Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (11 page)

Wishing everyone to
perdition, Lord Weston was too much the gentleman to ignore the rest of the
party for any length of time. Lady Cynthia engaged him in conversation and
Isobel wandered off to congratulate Lady Joanna on her triumph once again.
Before she could reach her side, Lord Pelton appeared at Lady Joanna’s elbow
and bestowed a dazzling smile on her.

“Lady Joanna, I have just
ascertained that the rain has stopped for the moment. It might be a bit damp,
but would you care for a stroll. I thought that after your exertions you might
need some air.” Lord Pelton’s voice was full of charm.

Isobel waited, and watched
Lady Joanna’s face, expecting some pert response and possible a rebuff, but was
surprised by what she heard and saw. “That would indeed be welcome,” said Lady
Joanna prettily, complete with a demure smile. And then Lady Joanna blushed,
actually blushed! Would wonders never cease? The two young people walked out of
the room, arm in arm, Lord Pelton’s head bent toward hers in order to hear some
likely witty thing that she was saying. Isobel smiled and sat next to Mrs.
Parrish, politely asking her about her parish work.

Miss Hyde-Price also noted
the couple who had escaped to the garden and determined that Saybrooke should
take her there as well. He was talking at the moment to Lord Doncaster and she
sidled up to the two men. Shortly after, Lord Doncaster excused himself when
his wife called to him to settle a trifling dispute. Miss Hyde-Price gave
Saybrooke her most dazzling smile and then remarked on the heat of the room. He
offered to retrieve some lemonade for her. She declined the lemonade and pointed
out with delight that the rain had stopped. He expressed pleasure as well, but
no invitation to the garden was forthcoming. Frustrated, she tried a more
direct ploy.

“I do so love flowers. Do you
not also, Lord Saybrooke?” she cooed, her eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird
wings.

“They are pleasant in their
way, I suppose. Certain varieties make me sneeze,” returned Lord Saybrooke
pleasantly, but with no offer to adjourn to the garden.

Miss Hyde-Price, at a loss
for but a moment, abandoned what she perceived was her subtle attempts and
ceased to beat around the bush.

“Lord Saybrooke, I would be
ever so grateful if you would escort me to the garden. You can point out the
flowers that cause you to sneeze and we will avoid them in the future.”

Lord Saybrooke surrendered to
her will, for the time being, offered his arm and went with the manipulative baggage
into the damp garden.

The
day of the ball began with a light mist that the gardener, Jenkins, declared
would give way to sunshine at mid-day. The preparations were well under way by
the time Isobel went down to breakfast. She had just started on her toast with
currant jam when Lady Mercer hurried into the room.

“Isobel,
you are just the person I am looking for,” she declared and looked around the
empty room. “My goodness, are you all alone? Where on earth is everyone? I have
been up for hours, so much to do.”

“I
assume that is why everyone is making themselves scarce. Lord Westcott informed
me last evening that the men had formed a party to go fishing this morning in
order to, as he put it, ‘stay away from the hubbub’. I am sorry I slept so
late, but as soon as I finish my coffee, I will be at your service.” Isobel
took a large gulp of coffee.

“I
was hoping you would say that. Lady Stoughton offered her services with
arranging flowers, but she has such a heavy hand with the daffodils. I prefer
airier looking arrangements and I know you are just the woman to do it. I
myself know what I like to see, but do not have the knack of making it happen.”

“I
would love to help with flowers, but what of Lady Stoughton? I would not want
to offend her. She already disapproves of me,” said Isobel with a smile,
proving her concern not to be of a serious nature.

“She
disapproves of most everyone, but her husband is important to Mercer’s ‘career’
in politics and I was constrained to invite them. But as to the flowers, I have
prevailed upon Lady Stoughton to make up cards for the dinner before the ball,
claiming her penmanship was just what was needed to make elegant name cards for
the table. It is not of course, but her penmanship is much better than her
flower arranging. So, there you have it,” pronounced Lady Mercer.

Isobel
had managed to finish her meager breakfast during their brief conversation and
pronounced herself ready to tackle the flowers. Lady Mercer was well pleased
with the result and by early afternoon, after a brief nuncheon, Isobel was
released to rest and get ready for the evening ahead.

*****

Lady
Joanna stood behind Mary Parrish’s chair and played with her long, thick
chestnut brown hair.

“Your
hair is truly one of your best features, Mary. You must wear it up tonight like
this,” said Lady Joanna taking Miss Parrish’s locks with both of her hands and
plopping the now tousled mass on the vicar’s daughter’s head. Miss Parrish
looked unconvinced as she watched Lady Joanna’s work in the vanity mirror. “Of
course, there will be dozens of cascading curls down your back and framing your
sweet oval face. Please say you will let me fix it for you? Your usual severe
bun will just not do for a ball!” Lady Joanna scolded.

Miss
Parrish acquiesced. “But what about you, Joanna? How will you ever have time to
get ready for the ball if you are attending to me?”

“Oh,
my abigail, Tessa, is quite adept and can make light work of getting me ready,
though she would wish to have me at her mercy for hours. And besides, I care
very little for how I look. I am not on the hunt for a husband!”

“Nor
am I,” countered Miss Parrish. “Mama and Papa already have someone in mind.”

“Well,
I hope it is Captain Danvers, for once he sees you tonight, he will propose on
the spot!” Lady Joanna assured her.

“Captain
Danvers?” cried the young lady, her face suddenly crimson.

“Did
you not notice his partiality toward you? I think he is quite smitten with
you.” Lady Joanna smiled conspiratorially.

Miss
Parrish, extremely embarrassed, flushed an even deeper shade of red. “I knew
him to be exceedingly polite and gentlemanlike, but I had not thought… I was
rather hoping that Peter- Mr. Collins would…”Miss Parrish stammered out in
confusion.

“Mr.
Collins! He is just a boy. You need a man,” Lady Joanna pronounced.

“But,
my parents are quite set on us making a match. And I am not averse to it in the
least. I have known him for ever so long and have always been drawn to him,”
replied Miss Parrish in an attempt to be assertive.

“The
problem as I see it Mary, is that your sphere of acquaintances is much too
narrow. Living buried in the country tends to have that effect,” asserted Lady
Joanna.

“I
have no way of expanding my circle. While both of good birth, my parents
haven’t the funds to give me a season in London.” Miss Parrish paused and said
almost convincingly, “I believe I would be quite content with Peter. He is
excelling at Cambridge and is to go into the law.”

“Content?
You would settle for content?” Lady Joanna shuddered dramatically. “Mary, I
have heard you play the piano. You are a woman of passion. You must not settle
for contentment! If Captain Danvers will not do for you, then we must find you
someone who will.”

“And
how will I accomplish that?” asked Miss Parrish, truly wanting to know.

“Leave
that to me,” said Lady Joanna cryptically. “Now, about these dresses…”

“Joanna,
truly I have a dress that will be sufficient. You need not feel obliged to lend
me one of your lovely gowns.” Miss Parrish thought of her light green lutestring
gown, which though once quite fashionable, had seen at least one too many
seasons. Also, because her mother had made it for her, it had an excess of
flounces that did not suit Miss Parrish’s taste. She looked longingly at the three
exquisite gowns that were lain out on her bed. One was a champagne shot silk,
with small puff sleeves and exquisite lace. Another was a pale pink on pink
patterned jacquard with the de rigueur high waist and a small train. The third
was a primrose satin with a lace overskirt and a very daring neckline.
How
would she choose?
she wondered and then she scolded herself for being
tempted to wear one of these beautiful gowns.

“Do
not be silly, Mary. I can only wear one gown and I have no preference for any
of them. You shall try them all on and we will choose which one does your sweet
looks justice.”

Miss
Parrish was about to object yet again when she heard a light tap on her door.
Though it was her room, it was Lady Joanna who said, “Come!”

The
door opened to admit Lady Cynthia in a sunny yellow morning dress that somehow
complimented her golden hair. As always, she looked stunningly beautiful.

“I
thought I might find you here,” drawled Lady Cynthia in her bored fashion. “Are
you hiding to escape being conscripted by Lady Mercer as well?”

“No,”
answered Lady Joanna. “I offered to help. I had some wonderful ideas to spruce
up the ballroom but my mother made me promise to stay out of the way. She has
no appreciation for my sense of style.”

“I
have seen your bedchamber, Lady Joanna. Perhaps your mother has the right of
it.” Lady Cynthia winked at Miss Parrish, who blushed in confusion.

“Mary
was about to model these gowns for me, so that we might choose which she should
wear tonight,” explained Lady Joanna.

Lady
Cynthia looked at the gowns Lady Joanna had indicated and her eyebrows rose.
“Miss Parrish, where in Hertfordshire did you obtain such fashionable gowns? I
daresay, they have the look of Madame Giselle about them. “

“They
are not…that is, Lady Joanna was kind enough…” stammered Miss Parrish.

“As
I explained to Miss Parrish, I can only wear one gown. And you are correct,
Lady Cynthia, these are Madame Giselle’s creations. How clever of you. Ah, but
we all must have a talent for something. How fortunate you are that yours is so
useful,” quipped Lady Joanna cattily.

Lady
Cynthia, used to Lady Joanna’s caustic tongue, ignored the gibe in her lofty
way and changed the subject. “I am eagerly looking forward to the ball tonight,
are you not?”

“Indeed,”
mumbled Miss Parrish.

“It
is just another ball,” Lady Joanna said dismissively.

“Not
for me it is not,” said Lady Cynthia looking secretive. “There should be an
announcement tonight that will surprise you, Lady Joanna.”

“Oh?”
asked Lady Joanna, only slightly interested. “What announcement would that be?”

“Ah,
but that would be telling,” Lady Cynthia said in her lazy drawl and headed
toward the door, her mission accomplished. She turned back to the other two
young ladies before she exited. “If I were you, Miss Parrish, I would wear the
pale pink jacquard. It would suit you most famously.” And with a sly little
smile she left the room.

“What
did she mean?” asked Miss Parrish when Lady Cynthia had left.

“That
you should wear the pink gown and she is probably correct. Lady Cynthia is as
dull as ditchwater and barely literate, but she understands clothes. You should
try that one on first,” replied Lady Joanna obtusely.

“No,
not about the gowns. About the announcement,” Miss Parrish wondered.

“Oh,
that. Most likely she is to be engaged.” Lady Joanna was clearly uninterested
in Lady Cynthia’s marriage plans.

“But,
to whom? I had no inkling that Lady Cynthia had a beau here at Adelphi,”
asserted Miss Parrish.

An
inkling of interest awoke in Lady Joanna. “I have no idea,” she admitted.
“Perhaps it will be an interesting night after all. Now, put on the jacquard.”

*****

The fishing party was only partly
successful, despite the well-stocked lake. They caught few fish, but succeeded in
avoiding the chaos back at Adelphi. Saybrooke was an indifferent fisherman, as
was Parrish. The two of them sat in their boat and argued loudly, if not
heatedly about eschatology and free will. After an hour or so of little luck,
Westcott and Lord Stoughton rowed over to Saybrooke’s boat.

“Saybrooke, your pointless bickering with
the good Reverend here is scaring the fish. Would you mind desisting and speak
quietly if you must speak at all.” Westcott’s tone was mild, but his look was
pointed and Saybrooke raised his eyebrows as his only response.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Westcott, Lord Stoughton,
I am afraid Saybrooke and I get a trifle worked up in our theological debates.
All in good fun, mind you.” Fortunately, Mr. Parrish was repentant enough for
the both of them, for Saybrooke had no intention to apologize.

“Theology? Fun?” said Lord Stoughton with
a bark that was meant to be a laugh.

“For some of us, yes,” replied Saybrooke
mildly. “Others enjoy fishing, while still others find a great amount of glee
in feeling superior to the rest of mankind. I find that odd, but I have learned
that it takes all kinds.”