The Regency (72 page)

The mantuamaker called with her gown, and there was a
last fitting, and last-minute alterations. It was of the finest,
softest muslin, of a pale apricot colour, with raised, glossy
spots woven into the material. Tiny silk rosebuds decorated
the neckline, and the little cap-sleeves had a deep inverted
pleat, also held by rosebuds. It was so soft and clinging that
there was no room under it for a petticoat, and a flesh-
coloured all-in-one undergarment came with it, which Marie
thought indecent, and Fanny thought delightful.

The hairdresser came on the day itself to cut and curl and
arrange Fanny's hair; and though she complained afterwards that he had almost pulled her hair off her head, and scorched
her scalp with the curling-irons, the result was certainly
worth the pain. Her luxuriant but rather coarse hair had
never looked so glossy and well-kempt. The front hair was cut
short and curled into a mass of feathery fronds which framed
her face, while the rest was drawn up to the top of her head,
formed into a Grecian knot woven with silver ribbons, and
tumbled down behind in glossy ringlets.

Fanny would have liked to impress her contemporaries
with some of the family jewels which were, after all, hers; but
James joined Héloïse in deprecating the idea, and she
accepted, without believing it, the dictum that a girl should be
simply dressed at her come-out. Her mother's pearls were
decreed suitable, but she wore them without enthuasiasm, not feeling that they were very good ones — not good enough, at all events, for Miss Morland of Morland Place. Héloïse lent a
pair of pearl earrings, and Papa gave her long white gloves as a birthday present, and a new fan with ivory sticks and a gold
clasp.

So on 4 October 1811, the day after her sixteenth birthday,
Fanny Morland was presented to the county. The most
important and influential people were the dinner-guests, and they applauded genially as Fanny walked, very dignified, to
her place at the table, and drank a toast to her; and Fanny
stood with cheeks glowing and eyes modestly downcast,
enjoying the moment enormously. James watched her with a
heart bursting with pride, and looked across at Héloïse with a
tender smile, forgetting in the emotion of the moment that
she was not Fanny's mother.

The dinner was a great success, Barnard having excelled
himself; and despite the stringencies of the war, there were some very good things to drink, for James had been buying
and hoarding for some time in anticipation of this very
occasion. Afterwards there was a hiatus, as everyone gathered
in the drawing-room, and waited for the carriages to bring the evening-guests for the ball.

James came across to Fanny, who was conversing politely
with Lord Grey. He smelled of mothballs and old cigars, and
she was very glad to be rescued from him.

‘
I've been trying to decide who should open the ball with
you, Fanny,' he said.

‘
Yes, Papa?' she said meekly, as though the same consider
ation had not been occupying her for the last fortnight.

‘
I know there are lots of old friends here — and even some old admirers of yours, Fan, low let it be said! — but I think it
should either be Mr Howick, or Richard Lambert who leads
off with you. They are the highest-ranking of the unmarried
young men we've invited for you. Have you any preference?’

Fanny gave a dutiful smile. Piers Howick, son of a Scottish
viscount, or the Hon. Richard Lambert, son of Lord Lambert
of Baldersby — there was nothing to choose between them
from her point of view. Neither was handsome, rich or, as yet,
titled, and the man must be all three who was good enough
for Fanny Morland. She knew that, and Papa knew that. But
he was quite right, there was a deference due to rank.

‘
Perhaps it should be Mr Howick first, and then Mr
Lambert?' she suggested, her eyelashes fanning her pink cheek.

‘
Very well, then, my darling,' James said. 'I'll send Howick
to you.’

How gentle and modest she had become, he thought happily,
as Howick led her to the first set amid polite applause.

That
will make the Micklethwaites and Keatings smart! she thought triumphantly.

*

At ten to three in the morning, a handful of diehard young people were still dancing. Fanny had danced every dance, working her way through the young, and even some of the
not-so-young men with a studied impartiality, and winning
herself admiration for betraying no greater pleasure in
dancing with the Hon. Richard Lambert than with young Jack
Appleby. She had gone up to supper on the arm of Mr Bayliss,
but he had been forced to share her attention at supper
with Edmund Somers, Tom Keating, and Captain Fordyce,
the two latter being the only gentlemen with whom she
danced more than once in the evening.

Mathilde had danced as many sets as she wanted to, and could have danced a great many more, had she not refused.
Now, as it became plain that the last dance would be called at
any moment, she was standing near the door to the buttery
passage, ready to slip through and give the word for the soup
and patties to be brought; and suddenly she found Edward
standing beside her.

‘
It's been a great success, hasn't it?' he said. ‘I'm glad, for everyone's sake. Fanny's position demands it; and you've all
worked so hard.'

‘
I haven't done very much,' Mathilde said in faint surprise.
‘The flowers look lovely,' Edward smiled. 'And I know in
how many little ways you make things run smoothly in this
house. I hope it hasn't been all work for you? I hope you've
enjoyed it too?'

‘Oh yes,' she said neutrally.

‘
But I haven't seen you dance this past half-hour. Are you
tired?’

She looked at him carefully. 'A little. No, not really. I
haven't wanted to dance.’

He looked at her quizzically. 'Do you remember your
birthday ball? That was the first time I ever danced with you.’

‘I remember it very well,' she said. It had also been the last
time, she thought. Dancing did not very often come in their
way.

‘
I wonder —' he hesitated, and she held her breath. 'Would
it be too much to ask? Would you dance with me again?’

‘
I should like it very much,' she said gravely, but her heart
was singing. She laid her hand on his arm, and he led her to
the set.

Looking around him, Edward became very conscious of his
age, and of Mathilde's youth and beauty. 'It's very kind of
you to indulge me,' he said awkwardly. 'There must be lots of
young men who want to dance with you. Perhaps —'

‘
It isn't kind of me at all,' Mathilde said quickly. 'And I
don't want to dance with any of the young men. I don't want
to dance with anyone but you.’

The sentence, begun boldly out of desperation, faded
almost to inaudibility towards the end, and she felt herself
blushing at her own daring, and could not meet Edward's
eyes. When at last she felt able to steal a glance, she saw that
he was looking around him with pleasure, smiling, and
humming a snatch of the music. She thought perhaps he had
not heard what she said, but a moment later, when she gave
him her hand at the demand of the dance, he pressed it and
said, 'Dear Mathilde!’

No more words passed between them during the dance, but
Mathilde's heart was as light as her feet, and Edward never
stopped smiling until the music stopped. Then as he bowed
over her hand, he murmured, 'I must speak to you. Come out
into the herb garden with me.'

‘
Oh, but I must order the soup,' she said foolishly, panick
ing now that it seemed the moment she had longed for so
hopelessly had arrived.

‘
Someone else will do that. Please, Mathilde — or do you
think you would do wrong in being alone with me? I assure
you, I mean you no harm.’

She could not let him think she thought that. She put her
hand on his arm and said, 'I will go anywhere with you,
Cousin Edward.'

‘
Well,' he said looking pleased, 'the garden will do for the
moment.’

They slipped out through the little door by the chapel into the garden which formed the inner court of the house. It had
been a herb garden long ago, and still bore the name, out of habit; but the herbs had never grown well there, getting too
little light, and now it had been paved, with spaces left
amongst the stones for such hardy plants as would thrive
there. The air struck chill after the ballroom, and she shivered
a little in reaction.

He stopped in the darkness beyond the oblongs of light falling from the window and turned to her, but for a while
did not speak. She began to feel a little awkward, standing
here in the darkness with him. What if a servant should come?
Sometimes they used the court as a short-cut between the
servants' hall and the nursery stair.

‘Well, Cousin?' she prompted him at last.

He took a step nearer. ‘Mathilde,' he said, 'this is very
difficult for me to say. I have to ask you something which may embarrass you.' He cleared his throat. 'I have noticed
sometimes — I have thought —' He stopped, evidently deeply
confused. Then he began again. 'No, I'm doing it all wrong.
Why should I ask you to expose yourself? I will tell you plainly,
and trust to your kindness. Mathilde, you may think it imperti
nent, forward, even foolish of me, but — I have been in love with you for a very long time. I hardly know when it began,
but for longer than I can remember you have been the dearest
object of my heart.’

Mathilde drew a breath to answer — though she hardly
knew what she would say — but he went on quickly, 'It has
seemed to me lately that you are perhaps not indifferent to
me? Forgive me if I have misunderstood you. Perhaps you
regard me only in a friendly light. I know I am a great deal
older than you —'

‘
Cousin Edward,' she said breathlessly, anxious to say
something before he talked himself out of love again. 'I — I
don't feel just a friendship for you. I hoped you knew that.’

He stepped closer again, and took her hands, holding them
so hard he hurt her, though she didn't notice it at once. ‘Do
you mean — can you mean — can you possibly love me?’