managed to win Papa round to let her marry Myles who was not at first considered a suitable husband for the daughter of an earl, being a man who liked to work and was not afraid to dirty his hands, though he was rich enough not to have to. Since then he had been a rock for all the family, the man they all turned to for help and advice—all except Rosemary, of course. She had never changed her original opinion of him; he was a labourer, one of the operative classes and far beneath her. Esme would be happy if she could find another Myles, but she did not suppose there could be two such as he.

Having admired her nephew, watched him being petted by his mother until he dribbled all down her gown and was hastily handed back to his nurse, Esme returned to her room to rest before dressing for dinner. At the sound of the first gong, signalling that dinner would be in a half hour, Miss Bannister helped her into one of the gowns Lucy had given her. It was a cerise silk that had suited Lucy, who was darker than she was, but Esme was not sure that it was the best colour for her pale complexion, but she would never have dreamed of hurting her sister’s feelings by saying so.

She heard the second gong as she was going down to the drawing room where she found the family gathered. She barely had time to greet Rowan before dinner was announced and they went into the dining room and took their places at the long table.

Esme had met Rowan twice before, once when Rosie had first become engaged to him and then again at the wedding at which she was a bridesmaid. He was tall and thin and had a long nose, which was unfortunate because it seemed as if he was perpetually looking down on everyone. Except Myles, of course; no one could look down on Myles who was well over six feet tall.

While the meal was being served they exchanged pleasantries, but the conversation flagged after that. It was then Rowan filled the void by asking Myles what had brought him to London, apart from escorting Esme.

‘Myles has an invitation to Prince Albert’s banquet at the Mansion House,’ Esme put in before he could answer for himself. ‘It’s huge. It has gold letters and a gold border and his Highness’s coat of arms on it. You should see it.’

‘Is that so?’ Rowan turned to Myles. ‘Am I to conclude you are going to add your name to that ridiculous idea for an exhibition?’

‘I do not consider it ridiculous,’ Myles said evenly. ‘It will be a showcase for everyone, no matter what country, creed or branch of endeavour they are engaged in. It will show the world that Britain leads the way in innovation and engineering and bring exhibits and visitors from all over the world.’

‘That is just what I have against it,’ Rowan said pithily. ‘We shall be inundated with hoards of people roaming the streets, filling the cabs and omnibuses, frightening the horses and servants who will not dare venture forth on their lawful business for fear of being set upon by thieves and cut-throats. And there is the risk of troublemakers from the Continent spreading discontent among our own workers who will undoubtedly find the means to flock into London. And with all that building going on, goodness knows what it will do to property values in the area, and that includes this house.’

‘I am given to understand the building will only be a temporary one and will be taken down as soon as the Exhibition is over.’

‘And how long do you think that will take?’

‘I cannot say. I am sorry you do not feel inclined to support it, Rowan.’

‘Inclined to support it!’ Rowan snapped. ‘I am totally against it and intend to do all I can to prevent it from happening.’

‘Then we shall have to agree to differ.’

Esme, who had been listening to the exchange with growing dismay, wished she had never mentioned the invitation. Lucy had been so proud of it when she showed it to her and it seemed a good way to counter all Rosemary’s boasting about how well-thought-of in society her husband was, how everyone envied her taste in her furnishings and the cleverness of her precious child, and now she had set the two men against each other.

‘Esme, let us retire to the drawing room and leave the men to continue their argument over the port,’ Rosemary said, rising from her chair.

‘I didn’t mean to cause dissent,’ Esme said as she followed her sister to the drawing room. ‘I had no idea—’

‘No, that’s the trouble with you, Esme, you tend to speak before you think. I beg you to curb it or you will upset the very people you should be pleasing.’

‘I am sorry, Rosie. I know you have put yourself at great inconvenience to bring me out and I am truly grateful. I will try very hard to be a credit to you.’

‘Then we will say no more. Men like to argue, especially strong-minded men like Rowan and Myles, but I don’t think it will lead to a serious falling out.’ She busied herself with the tea things while she spoke. ‘Now, let us talk of other things. We will go shopping tomorrow and see if we can get you kitted out ready for the season, though it will not get properly under way for a good two weeks. We shall have to amuse ourselves in the meantime.’

‘Oh, I am sure we can do that. We can go for walks and visit the sights and I should like to ride. Will that be possible?’

‘Perfectly possible. Hacks are easily hired.’ She handed Esme a cup of tea. ‘Do you know how long Myles is planning to stay in town?’

Myles, when he offered to escort Esme, had been invited to stay at Trent House while he was conducting his business, but at that time she had expected Lucy to be with him. She had no idea of the nature of his business, whether it was simply to attend the banquet or if it were something to do with his railway or engineering concerns.

‘I know he is anxious to return to Lucy and see how Harry is, so I think he cannot be planning to stay above a couple of days. Are you wishing you had not asked him?’

‘Good gracious, no! He is family and it would have looked most odd not to have invited him. I cannot think why he does not buy a town house; he could easily afford it.’

‘Lucy prefers to live in the country and says it would be a dreadful waste to keep a house and servants in town when she would hardly ever be in residence.’

The men joined them at that point and appeared to have overcome their hostility. They sat and drank tea and made light conversation, most of it of a social nature, carefully avoiding renewing the subject of the Exhibition and the Prince Consort’s banquet.

Rowan agreed that it was impossible for Esme to go out and about in Lucy’s cast-off clothes, which very nearly started Myles off on another argument, but he wisely held his peace. The carriage was put at Rosemary’s disposal for the next morning so that she could take her sister shopping and Rowan readily agreed to foot the bill for the new wardrobe.

When they dispersed to go to their beds, Esme contrived to walk a little way with Myles. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was not my idea to buy new clothes and I would not for the world have Lucy think ill of me.’

‘I am sure she would understand.’ He grinned. ‘And it will be grand to have a new wardrobe, won’t it?’

‘Yes, as long as I am not put into frills and flounces. I hate them.’

The shopping expedition was not a leisurely affair; Rosemary knew exactly what was wanted and was determined Esme should be a credit to her good taste. In every shop they entered the assistants hurried forward to serve her, though Esme would have liked a little more time to browse and view what was on offer, she was obliged to admit that Rosemary’s choice was excellent and flounces, frills and bows were kept to a minimum. ‘You have a very good figure,’ Rosemary told her. ‘Simple clothes will show it off to advantage.’ The material and pattern of the gown she would wear for her curtsy to the Queen took the longest to be decided upon and was to be made up by Madame Devereux, Rosemary’s own dressmaker. The bodice of the dress had to be low cut and the skirt very full with a long train. Accessories like slippers, fan, jewellery and feathers had to be chosen with care to conform to the rigid rules laid down by protocol.

By the middle of the afternoon, they were on their way back to Trent House with the carriage loaded down with purchases and more to be delivered in the coming days. Shopping with her mother in Leicester and Peterborough was never like this. There, it would be an all-day affair with her mother complaining of the lack of choice and the high prices and wondering aloud what her father would say when presented with the bill, though it never stopped her buying something she wanted. Rosemary had never once mentioned the price of anything.

They turned from Oxford Street, where Rosemary had purchased some lengths of ribbon, into the northern end of Park Lane. Esme glimpsed green grass through the trees and longed to go for a walk. At home in Luffenham she walked or rode everywhere and already she was missing her daily exercise. ‘Is that Hyde Park, Rosie?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it possible to walk home through it?’

‘Yes, perfectly possible.’

‘Then do let’s walk. Banny can take the coach home and put the shopping away.’

‘We have to go to Lady Aviemore’s to tea.’ Her ladyship was, according to Rosemary, a notable hostess and knew everyone of any importance and she could—if she took to Esme—be influential in introducing her to other young people, among whom might be a suitable husband. She would know the history behind every one of them. Who could safely be cultivated and who best to avoid. ‘Once you are out, she can help us get you seen and noticed,’ Rosemary had told her sister. ‘So it is important you make the right impression.’

‘That is hours away. Come on, Rosie, I want to explore.’

‘Very well.’ Rosemary asked the driver to stop and they left the coach and entered the park by Brook Gate and were soon strolling along one of the many walks towards the Serpentine.

In spite of the fact that London was, according to Rosemary, quite empty, they met several people she knew and they stopped to chat. Esme was presented to them and exchanged the usual pleasantries, but she was not particularly interested in what they had to say and her attention wandered to her surroundings. The park, once on the outskirts but now in the heart of London, was an oasis of green. There was a wide tree-lined carriageway and several paths for pedestrians and the famous Rotten Row where horsemen and women showed off their mounts. Her curiosity was aroused by a slim young man in a single-breasted green riding coat and biscuit-coloured riding breeches, who was very deliberately pacing the ground and making notes on a pad he was carrying. Every now and then he looked up at a group of elms that graced that corner of the park and appeared to be sizing them up and drawing them. She took a step closer to see what he was about.

He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes, she noted, were greenish brown and they were laughing, not at her, she was sure of that, but in a kind of amused empathy, as if he understood her curiosity and was not in the least put off by it. His hair, beneath a brown beaver hat, was a little darker than gold and curled into his neck. His hands, holding his notepad and pencil, were lean like the rest of him, the fingers tapered. An artist, she decided. He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it towards her. Her answering smile lit her face as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.

‘Esme, who is that?’ Rosemary had said goodbye to her friends and turned to see her sister apparently on nodding terms with a young man.

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?’

‘Esme, how could you?’

‘Could I what?’

‘Smile in that familiar way at a man to whom you have not been introduced.’

‘But he smiled first and—’

‘Then he cannot be a real gentleman. It is the lady’s prerogative to acknowledge a gentleman when she is out and until she does so, it behoves a gentleman to show no sign of recognition. You should have ignored him.’

‘Would that not have been impolite?’

‘Not at all. Now come away before he decides to approach us, for I should feel mortified to have to speak to him.’ She took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.

Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them, which made her giggle.

‘Esme!’ Rosemary reprimanded her. ‘I see I shall have to take you to task about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour. You do not smile at strange men. Goodness, it is asking for them to take liberties.’

‘What liberties?’ Esme asked. ‘Do you mean kissing me?’

‘Good heavens, I hope not. I mean speaking to you without an introduction.’

‘Oh, that.’ Esme was dismissive.

Rosemary’s reply to that was a decided sniff.

Felix watched them go, wanting to laugh aloud. The young lady, who was very lovely with her rosebud complexion and neat figure, was evidently being given a scolding, but it did not seem to be subduing her. He wondered who she was. Was she one of those young ladies who came to London for a Season with the express purpose of snaring a husband? It was early in the year for that and she seemed a little young to be tying herself down to marriage.

His mother might not agree; she had been urging him ever since he returned from France without Juliette to find himself a bride. ‘Someone young and malleable,’ she had said. ‘Then you can mould her to your way of doing things. Besides, a young bride is more likely to produce healthy offspring.’ He smiled to himself; this particular young lady did not look as if she were especially malleable, not that he would want a wife who dare not say boo to a goose. He pulled himself up short. How could the sight of a pretty girl make his thoughts suddenly turn to marriage. He wasn’t ready for that yet; time, the healer, had yet to do its work.

He was not a hermit by any means. To please his mother, he had attended tea parties and dances in the assembly rooms in his home town of Birmingham, taken tea with the matrons and danced with their daughters, making superficial conversation, even flirting a little, but, as his mother was quick to point out, that could hardly be called a serious pursuit of a bride. He supposed he would have to marry one day, but he never felt less like falling in love again and it would be unfair on any young lady to use her simply to beget an heir and have an elegant companion, if she were expecting a husband to love her. It would be better to choose someone more mature than the young miss with the friendly smile, someone worldly wise who wouldn’t expect declarations of eternal love, but would be content with wealth and position.

He smiled ruefully to himself; whatever had set his thoughts on marriage had better be stifled. If this idea of a great exhibition came about, he would be too busy to think of anything else. He looked down at the pad in his hand. There was a series of measurements and a rough sketch of the elm trees, which were going to be a stumbling block to any good design. The Exhibition building committee were working on a design but he thought it was ugly, and it took no account of the trees, assuming they would have to be felled. Even the committee was dissatisfied with it and an idea was being mooted for a competition to design the building and he thought he might enter it.

His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and his house in Bruton Street.

‘Rosie, could we not go and see the guests arriving for the banquet?’ Esme asked when they were on their way home in the carriage after Lady Aviemore’s tea party. Esme had expected the company to be mixed, but they had all been ladies, some young, some older, who spent the time between sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin sandwiches, in exchanging gossip, some of it shockingly malicious, but the outcome was several invitations to soirées and musical evenings and little dances.

‘It is too early in the year for balls,’ her ladyship had said. ‘But I intend to hold one as soon as the town begins to fill up. Lord Aviemore is on the committee dedicated to raising funds for the Exhibition and we thought a subscription ball would be just the thing. Very exclusive, of course. You will come, dear Lady Trent, won’t you, and bring your delightful sister?’

Rosemary declared she would be delighted, which surprised Esme, considering Rowan’s implacable opposition to the project, but a look from her sister stopped her making any comment.

‘Lord Aviemore is to attend tonight’s banquet,’ her ladyship continued. ‘It is being held to encourage the towns in the provinces to raise funds. After all, it is a countrywide endeavour, not just for the capital.’

‘I thought it was an international project involving the whole world,’ Esme put in.

Lady Aviemore looked sharply at her as if surprised to hear her daring to take part in the conversation. ‘Indeed it is,’ she said. ‘But it is the idea of our own dear Prince and it is this country which will organise and build it.’

‘I believe the banquet is to be a very grand affair,’ one of the other ladies put in. ‘I intend to go past the Mansion House on my way home to see the guests arrive.’

It was that which had prompted Esme’s question. Ever since she had returned from her walk in the park, she had felt unsettled, as if she were waiting for something extraordinary to happen, though she had no idea what it might be. The tea party had done nothing to dispel it. They had no engagement for the evening and, as both Rowan and Myles were to be out and they only had themselves to please, she could not see that a little diversion would do any harm. Myles was off to the banquet at the Mansion House and Rowan was going to have dinner with Lord Brougham, a former Lord Chancellor, who was one of the prominent figures working to scotch the idea of an exhibition. She smiled to herself in the darkening interior of the carriage, wondering if Myles and Rowan had encountered each other on their way out and, if they had, what they had said.

‘Whatever for?’ Rosemary demanded.

‘It will be such fun to see all the coaches and carriages arriving and the guests dressed in their finery. I should like to be able to tell Mama and Papa I had seen Prince Albert. Oh, do tell the coachman to take us that way.’

Esme could see she was tempted to see the spectacle herself, though she still hesitated. ‘What Rowan would say I cannot think.’

‘Why should he say anything? You do not have to tell him.’

‘Goodness, Esme, I would never deceive him or keep anything from him, and I sincerely hope that when you are married, you will be completely honest and open with your husband.’

‘I am sure he would not begrudge me a sight of the Queen’s consort arriving for a banquet.’ She did not add that if he did, she would have made a terrible mistake in her choice of husband. She was beginning to think this idea of deliberately setting out to find a husband was full of pitfalls and she must be on her guard. ‘Go on, Rosie, it won’t take long, will it? There is no one waiting for us at home.’

‘Oh, very well. I suppose it cannot do any harm.’ She used her fan to lean forward and tap the coachman on his back. ‘Croxon, take us round by the Mansion House.’

Without giving a flicker of reaction to this strange way of getting from Russell Square to Kensington, he obediently turned the carriage and headed down Kingsway to Aldwych, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, an area new to Esme. This was the financial heart of the City and was a mixture of imposing buildings and little alleyways and courts. They began to notice the crowds as they approached St Paul’s and from then it was difficult for the coach to proceed. ‘There’s nothing for it—but we shall have to get out and walk,’ Esme said when the carriage finally came to a stop, closed in by the hordes, and, before her astonished sister could stop her, had opened the door and jumped to the ground. Rosemary felt obliged to follow.

They pressed forward until they managed to find themselves a good position where they could see the guests arriving, with Rosemary grumbling all the way. ‘We’ll be trampled to death,’ she said, holding tight on to Esme’s arm.

‘Of course we won’t. You saw how everyone made way for us, they probably think we are guests.’

‘I don’t think there are any lady guests. They will all be men.’

‘Really? Then we shan’t see any sumptuous dresses.’

‘No, did you think we would?’

Esme did not answer because the police were forcing everyone back to make way for the cabs and carriages bringing the guests. There may not have been any ladies, but the men were got up like peacocks. There were foreign ambassadors in court dress, high-ranking military men in dress uniform, glittering with medals, mayors from provincial towns in red robes and regalia, bishops in their vestments, others in colourful livery, who Rosie told her were the Masters of the City Guilds, and there were men in plain evening dress, wearing honours on their breasts.

‘Oh, look, there’s Myles,’ Esme said, pointing. ‘Doesn’t he look grand?’

Myles was wearing a double-breasted black evening coat, narrow black trousers, a blue brocade waistcoat and a shiny top hat. He did not appear to see them as he walked into the building beside the Mayor of Leicester.

But someone else did notice them. The young man they had seen in the park was right behind Myles. His evening coat sported several decorations. His waistcoat was black with silver embroidery, which glittered as he moved. And he moved gracefully, Esme noticed, a sight which set her heart pumping. Oh, but he was handsome! He turned to follow Myles and caught sight of her animated face under a fetching blue bonnet and, smiling, stopped to doff his hat and give her a slight bow of recognition before disappearing inside.

‘The effrontery of the man!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘You should not have encouraged him to be familiar, Esme.’

‘I didn’t encourage him. I cannot help it if he chooses to tip his hat to me. I do not know why you are making such a fuss.’

‘It is the second time today. I begin to wonder if you do know him after all and that is why you wanted to come here.’

‘No, Rosie, I promise you I have never met him. It is pure coincidence.’

‘If you ever meet him again, I want you to cut him dead. I cannot have him think you wish to know him.’

Esme did not answer, though she could have told her sister she would not mind knowing him. He must be someone of importance if he had been invited to the banquet. Instead she turned back to the road in front of them as a crescendo of cheering signified that Prince Albert was arriving. Dressed, according to Rosemary, as an Elder Brother of Trinity House, he was met at the door by the Lord Mayor of London in full regalia, as soon as they had gone inside, the doors were closed.

‘There’s nothing more to see,’ Rosemary said. ‘We might as well find the carriage and go home.’

It was easier said than done; the crowd seemed reluctant to disperse and were still milling about talking of what they had seen and those guests they had recognised. Rosemary and Esme linked arms and pushed their way through. By the time they reached the carriage, Rosemary’s bonnet was awry and she was decidedly nervous, unlike Esme who did not realise the dangers inherent for two women walking about the city streets alone after dark, for night had fallen while they had been standing and it was now nearly seven o’clock.

‘Thank heaven for that,’ Rosemary said, when they had gained the safety of the carriage and she was able to set her hat straight. ‘Don’t ever inveigle me into doing anything like it again, Esme, for I declare I’m done in.’

‘Oh, but I shall have such a tale to tell Mama and Papa when I write.’

‘No, Esme, I beg you not to. They will think I do not know how to look after you and Papa will come and fetch you back and you will have no come-out. It will make me look an idiot to my friends and all those people who have invited you to their homes. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’

Esme agreed that she wouldn’t. After all, there was a handsome young man in town whom she seemed destined to run into and who was she to argue with destiny? She could not help wondering about him. He was very self-assured, perhaps a little conceited, but he had every right to be, considering how handsome he was. She wondered how many young ladies were falling over themselves to be noticed by him. If he was still around when the new débutantes were released on to the town, he would be seized upon by every hostess and hopeful mama and bombarded with invitations. Unless, of course, there was something unacceptable about him—a shady past, some scandal, or perhaps he was not as financially independent as he appeared. Oh, she did hope that was not the case.