Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

HARLEY-STREET, LONDON

T he apartments at number eight Harley-street proved to be imposingly large, handsome, and well-fitted up. Nothing less, Margaret thought as she entered them on the second day of their journey, than Fanny would find acceptable. The Dashwoods enjoyed a sizeable income, and Fanny was always happy when that was displayed to the most advantage. Two elegant and new-furnished drawing rooms which could be joined by opening wide doors graced the upper level. A spacious dining room, with a table long enough for a large party of people, boasted tall windows overlooking Harley-street itself. No guests in that room could fail to remember they were in Mayfair, thought Margaret, smiling to herself.

To Margaret's surprise there was a letter awaiting her already, having been delivered that very morning. It was from Marianne, whom, she had been previously informed by a letter from her mother, had somewhat recovered her spirits, and had gone after all to stay with the Palmers.

While the note contained commonplaces about the Palmers and her hopes for Margaret's having had a good journey, Margaret was not in any way comforted by the style of her sister's writing—Marianne seemed anxious and unsettled—and when her sister ended the note by entreating her to call at Hanover-square just as soon as she could be released from any obligations to Fanny and John, Margaret felt all the urgency that sisterly regard naturally bestows. As soon as she found herself at leisure to write a return note, Margaret assured her sister of a call the very next morning. She would, she explained, have come today, but Fanny had fixed on their walking out in Hyde Park that very afternoon, not being satisfied until she could leave her card at the doors of whoever mattered here, and make an early visit to that place most auspicious for being seen.

Not unhappy herself in being obliged to go out almost as soon as she had arrived, Margaret was keen to put off her travelling clothes. She would be very ungrateful indeed if she did not accompany John and Fanny on their first outing and she had no objection to seeing her first real scenes of London life. She had been given possession of her room and now she changed quickly enough, with the help of the maid, into the pretty walking ensemble which the maid had set out for her.

One of several gowns that Fanny had ordered before they had left, she scrutinized it, and herself, in the glass. The pale grey silk spencer matched perfectly the fine bonnet, and the pale pink and grey silk gown below, and she smiled at herself in the glass to find herself dressed thus! To wear such fine garments was already an amazing circumstance to her, but three matching garments was a novelty! And then to be obliged to wear such finery for weeks on end! How would she bear it, and not wish to put off her shoes and gloves and bonnets as often as she could? Part of her longed for the simplicity of life spent in the country, where finery and restraining boots and gloves were seldom called for!

Her mind instantly recalled the pleasant hour she had spent with Captain Edwin, fishing on the bank of Hadston brook, her stockings and shoes removed. And with this memory came the recollection of his proposal, only three days ago. That astonishing turn of events had occasioned more than a few private blushes since, and to tell the truth the event had barely left her mind since. It had been impossible, indeed, to think of much else!

The tumult of her mind, the confusion of her senses, after he had left her, had been great. That Captain Edwin could be in love with her, and after so short an acquaintance, she had never considered. Her astonishment at his proposal spoke to her plainly of her own innocence in matters of the heart, and because of it, she now felt ever more justified in her rejection of his offer. She was quite right in feeling herself unequal to marriage, that she needed to learn more of the world first. The rushing confusion of strange feelings, and the thumping of her heart, had surely proven that she was too young, too untried, for any proposal, let alone one from a man much older than herself.

She had felt herself stirred and agitated for the entire afternoon, although she had been most careful not to give Fanny and John any idea of her being in such a tumult of sensations, for had Fanny discovered the cause, she might never have left the topic alone nor forgiven Margaret for the unpardonable crime of "giving inappropriate preferences" or of being proposed to by Captain Edwin!

Margaret had managed to conceal her distress through dinner, but by the next day she had found herself more tranquil again. The Captain had caught her unawares, and she was right, she felt, to reject him, but despite all these things, she admitted to herself that she would continue to think of her afternoon fishing adventure, and their many fascinating conversations, with the greatest pleasure! Still, she found herself frequently recalling Captain Edwin's proposal, and with it, the attendant confusion of feelings that the memory still evoked in her. She comforted herself that it would soon pass from her mind, being surpassed with all that must be new to her in this visit to town.

Now, hearing Fanny call her downstairs with some impatience, she hurriedly went down. Not a moment too soon, for the front door was open and John was already bidding them all through it and into the waiting carriage. Blue and gold-liveried footmen handed her in, and Margaret saw with a private smile how much in her true environment was her sister-in-law, as she went in stately form to her own seat.

Fanny cast an approving eye over Margaret as they rolled off. ‘You are in your best looks, I am glad to see, Miss Margaret,' she said smugly. ‘Your brother and I expect you to do us credit. You will meet many respectable gentlemen here, and who knows what offers may arise from it,' she added with a mysterious look in her dark eye. ‘You know your own powers too well, I think,' she continued speculatively. ‘You cannot be unaware of your own beauty. You must use it to your advantage. But I need not press you, for I see you have taken my words to heart already. The rose silk suits your colouring, and I imagine you have put it on to the purpose.'

Margaret, vexed to have Fanny attribute vanity to her motives for dressing, said very warmly, ‘Indeed, Fanny, I did not think of that at all! I only put on whatever the servant handed me out of the trunk.'

But Fanny would not have it any other way and when John added his approval to Fanny's, Margaret was thankful that today, at least, she did not warrant a scolding and an instruction to go and change her dress or hair! But that Fanny and John both thought her capable of using her youth, and any beauty with which she may have been fortunate enough to be endowed, vexed her greatly, and she did not favour Fanny's conversation with any response for some time.

The first part of the afternoon was spent chiefly in leaving cards at the houses of Fanny and John's acquaintance—they were come to town, although Fanny's established connections did not need to be told that the Dashwoods were "at home" Wednesdays and Fridays, and would receive calls between two and four, for Fanny's habits in town were the same each year.

Joint cards announcing the John Dashwoods' arrival in town were handed everywhere. Several of Fanny's personal cards were also handed to the liveried footmen of some illustrious dwellings, and more than one ‘Sir and Lady This-or-That' was murmured in Margaret's hearing. That John and Fanny were openly proud to be on visiting terms with persons of rank obliged an almost-smiling Margaret to preserve her gravity as best she could, for she had never imagined that one's happiness could depend so much upon whom one received or called upon with a little scrap of paper! On those grounds alone she judged herself as very much wanting in contentment, in the eyes of her brother and sister-in-law!

In the entirety of their drive around town, leaving cards at what seemed to Margaret like every establishment in London, the little party of three did not once need to leave the carriage, so well-judged had Fanny's timing been. Every old acquaintance, and every desired connection alike had been out parading and the footman who attended them carried the cards to the front door of each establishment.

‘There is a great advantage,' explained Fanny to Margaret when she asked, ‘of not having to suffer the embarrassment of being rejected at a front door. While I myself have yet never suffered such an embarrassment, I do think it rather politic to be careful when one is only on bowing acquaintance. One ought to make it a standing rule never to call in person on one's first call of the season, unless one is particularly acquainted with the resident therein. Unless I am calling on very intimate acquaintances, a card will do just as well as a call, on one's first day in town.'

Margaret, who did not know anything of what was expected on one's first day in town since she had never been to London in her life, allowed Fanny to be right, and wondered at the intricate etiquette which was so necessary in town, and so absent at Barton, where no one stood on any kind of ceremony ever, not even Sir John and Lady Middleton!

Fanny, very satisfied with herself, smiled at Margaret's ignorance and added that, ‘besides this, she was really quite pleased at having not once had to give herself the trouble of leaving the carriage and entering a drawing room before she herself had been seen taking the air', and that to ill-judge one's timing of these things was ‘most unpleasant', at which Margaret smilingly agreed that it must be very unpleasant indeed!

She did not ask if this was a foible of Fanny's in particular or a general rule in town, but she wondered if she would ever learn what seemed to be the very intricate and mysterious rules of town-going. Since no such formalities were ever practised at home, she must give in to ignorance and learn as she went along!

At any rate, this elaborate choreography of calling etiquette was accomplished within an hour and a half, so that after more than a dozen of such calling cards had been left, they finally entered Cumberland Gate, and rolled to a stop on one of the white-gravelled roads. Margaret was glad to disembark from the carriage and stretch her legs. Fanny took charge, and they began to stroll among the other parties also enjoying the afternoon sun.

Hyde Park was larger than the eye could see. Before Margaret lay a large expanse of green lawn with many large trees dappled in the late afternoon light, several shaded gravel paths, two or three white-gravelled roads which wound around its circumference, and populated, at this fashionable hour of four o' clock, by the thrumming elite of the ton. Some of these latter were on horseback, some walked, and some rode in carriages up and down and through the park. Equipages of all forms trotted to and from both sides of the park, bearing the painted crests of the families, and almost all sporting liveried, white-wigged footmen. Spotted carriage hounds atop the base boards looked out at the passing parade as keenly as those inside the carriages. It was to Margaret a peculiar scene, and she was both amused and captivated by the sights and sounds of which she had heard so much. The place, she determined, was certainly crowded, each party observing and being observed in kind, and all seeming to take the greatest pleasure in the formalities of parading.

They walked in Rotten Row, where they were able to see all the gentlemen on their horses, trotting out alone and in parties of two or three. John was kind enough to explain some of the sights to her as they went, although Fanny seemed preoccupied, her attention taken up with looking for her own acquaintances.

Margaret was not a little exhilarated to be finally in town, and to begin her adventures in a world outside of Barton village. Conscious of not dirtying her skirts in the dusty Row, she perused the horses, the fine gentlemen, and the sumptuously-garbed ladies who walked sedately in front and behind them, passing many a gentleman in a tall hat and tailcoat who gave her open stares, and doffed their hats occasionally. She did not know where to place her eyes at first but soon found their behaviour amusing enough and although averting her glance, smiled to herself as they walked.

John and Fanny seemed to know many faces, for they nodded, bowed and waved to several groups which they passed, and presently Margaret was alerted particularly when Fanny said with animation, ‘Ah, here are Mr Ambrose and Mr Claymore.' She turned to Margaret. ‘They are particular acquaintances of ours. Mr Ambrose, indeed, is the most agreeable personage of our acquaintance. They are sure to come over. They see us! They wave! So very civil!'

Two gentlemen on horseback had been trotting their mounts alongside a stand of tall trees, but when they had observed Fanny and John standing a small distance away, they pulled up and saluted the walking party. Both men wore the tall hats which were the riding fashion for gentlemen, but while one was much older and made a slight figure on his beast, Margaret could see that the younger of the two men had the more authoritative air. Saying something briefly to his companion, which Margaret could not hear, he veered his mount off towards them, the slighter man following up behind.

As they approached, Margaret saw that he bore a Saturnian forehead, strong, high cheek bones and a fine nose, and was strikingly well-looking. His light coloured hair below the tall riding hat was brushed forward, in the common style of the day, and he sported fashionably long side-burns. He was perhaps around eight or nine-and-twenty. He did not dismount immediately but spoke in low tones to Fanny and John. His bearing was very upright, although he seemed relaxed—he was entirely without self-consciousness, and when he did dismount his beast it was with a grace that Margaret could not help but admire.

The other man was quite opposite in appearance to his friend, being of small stature, dark-haired, bespectacled, and nearer fifty than forty. He did not speak much but deferred to his friend.

John greeted both gentlemen amiably, and Fanny with an air of self-satisfaction that Margaret did not understand. She observed how suddenly animated Fanny was in speaking to the pair, and how particularly she addressed herself to the younger of the two fellows. This gentleman was certainly striking in his bearing. While his height, air and address she conceded to be everything pleasing, and he had an air of elegance about him, there was something in the way he held himself which told of a great self-assurance which bordered on immoderate pride. He had glanced her way briefly, but was polite enough to wait for the introduction. At any rate, after a moment, Fanny was saying something about, ‘Miss Dashwood, John's half-sister,' and Margaret was pressed to come forward.

‘How do you do?' she curtsied politely to both men.

The taller gentleman greeted her with a gallant bow. She saw that his eyes, heavy-lidded, were a very pale blue, so light that they were most unusual.

‘How do you do, Miss Dashwood? You have just arrived in town, I believe?' His tone was lazy, and rich in timbre.

‘We arrived this morning, Sir.'

‘Ah. Then you have had little time to rest before coming out to parade! How excessively tired you must be! And yet you look as fresh as if you have just awoken!' There was a languidness to his address which she was not sure was natural or studied.

‘I am not tired at all, Sir,' replied Margaret, while Fanny said at the same time, ‘I could not stay in, Mr Ambrose, for it is not one of my at-home days. There is the task of calling, and it would have set us up very ill if I had not come out! We must have engagements at once!'

‘I am sure you will have many awaiting you by the time you return home.' Ambrose turned gently to Margaret. ‘You will find the whole of London never sleeps, Miss Dashwood—it is a dreadfully singular habit of the London crowd—there is so much to keep them from their beds! They are out from nine or ten in the evening, until five or six in the morning, go home and sleep for three hours, get up for breakfast, go out to parade, and then begin the whole process over again! You must get used to always being tired, I'm afraid!'

‘Oh!' said Margaret in some astonishment, ‘It is all so interesting to me, that I am sure I shan't be very tired at all!'

Then ensued some of the civilities which belong to new acquaintances—was she pleased with London? From which country had she come? Did she like Sussex?? Had she a large acquaintance in Barton? By the time he had been satisfied on all these points, Fanny and John had become engaged in business talk with the other gentleman, sequestering Margaret with Ambrose to one side of his beast. She thought his manners were so exactly what they ought to be—polished and easy, that she decided Fanny must have been quite right to recommend him as the most agreeable personage of her acquaintance. Now that she could see him, hear the easy, pleasant way he spoke, she could not but agree!

There was a little silence now which he seemed not at all to be concerned to fill, although his gaze was unwavering. A little discomforted by his attention, she ventured, ‘Your friend, I think, is shy of strangers?'

‘Claymore?'

He turned to assess his friend for a moment, and Margaret had the opportunity to see that his every movement was deliberate, as if he never acted from impulse. It was a little disconcerting but spoke to her of his great self-control.

‘Yes, I suppose he is,' he added musingly. ‘I hope you will forgive him, however. Not all of us are as easy in a first meeting as you and I.' He gave her a lazy smile.

‘My brother-in-law, Edward, is the same. He is so dear, and quite open in his manners, and yet he is so very shy upon first meetings that one would think him rude until one has a firmer acquaintance with him.'

‘I see. You are fortunate to have a brother so dear to you. I have no close relations, myself.'

‘Then I can only feel most sorry for you!'

‘You are very kind.' He bowed graciously. ‘So, you have come for your first London season, Miss Dashwood. I hope you will find all the amusements of town to your liking.'

‘Thankyou.'

‘You must be careful to always take a woman, or a footman, with you whenever you go out unaccompanied, however. There are dangers in the city that you have no notion of, yet. '

Not sure if she ought to enquire as to the nature of these dangers, she only said politely, ‘You are very kind, I am sure.'

‘And what do you do with yourselves in Barton? It is a small place, I am given to understand?'

‘With my sisters both married and within a moderate distance, I spend much of my time with my nieces and nephews. We have been at Delaford all summer, since Mama has been recuperating there from a long illness.'

‘I am sorry to hear it,' replied he, but she could scarcely tell if he was sorry or not, for his eyelids shuttered his expression. ‘I suppose you do not get out of Barton much?'

‘Very seldom, Sir—only to Delaford.'

‘Then London will be even more fascinating for you. Will you like it, do you think?'

‘Oh, very much, for every new place must be interesting to someone who has never travelled,' she cried, then, rather self-conscious at her outburst, added humbly, ‘but I have only been here a few hours, of course.'

‘And are you come to town for the same thing every other young lady is here for?'

Margaret, by now not a little affected by the handsome person of his presence, blushed a little at his implication and replied ingenuously, ‘As I cannot claim to know even one other young lady here, I cannot say, Sir. Pray, what do other young ladies come to town for?'

‘Either you are too silly to take my meaning, or you are too clever to be trapped into a confession!' he replied languidly. ‘I shall speak more plainly then. Most young ladies come here for one thing only—to get themselves husbands.'

Her cheeks flushed with self-consciousness. ‘Then I am not like other young ladies, for I did not come for the express purpose of finding myself a husband.'

‘Now, Miss Dashwood, I merely sport with you a little. My friends call me a great tease, you know. So, tell me, if you did not come here in the hopes of leaving the place married, what did you come for?'

Margaret, a little mollified, and in much confusion of feeling as he continued to look down at her, replied, ‘Why, John invited me to stay! To say the truth, Mr Ambrose, I come with no intention other than to learn more about the world, to experience new things—to amuse my mind.'

‘To amuse your mind!' replied he with dry astonishment. ‘Will you be satisfied then, do you think, with the kind of overt amusements London has to offer young women? If you like dancing, certainly you will be amused, but as for mind, that is another matter altogether.'

‘And yet I am sure that I shall be easily satisfied. I have lived all my life in the country. To me, everything that is new must be a delight, and must amuse me because of it. New people, for example, must always be interesting!'

A few feet away, John laughed at something their friend had said, and their attention caught, Margaret and Ambrose both turned to observe the others for a moment. Fanny, too, turned her head toward them and gave them a speculative glance, then turned back to her companion.

Margaret hoped that her sister-in-law did not suppose Margaret was trying to entice yet another gentleman! It was bad enough that she was obliged into concealing a proposal from Captain Edwin! But by the way Fanny had greeted Ambrose, Margaret did not think she could frown upon her conversing with a stranger Fanny so obviously approved. Mr Ambrose was probably very rich, or very high-bred. That she could understand would mean more to Fanny than an unranked gentleman of excellent standing and good information, such as Captain Edwin.

Ambrose now turned back to her. ‘Easily satisfied!' he echoed her words. ‘And yet I suspect you have more discernment than to be "easily satisfied" with everything you see. I have seen many young ladies here show little discernment in choices of amusement, and are pleased by anything at all, however ridiculous or mundane. You are not such a creature, I think!'

‘Am I not? How can you tell? What sort of female do you suppose me to be, then, Mr Ambrose?'

‘You have a fine intellect, and you desire to exercise it,' he said after a short pause. ‘Perhaps because you have lived too repressed a life, now you come to town to find novelty. Well—you shall find it here, although constant novelty can wear thin after a time.'

‘I am sure I am not the only female seeking to enrich her mind here—I have heard about the exhibitions, the museums, libraries—not all ladies want only to dance and to flutter their fans at gentlemen! As for novelty, I have so little of it, that I am certain novelty will only enthral me!'

‘You have an appetite for living,' he observed blandly. ‘It is rare to see in this place.'

‘Surely all those who visit town have come to be amused in some form or other? There is nothing so wrong in that, is there?'

‘Most females here are already jaded and dull, having had their fill of many months' worth of amusement. London is like a fine, rich banquet.' He turned to casually survey the scene of the park, the turned back to her. ‘But one cannot dine on rich food every night, Miss Dashwood, or a delicious meal will soon become a punishment. One becomes stuffed, overfull, sickened, if you like, from overindulgence. I hope that does not happen to you. It would be a pity for you to lose that charming country freshness you have about you!'

She said quickly to cover her rising self-consciousness, ‘I can hardly have any anxiety on that score, Mr Ambrose, as I am here only for two or three months. My brother has been very kind to bring me with them for this season, but I dare say I shall never have another. So I shall not be here long enough to spoil myself with overindulgence. But I thank you for your warning! '

‘Oh, I suspect you of more discernment than most, Miss Dashwood. Ah, I have made you blush. I mean these things in the most flattering way, although I never flatter other people as a rule,' he added disingenuously.

‘And yet you have done nothing but flatter me, Mr Ambrose!'

‘I beg your pardon, then, but I meant very sincerely to compliment you. But do not tell me that you do not care for flattery, Miss Dashwood? You will not much like London, then, for with your face, I am sure that you will be unashamedly flattered every day!'

Feeling most disordered, she was spared the necessity of commenting since Fanny and John now had returned to them. Fanny, bestowing on Margaret another speculative glance, said, ‘What is it you are talking about, Ambrose? I hope you and Miss Dashwood have been speaking of pleasant things!'

‘We were talking of the amusements to be had in London, Ma'am,' replied Ambrose smoothly. ‘Dashwood, I shall take my leave of you, but I expect,' he added with a glance at Margaret, ‘to have the honour of your company again very soon. Until then I bid you all a good day! Miss Dashwood!'

Margaret turned with Fanny and John to continue their walk, but she could not help turning back just once to see the two riders disappear into the crowds. It was only later that night, when she reviewed the meeting in her mind, that she realized that neither Fanny nor John had said a word to Mr Ambrose about this visit to town being her first season.