even if the mounts were a couple of mediocre carriage horses and he was hardly dressed for it, and thus the calvalcade entered the metropolis and pulled up at the door of Wenthorpe House in Portman Square.
Mrs Agatha Wenthorpe, widow of Lord Wenthorpe’s younger brother, had arrived from her own home in Edgware a few days previously and had immediately set about opening up the house, which had remained unoccupied, except for a handful of servants, for years. She had engaged more staff, ordered all the windows opened and fires lit in every room. The dust-covers had been removed, the carpets beaten, floors scrubbed, furniture polished and flowers brought in and arranged in vases on every table and ledge big enough to receive them so that overriding the lingering fusty smell of disused rooms was the scent of soap and beeswax, narcissi and pansies.
It was some years since Lydia had seen her aunt and in that time the lady had become even more eccentric in her appearance. She was sitting in one of the small downstair parlours with her feet on a footstool by the fire, reading one of Miss Austen’s novels through a very thick quizzing glass, when they were announced, but rose quickly to greet them. She was a short, dumpy woman, made even broader by the caging she wore in her very old-fashioned gown of coffee-coloured brocade with its wide over-sleeves. Her face was heavily powdered and a patch on her cheek disguised an ugly pockmark. On her head she wore a startling red wig. Lydia had loved her as a child and she saw no reason now to change her opinion. She hurried forward and allowed herself to be embraced. ‘Dear Aunt, such an adventure we have had,’ she said, after Mrs Wenthorpe had released her and held her hand out for Tom to kiss, which he did, thankful that she could not see his smile at her extraordinary dress.
‘Aunt, may I present the Marquis of Longham?’ Lydia said, turning to Jack who had been prevailed upon to come in to meet Mrs Wenthorpe. ‘He has been a prodigious help, for without him we would have been delayed for days and days.’
‘Indeed? Then I must add my gratitude to my niece’s,’ she said, putting up the quizzing glass and eyeing him up and down with great candour. ‘You will stay for supper?’
Jack, without a trace of discomfort, bowed low over her plump, bejewelled hand. ‘Alas, I have pressing business, ma’am.’
‘Then you must call when you are not so pressed. We cannot let you go unthanked.’
‘I have been sufficiently thanked, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And now that Miss Wenthorpe is safely in your hands, I must take my leave.’ He bowed again to Mrs Wenthorpe and then to Lydia and, with a, ‘Good evening, Wenthorpe,’ to Tom, left the room.
‘Well!’ said Aunt Aggie, letting out her breath in a long sigh. ‘There’s a top-lofty male if ever I saw one. He could not get away fast enough. What have you done to him, Lydia?’
‘I, Aunt? Why, nothing. I do believe that is his usual manner. I really think he did not want to rescue us and now he is glad to have us off his hands.’
‘Why should he not wish to help? Is there something wrong with him?’
‘I hardly know, Aunt, but his carriage was worse then ours. If it had not been drawn by the most beautiful pair of bays I have ever seen, I would have taken him for an impostor. And, you must admit, his manners leave much to be desired…’
‘I expect he took a leaf out of your book,’ Mrs Wenthorpe said in mild rebuke. ‘But we can soon put a town polish on you and then you will have any number of offers. Tomorrow we must shop for clothes…’ She stopped because Lydia had barely been able to conceal a smile at the thought of her outrageously dressed aunt Aggie selecting clothes for her. ‘I do not pretend to be all the crack myself and I am too old to change my ways, but I know someone who will see that you are dressed properly. I shall take you to my great friend, Lavinia Davies. Tonight we will sup quietly and go to bed early, for we have a busy day ahead of us.’ She turned to Tom. ‘What had you planned, young man?’
‘Oh, I shall amuse myself, never fear,’ he said. ‘A visit to Weston’s for a new suit of clothes, a few hands of cards at White’s, a ride perhaps. And don’t you think we had better buy a new town carriage? Even supposing our travelling chaise can be repaired, it is as old as the ark. Not having ridden in it since before I went to Cambridge, I had not realised how old-fashioned and unsound it was. It is hardly suitable for town use; Lydia cannot go to balls and routs in it, nor to the park, and expect to be noticed by the ton — unless it be for being a frump.’
‘I am not a frump!’
‘I did not say you were, but I am sure that is what the Marquis thought when he saw you looking as though you had been tumbled in the hay. And as for our equipage…’
‘Damn the Marquis!’ his sister said with feeling. Was that why he had looked at her so hard and long?
‘Lydia!’ Mrs Wenthorpe was shocked into reaching for the glass of claret at her elbow. ‘That is not the language of a lady.’
‘I am sorry, Aunt, but if I have to weigh up every man I meet with nothing but marriage in mind, then I would as lief not marry at all.’
‘But you must, child! That is what you are here for and why I am here, to make sure you come out in a manner fitting your station and wealth and to make sure you are not gulled by unsuitable offers.’ She smiled and laid a hand over Lydia’s. ‘You will enjoy it, my dear, and I am sure you will find someone to suit before the Season is over.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then I will have failed your dear papa, and so will you.’
Lydia fell silent on the subject. It would do no good to argue and she would have to pretend to be enjoying herself, even flirt a little, but that did not mean she was committed. Unless, by some miracle, she fell in love, she would put off making a decision; that was — and she smiled to herself — if anyone offered for her, which was not at all a certainty. She was too tall and not especially beautiful and she was certainly outspoken, none of which would endear her to would-be husbands who, for the most part, only needed a breeding machine. It was not that she was against marriage and having children, but she had, in her growing up, had plenty of time to observe the disastrous marriages of her acquaintances and compare them with the loving relationship of her own parents, and nothing less than that would do.
THERE could not have been a greater contrast between Mrs Wenthorpe and the modishly attired Mrs Davies, but neither seemed to pay any heed to that, and after a cosy exchange of the latest on-dit they took Lydia to visit a dressmaker where Mrs Davies bespoke dresses for morning wear, for walking and for carriage rides, dresses for assemblies, for breakfasts, for the opera, for balls, and a dark blue velvet riding habit with a jacket frogged in the Polish style, to be worn over a white silk shirt with ruffles at throat and wrist. From there they went on to buy a tall beaver hat with a curly brim and a peacock feather to go with the riding habit, bonnets, caps and shawls, underlinen, mantles and muffs, shoes, dancing slippers and half-boots of crimson jean.
Lydia sincerely hoped the expense her father was being put to would be worth his while and was beginning to feel guilty that she had no intention of allowing herself to fall into the marriage net simply because he though it was time she was wed. If he wanted grandsons, let Tom produce them. The idea of Tom as a father was so amusing, she was still laughing when he joined them for luncheon at three o’clock, having taken a leaf from her book and decked himself out in the latest fashion.
‘Why do you laugh?’ he asked, affronted.
