Unwilling to admit why, even to herself, she dressed with especial care the following evening. Her gown was of a fashionable mustard yellow silk; the narrow boned bodice had a wide décolletage infilled with lace, gathered into a knot in the cleft of her bosom. The back was pleated from the neck to the floor and the sleeves had wide embroidered cuffs. Like so many of her gowns, she had made it herself with the help of her mother and it meant she could appear far more richly dressed than they could really afford.
Janet arranged her hair in a thick coil at the back of her neck and decorated it with two curling white feathers which were all the rage. She had a fan of chicken feathers which had been brought out of her mothers trunk at the same time as the old gowns. She knew she looked well and smiled at herself in her dressing mirror as Janet put the finishing touches to her toilette and then bent to slip her feet into tan leather shoes. She would have liked shoes to match her gown, with embroidered toes and painted heels, but that was not to be and she hoped, in the crush, no one would notice her serviceable footwear.
Partridge harnessed the cob to the battered chaise and drove them to the Assembly Rooms. I hope he does not mean to take us right up to the door, Annabelle whispered to her sister. It would be too mortifying to be seen arriving in this.
Why? Lydia asked, amused. Everyone knows us and they know our circumstances. Why pretend to be something we are not?
We do not have to advertise it. And supposing the Earl is there?
Lydia laughed. Of course he will not be there. Why should he interest himself in a country lecture?
Then why have you dressed yourself in your best gown? I thought
Good heavens, Annabelle, I would certainly not dress to impress that fiend. How could you think it? I hate him and all he stands for. You know that.
Oh. Then why? Have you got a beau?
Annabelle, she said impatiently. You know very well I have not.
What about Sir Arthur?
What about him?
Mama thinks you should set your cap at him.
What a vulgar expression! And I shall do no such thing. Now, may we drop the subject?
They had arrived at the meeting rooms and Partridge drew up behind the carriages already standing in line, waiting to discharge their occupants. Others of the audience had walked from houses nearby and were jostling their way into the building. Lydia and Annabelle followed them in and found their seats. There was a great deal of noise in the hall as friend greeted friend and exchanged news and gossip, but when the town mayor, who was acting as master of ceremonies, walked on to the stage followed by two or three other dignitaries who took seats arranged behind the lectern, everyone became silent and turned to listen.
Lydia, who had been holding her breath for this moment, let it out in a sigh of disappointment. The speaker, when he was introduced and stood to begin his talk, was not the young gentleman she had been hoping for, but a middle-aged man with a red, bewhiskered face and a huge stomach which threatened to burst the buttons off his black waistcoat. There was nothing she could do but appear interested in what he had to say, but appearances were deceptive because her mind was miles away, in a rainy street in Chelmsford.
Oh, why had she not provided her name when asked for it? Even the name of her village would have been enough if he had meant it when he said he hoped to see her again. But had he meant it? He was doing no more than enjoy a little harmless flirtation with a young woman. Not a lady, for all he called her one, for he would never have presumed to speak so familiarly to anyone highborn. But would anyone highborn have been standing in the rain and not a carriage or servant in sight? She was becoming more than a little desperate if one chance encounter could set her mind in such confusion.
She was being very foolish. Her future was already mapped out for her: a sensible marriage to provide for her mother in her old age, furnish Annabelle with a dowry and send John to public school, now that he was becoming too old for the day school he attended in Burnham, all things her father would have done, but for that devil up at the Hall. And there was no one she knew of who might do that except Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.
What would it be like married to him? Oh, she could guess. Humdrum, thats what it would be. A daily grind of looking after his house and his daughters, acting as hostess at boring suppers and card games, looking forward with an inordinate amount of pleasure to attending meetings like this, lectures, readings, with the occasional country dance to liven things up. As for the marriage bed But as she knew nothing whatever about that piece of furniture and what happened in it, her imagination failed her.
She was startled to hear those about her applauding and realised the lecture had come to the halfway stage and she had not heard a single word. She forced herself back to the present and clapped politely.
There are refreshments in the next room, Annabelle said, as everyone stood up and made a beeline for the door. I am very thirsty and I saw Sir Arthur go in there a moment ago.
Lydias heart sank. So? The man may come to a lecture, may he not?
Yes, but nows your chance. You could speak to him.
And what am I to say? Am I to throw myself at his feet and beg him to marry me?
Annabelle laughed. No, you goose, but you could make yourself agreeable. Oh, look, here he comes.
Sir Arthur, his waistcoat straining across his front and his ill-fitting wig slightly lopsided, was bowing over her. Miss Fostyn, may I have the pleasure of escorting you into the supper room? For a big man his voice was extraordinarily high, almost effete.
Smiling, she lifted her hand, and allowed him to take it and raise her to her feet. Thank you, sir.
Mrs Fostyn is not here tonight?
No, she is a little fatigued. I brought my sister instead. May I present Annabelle to you?
Miss Annabelle. He bowed towards her with exaggerated civility which made the young lady stifle a laugh behind her fan.
Together they walked into the next room where a cold collation and large bowls of punch and cordial were set on a long table at one end of the room and left for everyone to help themselves and take to small tables arranged in the body of the room. Sir Arthur found seats for them and went to fight his way through the throng to obtain food for them.
Lydia, there is Peregrine Baverstock, Annabelle hissed, nodding in the direction of a young man in a pink satin suit and red high-heeled shoes who was standing on the periphery of a group on other side of the room.
Baverstock? Lydia queried. You mean Lord Baverstocks son?
Yes. Who else should I mean?
How did you come to meet him?
At Lady Brothertons, when I went to Carolines birthday celebration. He was one of the guests. Oh, I do believe he has spotted me.
The young man had indeed seen her, for he made his way through the crowd and bowed before them. Miss Annabelle.
Good evening, Mr Baverstock, Annabelle said, laughing at his formality. I did not expect you here.
Had to come. Parents insisted. Glad I did now. His face was fiery red.
May I present you to my sister?
Miss Fostyn, your obedient. May I take Miss Annabelle to be presented to my parents?
Annabelle looked at Lydia. May I go?