course, Mrs Tenison,” said Athene submissively.
They were at Lady Leominster’s ball which, although it was always held in mid-April, was the first truly grand event of the Season when everyone who was anyone had finally arrived in London, and everyone who was anyone would be present at it. The Tenisons had previously attended, under the wing of Lady Dunlop, who accompanied them everywhere, several minor functions where they had met no one of any consequence and all of the young gentlemen present appeared to be already married.
Emma was looking modestly charming, but provincial, in her pale pink gauze dress, made in Northampton. She was wearing on her blonde curls a wreath of red silk rosebuds nestling amid their pale green leaves. Her jewellery was modest: a pearl necklace and two small pendant pearl earrings. Mrs Tenison possessed enough good sense to realise that the famous Tenison parure made up of large emeralds surrounded by diamonds would have appeared garish if worn by her delicate-looking daughter. The misery of it was that they would merely have served to enhance Athene’s looks had she been entitled to wear them.
She had also made sure that Athene would not diminish Emma by having her attired in a dark grey, high-necked silk dress of even more antique cut than Emma’s. Finally to extinguish her, as though she were an over-bright candle which needed snuffing, Athene had been made to wear a large linen and lace duenna’s cap which covered her beautiful dark hair and hid half of her face. As a final gesture to remind Athene of her subordinate position, her hair had been scraped so tightly back from her face, and bound so severely, that its deep waves had disappeared and would not have been seen even without the ugly cap.
Athene had borne all this with patience, since it was the only way in which she would ever be able to attend anything half so grand as the Leominsters’ ball. Her party was surrounded by all the greatest names in the land on their long and slow walk up the grand staircase. Mr and Mrs Tenison had already spoken to several cousins, including their most grand relative of all, the Marquis of Exford.
Athene liked Mr Tenison. Unlike his wife he always spoke to her kindly, and when he had found her reading in the library of his London house shortly after they had arrived in town he had been pleased to discover that, unlike Emma and Mrs Tenison, she had a genuine interest in its contents.
He had taken to advising her on what to read, and had provided her with a book-list of recommended texts. On those afternoons when Emma and her mother visited friends and relatives, leaving Athene behind, since her guardianship and support was not needed on these minor social occasions, he enjoyed listening to her opinion of her latest excursion into the world of learning. He had already discovered that she had a good grasp of Latin and had lamented to him that ladies were not supposed to learn Greek.
Today, when they had been alone together in the drawing-room before the Tenisons had set off for Leominster House in Piccadilly he had said, “Good gracious, my dear Miss Filmer. Is there really any need for you to wear anything quite so disfiguring as your present get-up?”
Athene had lowered her eyes. She had no wish to provoke the unnecessary battle which would follow any attempt at intervention on her behalf by Mr Tenison. More than that, she was already aware that he always lost such encounters. Worldly wisdom also told her that Mrs Tenison might become suspicious of her husband’s intentions towards her if he chose to become too openly friendly with the unconsidered Miss Filmer.
“It is important,” she said quietly, “that I do not attempt to outshine my dear little Emma in any way, nor lead any gentleman to imagine that I am present in London in order to look for a husband, since I have no dowry. My duty is to look after her and give her the courage to enjoy herself in a crowded room. You must know how distressed she becomes whenever she is in a crowd.”
He had nodded mournfully at her. “Yes, I am well aware of why my wife has asked you to accompany us, but I cannot say that I quite approve of you being made to look twice your age.”
“That is part of the bargain to which I agreed,” said Athene, astonished at her own duplicity and at her ability to play the humble servant so successfully. “I beg of you not to trouble yourself on my account.”
“So be it, if that is what you wish,” he had said, and his wife’s entrance, towing along a reluctant Emma who was suffering from a severe case of stage-fright at the prospect of being among so many famous people, had put an end to the conversation.
Now, looking around the huge ballroom, aglow with light from a myriad of chandeliers beneath which splendidly dressed men and women talked, walked and danced, Athene felt like the man in the old story who said that the most amazing thing about the room in which he found himself was that he was in it.
Stationed as she was, standing behind the Tenisons, who were of course, all seated, she wondered distractedly how she was to begin her own campaign. It was going to be much more difficult than she had imagined. No doubt in his early days Napoleon Bonaparte himself must have had such thoughts, but look where he had ended up—as Emperor of France!
Well, her ambition was not so grand as his, and she would be but a poor thing if she made no efforts to attain it. Perhaps in the end it would all be a matter of luck, and occasionally giving luck a helping hand. Yes, that was it.
One thing, though, was plain. Tonight there was no lack of young and handsome men, many of whom were giving young girls like Emma bold and assessing looks—doubtless wondering how large their dowry was and whether they were worth pursuing. Thinking about dowries made her more than ever conscious that not only did she not possess one, but she also had the disadvantage of ignoble birth to overcome—if anyone ever found that out that she was illegitimate, that was.
To drive away these dreary thoughts she peered around the room from beneath her disfiguring cap, trying to discover if there was anyone present whom she might find worth pursuing.
There were a large number of men of all ages in uniform—was that where she ought to look for a possible husband, or should she try for one of the many beaux present? Perhaps an old beau might be more of an opportunity for her than a young one? The very thought made her shudder.
Emma looked over her shoulder at her and said plaintively, “I wish that you were sitting beside me, Athene. I should not feel quite so sick.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs Tenison robustly. “You ought to be on your highest ropes at being here at all. Besides, I think that you may already have been found a partner. Cousin Exford expressly told me that he would introduce us to some suitable young men and here he comes with two splendid-looking fellows.”
Emma gave a small moan at this news. Athene, however, turned her grey eyes on the approaching Marquis of Exford and his companions to discover whether Mrs Tenison’s description of them was at all apt.
Well, one of them, at least, was splendid. He was quite the most beautiful and well-dressed specimen of manhood she had ever seen, being blond, tall and of excellent address. The young man with him, however, could scarcely be described as splendid-looking in any way: formidable was a better word. He was tall, but he was built like a bruiser—as Athene had already learned boxers were called. He was as dark as his friend was fair, his face was strong and harsh, rather than Adonis-like, and his hair and eyes were as black as night.
Indeed, Athene found herself murmuring, “Night and day.”
Mr Tenison overheard her and, turning his head a little in her direction, remarked in a voice equally low, “Acute as ever, my dear—but which is which?”
This cryptic remark would have set Athene thinking if the Marquis had not already begun his introductions when the Tenison party stood up. Athene, already standing, wondered what piece of etiquette
