Chapter Three

Constance had danced with the partners who had put their names down on her card and, as she had predicted, she'd not remembered much about them when they came to collect her.

She realized that the one thing that truly struck terror into her heart was not her own embarrassment if nobody had wished to dance with her, but her parents' embarrassment.

They were both so kind and had given her every possible advantage since she'd entered the world. They'd spared no expense on her education. They'd spared no expense to give her all the things she'd wished for.

They were rich now, but as an adult, Constance now understood that had not always been the case. The estate produced enough, but not an endless amount of extra. Her father would have had to juggle some things to ensure she had a fine pony and excellent tutors and a new pianoforte. And then of course, there was the dowry he'd saved up over the years.

Now, this moment, was the time to show them if their care and consideration had been worth it. It was a heart-stopping prospect to imagine letting them down.

Fortunately, that had not happened. Though now, another heart-stopping moment approached. Lord Bramley was coming to collect her.

Unlike the other gentlemen who'd put themselves down on her card, she had not forgotten his face. Nor did she expect she ever would. There was something about it that pulled at her. She'd never seen such a man.

"Lady Constance," he said, his voice full of cheer.

She managed to smile, but that was all she managed to do. Where were her words? She knew so many of them—what were they?

"Viscount Bramley," he said, "in case you've forgotten."

"I have not forgotten," she said. Her words, there they were. They were not the most particularly erudite words she knew, but they had at least come out in order.

He held his arm out and she laid her hand upon it. It struck her as very steady. A very strong and reliable arm. Why had she not noticed that about the other gentlemen? Certainly, their arms had been strong too.

Somehow, his steadiness began to calm her rather jangled nerves. He was such a marvel to look at that it was a little intimidating. But then, his manner was not intimidating at all.

When it was their turn at the steps, he led her with the utmost confidence. He did not take on some sort of haughty expression, as some of her previous partners had. She'd not known what they were trying to say by it, but guessed it was along the lines of ‘I am such an elevated personage that dancing at Almack's is so very commonplace for me that I am almost bored.'

Lord Bramley appeared to actually enjoy himself, which made Constance calmer still.

When it was not their turn to dance, they exchanged information rapid-fire. She emanated from Warwickshire, he from Surrey. She liked dogs, he did too. She liked cats, he shrugged and told her of Mischief—an old feral who used to hide behind doors at the stables and launch at his legs whenever he got the chance. He still had some scars from those adventures.

In Mischief's defense though, he'd been a very good mouser.

Constance thought those opinions were very indicative of Lord Bramley's genial temperament. Some gentlemen, she was sure, would have condemned Mischief entirely for the affront to their person. But Lord Bramley gave credit where it was earned, despite his dislike of the creature.

Of course, she knew that she was being a ninny to size up a gentleman's character based only on what he had to say about an old barn cat. Nevertheless, she did.

They had gone into supper and continued talking, entirely ignoring the less than inspiring offerings of the table. They had so much to say to one another. There was so much to know.

"Lady Constance," Lord Bramley said, "if this is not being too bold, I would issue you an invitation to accompany my family on our barge for Lord Bestwick's regatta. If the weather holds, it should take place the day after tomorrow. Your father and mother might come, or if not, my mother could act as chaperone. She would be delighted to do so."

If there had been any moment in which Constance would prefer to say yes, very enthusiastically, it was that moment. She could not, though.

"That is very kind, my lord. However, I understand my mother and father have already accepted an offer on my behalf. I am to be on the Duchess of Barstow's barge to watch the race."

"Ah, I see."

His disappointment in the matter was rather a delight.

"I suppose you will attend the prince's party after the race?" Constance asked.

"Yes, yes I will. Will you attend too?"

"Yes, yes I will."

"And then, I believe Lady Kendrick's rout is on the morrow," Lord Bramley said. "Will you attend?"

"I am not certain," Constance said. "I believe we have received an invitation to it though."

She did not quite tell the whole truth there. They had received an invitation and her mother had put it aside. Neither of her parents enjoyed a rout—they described it as a crush of people aimlessly milling about.

Somehow, she would convince her mother or father or both that they must go to that rout!

"I will go," Lord Bramley said, "and hope to see you there. I know Lady Kendrick's house fairly well and I will make my way to the ballroom. She sets tables all through it and it tends to be the least crowded."

"Oh yes, the ballroom with tables sounds very pleasant." Somehow, she would convince her parents that they must go to Lady Kendrick's house and repair straight to the ballroom.

"Yes, it is very pleasant. Now, if you attend, it will be crowded. Simply make your way down the hall to the second pair of double doors and that will lead into the ballroom."

"The second set of double doors," Constance said, committing the directions to memory.

What an evening. What a man. What a second set of double doors she was determined to find herself walking through.

If there had been anything at all to mar it, it was the very small and nagging feeling of wondering what the lord saw in her.

He was enthusiastic to know her, that was clear enough. But there were far prettier ladies in the room. Why her?

She silently scolded herself over it. If the Viscount wished to know her, then he wished to know her. She would not be a defeatist about it.

In any case, she would see him at the prince's party, and other places too. She would just wait and see what came of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Wilburn had acquired a decidedly sinking feeling as he'd gazed down his servants' table. As always, his staff were relaying whatever tidbits of interest they'd managed to come upon.

That would not have discomposed him—he learned quite a lot by listening.

However, this time the talk had been all about Lord Bramley's venture into Almack's and the talk was not very promising.

According to Lord Bramley's valet, who really was told too much in Mr. Wilburn's opinion, the lord had been entirely struck by a certain Lady Constance Condower, daughter of the Earl of DeWitton.

Masterson went on to recount how the lord was torn over his father's wishes and his own, as Lady Constance only came with three thousand.

Torn, was he? What did Lord Bramley think he was doing, getting torn over a lady who only brought three thousand?

Then Masterson had said the words that had made Mr. Wilburn's blood run cold. "I reckon he throws caution to the wind and pursues Lady Constance anyway. He's that keen on her. He even asked her to attend him on the barge for the regatta. She said no as she's already engaged elsewhere, but she's going to the prince's party and so is he. And then she might attend Lady Kendrick's rout too."

The idea of throwing caution to the wind very predictably caused half the women at table to swoon. It was all so romantic, a housemaid said.

Romantic. He must stop that sort of nonsense at once.

Masterson went on. "I'm to order flowers for the lady. Daffodils, mind. He wishes to communicate his regard without going too far, you see."

Flowers? How had they got to sending flowers already?

"I will handle that directly, Masterson," he said. He would handle it too, by entirely forgetting to put in the order. Daffodils, indeed.

Mr. Wilburn had then taken the opportunity to mention a few things to his staff that might make the idea of a lord throwing caution to the wind seem less romantic. Primarily, that if a family were to find themselves pinched, servants were always the first to go.

That had put some starch into them and the swooning had promptly ceased.

Now though, he must take real action. It was all well and good to get the servants' minds all sailing in the right direction, but he must do something about Lord Bramley himself.

He softly knocked on the library door, knowing full well that the earl would be in that room alone at this time of the morning.

"Enter," the earl called.

Mr. Wilburn slipped in and shut the door behind him. "My lord."

"Ah, Wilburn, what is it?"

"I hope I am not being too forward, my lord, in positing a suggestion for your attendance at the regatta?"

"Got some new idea about the picnic baskets, have you?" the earl asked genially. "I am all ears."

"No, my lord. Rather, I was thinking you might invite a few guests. Two guests, actually. The bargeman assures us we have room for ten, so might not a certain Lady Juniper and a certain Miss Semper be invited by the countess?"

The earl laid down the paper in his hand. "I say, Wilburn, that is a cracking idea. You're rather clever to think of it. Yes, I will direct the countess to issue the invitations."

Mr. Wilburn nodded. Now, there was just one more hurdle.

"And I suppose it might be a pleasant surprise to Lord Bramley. When they arrive."

He did not wish to give Lord Bramley any time to wiggle out of the thing.

He might not be able to do anything about Lady Kendrick's rout this evening, but he could ensure that Lord Bramley spent an equal amount of time with ladies who were more suitable.

"Ah! We won't tell him? Yes, that's a jolly good idea—let him be surprised," the earl said. "I suppose I'll be surprised myself, as I've yet to lay eyes on Miss Semper."

Mr. Wilburn assumed he would be equally surprised, as he had not laid eyes on either one of those ladies.

He just hoped the descriptions he'd heard of them were…exaggerated.

He also hoped that trapping Lord Bramley on a boat with two ladies who brought the necessary dowries would shake some sense into him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Matthew had been to enough of Lady Kendrick's routs to know the set-up. He usually did not stay, but he was fond of the lady so made an effort to drift through the rooms, pay his respects, and casually drift out again.

He supposed that would account for the lady's surprise that he'd turned up so early. And then he'd gone straight to the ballroom and commandeered a table.

He sat himself down and that was where he intended to stay. He could not be certain if Lady Constance would attend, but if she did she would know where he could be found.

If she wished to find him, which he very much hoped she did. Surely, she would. She did not strike him as a lady full of guile and tricks. She'd said she hoped to see him here so he would believe that she did.

Matthew had already driven off several of his friends who'd thought to sit with him. He must keep the seats at his table wide open. He had no time for those gentlemen.

Had it happened to him? Was he bowled over? It felt as if he might be. He'd thought about Lady Constance all the night before. She was lovely, that could not be denied. Of course, so were many of the other ladies attending Almack's. It was just that they were not lovely in the same way.

There was something about Lady Constance's coloring, her deep brown hair and dark brown eyes, and then her complexion was not very pale. It struck him as warm. It occurred to him that he really did not care for fair-haired ladies with skin so translucent that one might spot a vein on their neck. It was a very cold sort of coloring.

Of course, her looks would have added up to nothing had not her person been warm too. She was so charming in an unstudied and enthusiastic sort of manner. They'd got on in conversation so easily! He could imagine having that sort of conversation over a breakfast table.

He could imagine reaching out for her hand at that breakfast table, as that was exactly what he'd had to stop himself from doing last night.

In fact, he had imagined both those things and a lot more.

That was what signified, was it not? He would not go by his own parents' example. As a usual thing at breakfast, the earl complained about something on the sideboard and his mother explained that it was the way of the world and there would always be another breakfast on the morrow. His father would be annoyed that yet again the way of the world was to blame for burnt kidneys. Then they'd carry on in silence.

Matthew could use his grandparents as an example, though. They'd never run out of things to talk about and very little of it had been complaining.

The one argument he'd ever witnessed between them had eventually been resolved when it drifted into hilarity.

His grandfather had posited that it had been over a year since they'd had the local squire to dine and they must issue an invitation.

His grandmother had sniffed and said they'd just managed to get the stains out of the cloth thanks to his atrocious table manners and his conversation lacked gentility or sense.

His grandfather claimed any earl worth his salt did not ignore his neighbors.

Then his grandmother threw the salt cellar at him and told him he could keep all his salt.

They had both collapsed in laughter. Matthew never did find out if the squire came to dinner.

He could not imagine ever having any sort of argument with Lady Constance, though he supposed all husbands and wives had them from time to time. If they did disagree on a matter, he imagined the disagreement would be gentle and not last long. Or she would throw the salt cellar at him and it would all be resolved.

Masterson had pointed out that though Lady Constance sounded like a cracking sort of lady, she did not come with a whopping dowry and the earl was certain to be against it. Matthew refused to think of that point.

He had not been struck with a lady until now and he was not at all prepared to turn and walk away over money concerns.

There. Finally. There she was.

She had come to the rout. She had come to the ballroom, just where he said he would be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Constance had gone through a time of it convincing her mother and father to attend Lady Kendrick's rout. Her father, especially, did not favor the idea. It would be crowded and hot and loud and he could not understand why anybody in the world went to them.

The countess was, however, a bit more astute. She seemed to eventually guess that Constance was so intent on going because she was intent on seeing someone there. Her mother had not asked who and Constance did not know if she could guess at that too.

Now they were in the doors and the earl said, "I suppose we ought to track down Lady Kendrick and say hello. Constance, you can see what this is, very tedious. Perhaps we pay our respects and slip back out the door. I ought to have told our coachman to just drive up and down the street and wait for us."

Constance had no intention of being turned round now. She grasped her father's arm and said, "Come, Papa, we will head straight to the ballroom and you can sit down. I have been told it will be filled with tables and chairs and is the least crowded room."

"A chair? Yes, that would suit, I suppose," the earl said.

Her mother was amused. "Goodness," she said, "let us repair to this ballroom with all the tables and chairs…and whoever we may encounter there."

They had pushed their way through the crowd. Constance had not forgotten Lord Bramley's instructions—make her way down the great hall to the second set of double doors.

"This way, Papa," she said, pulling him along.

She ignored her mother's laughter on her other side.

Lord Bramley had told no tales; the ballroom had been the easiest thing in the world to locate thanks to his directions.

They stood just inside the doors. Then, she saw him. He sat alone at a table with four chairs and he leapt up and waved at her.

He'd leapt up and waved at her. It was a very charming thing to do, she thought.

Attempting to keep her composure, she did not wildly wave back, though she would have liked to. Rather, she said, "Oh look, there is Lord Bramley. We ought to go say hello."

"I do not doubt it," the countess said with a small smile.

"Ah Bramley, fine fellow, let's do," the earl said.

They made their way over and Lord Bramley greeted them. "Earl, Countess, Lady Constance, if you would care to sit with me I will track down a footman to bring refreshments."

"Very kind, Bramley," the earl said. "I do not as a regular thing enjoy a rout but Constance insisted on going. This does not seem too bad, though."

Constance hoped her face had not burst into flames brighter than a thousand suns. What was her father thinking of, telling the lord she had insisted on coming?

Lord Bramley did seem pleased to hear it though. He nodded, smiling, and if she were not mistaken his own complexion had deepened. Gracious, it was both awkward and not awkward. It was as if they understood each other, but were embarrassed by it, and also glad of it.

He hurried off to locate a footman, which was rather delightful as he'd entirely forgotten to inquire what it was they wanted.

The countess had already seated herself. The earl made to sit across from her and she said, "No, my darling, do come and sit next to me. We can better have a conversation."

Constance was grateful for her mother to think of it. It would place Lord Bramley sitting next to her, rather than across.

"A conversation?" the earl asked warily. "Have I done something?"

The countess laughed. "Goodness, can I not wish to have a conversation with my dear husband without him imagining he's done something?"

The earl looked as if he did not know what to make of it. Constance did, though. Her mother was managing her father very well and she had every hope that the lady would engage her husband in a long conversation regarding something or other.

Lord Bramley returned with a bottle and four glasses. "I realized I never asked what you might care for," he said. "I had a look at Lady Kendrick's offerings though, and took the best of the bottles she had. It's an aged hock."

"Oh yes," the earl said, examining the bottle ticket, "we have that at the club from time to time with the dessert course. That will do very well."

Lord Bramley seemed relieved to hear it. He poured out four glasses and handed them round. Constance noticed that she was handed her glass first, though it should really have been the countess. She thought the countess noticed too and was amused by it.

"I say, Bramley," the earl said, "what do you make of this bet between Collins and Brinkley—the race to Brighton? Who will take it?"

Before Lord Bramley could answer with a prediction, the countess said, "Now darling, I insist on hearing of every detail of that proposed race before we press Lord Bramley to guess the winner. I wish to know it all. I suppose Lord Bramley can explain the whole thing to Constance."

"Well I don't see why I ought not tell you both at the same time," the earl said, looking back and forth between his wife and daughter.

"The ballroom is rather loud," the countess said, though it was not particularly. "Let us not add to it by shouting across the table."

"Loud—"

Before the earl could point out that it was not overloud, the countess laid a hand on his arm. He knew as well as Constance did what that signal meant. He might not know why he was meant to stop talking, but he would know that he should.

The earl, particularly in his younger days, had not had a particularly astute ability to read the feelings he was invoking in other people. He was better at it now, but still was not very good at noting subtle signals. It had long been agreed between husband and wife that she would lay a hand on his arm when he ought to abandon ship, as it were. The countess would explain why later.

The earl gave the slightest of shrugs and turned to his wife, giving up all idea of explaining the bet to the table, all at once. Once resigned to it, he began to outline to his wife with enthusiasm all the details of the race to Brighton.

Lord Bramley said, "Lady Constance, shall you wish to understand the ins and outs of the bet between Lord Collins and Lord Brinkley?"

"Not really," she said laughing.

"I am glad, as I do not actually know them. I heard of the bet but did not pay too much attention to it."

"You are not a gambler, then?" Constance asked.

"No, I've never really taken to it. I did at one point consider it as a way to bring in more to the estate, but I've never pursued the idea—too many have failed at that effort. As for enjoying it as one enjoys a sport, it does not catch my interest."

"Nor mine," Constance said. "Would it be very shocking to admit that I don't even particularly care for cards? I cannot be bothered to struggle through it in pursuit of a few pounds."

"Ah, whist. A more tedious game has never been invented. I cannot see what people like about it."

Constance nodded. "It can go on too long, and then one's partner can become so irritated if one is not paying strict attention."

Lord Bramley laughed. "One time, at a house party, the Duchess of Ralston pronounced me the worst partner she'd ever had."

"Goodness. In front of other people?"

"Other people, and the queen, in fact. It was Lady Dudmore's annual eccentric house party and the queen always attends."

"I should be frightened to death to play cards in the same room as the queen. I was vastly relieved to get my curtsy done."

"I do not believe it," Lord Bramley said. "You seem the type of lady who has an inner fortitude. Not one to walk round trying to prove how bold you are, but when needed, the strength will be there."

Constance sipped her wine, as she did not know how to answer that. It was very complimentary, though she was less sure it was true.

"I have embarrassed you," Lord Bramley said. "I will change the subject and ask a question I have been wondering about for years. What do ladies do with those monstrous court dresses? I do not have sisters, otherwise I would have asked them about it."

He did not have sisters. That was a fact she had not known about him. She already knew he was the only son—the heir with no spare, her father called it. She did not have brothers or sisters either.

"Well, I do not wish to disparage the style of dress Queen Charlotte insists upon," Constance said, "but I think I may at least say it is not meant for wear in any other setting but a curtsy. Mine is packed away and has been sent to our modiste. She will take it apart and use the various materials for something more…practical."

"Excellent idea," Lord Bramley said, refilling both their wine glasses. "I suppose my sisters, had I any, would have done just the same."

"I did not know you had no sisters, though I did know you had no brothers. I am a single child as well."

"Did you miss the absence of brothers and sisters?" Lord Bramley asked. "I always have."

"Indeed, yes, I have always thought it would be lovely to have had that. Especially brothers."

"Really? Now I have always thought it would be helpful to have sisters. I might be able to ask them all sorts of things."

"That is precisely why I wished for an older brother," Constance said.

"Well, we could always ask such things of each other," Lord Bramley said with a smile.

"Yes, we could, I suppose."

"And I have always thought, God willing, that I wish for a house blessed with a lot of children."

"I too," Constance said.

"But you are not frightened of the birth…"

Lord Bramley trailed off. Constance was not surprised by it, how on earth had they managed to land on pregnancy? It was not exactly a topic for a rout, or anywhere really. There was something intimate in even referring to it. Though, she could not say she was sorry, or shocked.

"I am not frightened," she said.

They fell to silence, both perhaps realizing they had wandered into impolite territory.

Lord Bramley said, "If I may ask, what sort of hobbies do you enjoy?"

Constance bit her lip. Asking about hobbies was certainly one way to get off the subject of childbirth. "I suppose I ought to list all the usual things a lady is meant to like—playing an instrument, netting a purse, painting a fire screen and such. But the one thing I do like to the exclusion of all others is drawing. I am not very good at it, but I like it all the same."

"Have you taken a sketch paper out in London?"

"I have not," Constance said. "I did bring all my supplies with me, but so far have only done a pencil sketch of the view out my window."

Lord Bramley then described a certain view along the Serpentine in the park that might be inspiring. He went on to say that the late afternoons provided the most enchanting light.

"My mother likes to draw too, perhaps she will wish to try out the spot. Some late afternoon."

The earl suddenly turned to face them. "Well Bramley, I hope you've managed to acquaint my daughter with the facts of the race to Brighton. My countess has wrung every last point out of me."

"I feel I know as much as I need to regarding the race," Constance said. It was the truth, too. She did not know the first thing about it, nor did she need to. She'd found out more about Lord Bramley and that was what she was interested in. Lord Collins and Lord Brinkley could run themselves off the road for all she cared about it.