Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

W ith much to prepare before a ball could be successfully compassed, they travelled to Tipton House at the end of that week. The London into which they arrived was as unfamiliar to Adelaide as Chiltern Court had initially been, though not for want of previous visits; she had been many times in the capacity of servant to a wealthy family. The London she knew was a dirty place, full of squalor and hardship. A place in which women toiled in cellars and ran errands in backstreets, well away from the beautified world of the Quality.

Knowing what deprivation swirled about just out of view tainted all her pursuits—her present one, sipping tea in an opulent parlour at two o'clock in the afternoon—with a sense of absurdity.

"Are you listening, dear?"

Adelaide blinked her gaze back into focus and apologised to her aunt. "Could you repeat that? I was quite lost in my thoughts."

Lady Tipton tried to give her a stern look, though Adelaide was learning that her aunt was not particularly good at being stern, so she did not take it too much to heart.

"Never admit to not paying attention, Adelaide. You would have done better to smile and respond with a question of your own. Better yet, do not allow your attention to wander in the first place."

"Sorry."

Her ladyship put her cup down and frowned worriedly at her. "Is something the matter?"

Adelaide was on the cusp of saying no, but the concern in her aunt's face stopped her. They were tentatively working their way towards a closer understanding, and moments such as these were becoming steadily more frequent and less awkward. She forced herself to answer honestly.

"Everything is just so…different. It was at Chiltern Court, too, at first—only it mattered less there. Here, everybody will see me. I feel a greater expectation to succeed—and a far greater likelihood of failing." She dropped her gaze to her lap and added, "I am not sure that my coming here was such a good idea."

After a brief silence, Lady Tipton surprised her by rising from her seat to come and sit next to her.

"I shall not insult you by pretending that we do not all have some reservations. But you are such a brave girl, and so deserving of some happiness."

Adelaide looked up, surprised again to hear her say such a thing.

Her aunt corroborated her words with a warm smile and a nod. Then she patted Adelaide's knee affectionately. " But we are here now. What say we stop worrying about what might go wrong and make the most of what London has to offer? You have some time to settle in before we must see anyone, regardless, for I have not made our presence in town widely known. And in the meantime, we have a visit to the modiste to look forward to. That will be pleasant."

"And I shall fill up the rest of your time with sightseeing," said Oakley from the doorway, startling them both. He came into the room and went directly to the table to pick up a cake. "How should you like to see the lions at the Tower of London?" With his mouth full, he sounded like an excited schoolboy, which cheered Adelaide considerably.

"I should like that very well. I heard them roar once when I was down at the river, buying cockles for my mistress. It was so loud, I thought it was thunder. I flatly refused to believe the cockle seller when he said it was lions."

Lady Tipton made a little noise that drew Adelaide's attention to her anxious expression. "That is most diverting, dear, but perhaps do not tell that story when we begin to call on people."

"You will have new tales to tell them by then," Oakley said cheerfully, "for we have plenty to see besides the Tower."

He was true to his word; though somewhat limited by their desire to remain inconspicuous, they still managed to see much of the capital over the following days. Indeed, Oakley traipsed Adelaide around so many galleries, cathedrals, and historic monuments that she went to bed some nights as tired as when she had been labouring for a living. When the day of the ball arrived, she was almost fatigued enough to contemplate crying off, though the delivery that arrived from the modiste after breakfast soon put paid to any such foolish notions.

Her gown for that evening was by far the finest thing Adelaide had ever worn. She felt resplendent in it—until she stepped through the front door of Mr Hanson's house and beheld at least two score ladies with prettier faces in finer gowns. Then, she did not so much wish that she had stayed at Chiltern Court as that she had never left High Brook, for she had not a hope of convincing anyone present she was of noble birth.

"I thought Mr Hanson said it would be a small affair," she whispered to Oakley in alarm.

"It is compared to some of the crushes we shall attend in next year's Season. Look lively, here come our hosts."

Mr Hanson, looking exceedingly well in a distinctive red velvet coat, greeted them warmly, then introduced his sister. She was handsomer than her brother, and taller than Adelaide, but with a countenance that appeared dissatisfied whenever she was not speaking. Between every smile, her expression flattened out, making it excessively difficult to gauge her sincerity.

"Lady Tipton, Lord Oakley, it has been too long! You are exceedingly welcome," Miss Hanson began. "And Miss Richmond, I cannot tell you how delighted my brother and I are that you agreed to come, too. I see now why he has been in such raptures since meeting you. You are every bit as handsome as he described."

"Oh. Why, thank you. Um…and you," she mumbled, ne ver quite sure how to accept a compliment gracefully, and even less so when it might be disingenuous.

Miss Hanson smirked. "My brother told you I was handsome?"

"No, he…I did not mean?—"

"May I look forward to the honour of a dance this evening, Miss Hanson?" Oakley interrupted.

She accepted, and Adelaide agreed to dance the first set with Mr Hanson before allowing herself to be led away from the embarrassing encounter.

"Sorry," she whispered to Oakley. "I do not know why I said that."

"You are nervous, but there is no need to be."

"Thank you for intervening."

"My pleasure." He grinned down at her. "It is just what an elder brother—or cousin—ought to do."

It was fortunate that he thought so, for he was obliged to disguise her missteps several more times before Mr Hanson arrived to whisk her into the first dance. It was one of the more complicated of those Adelaide had learnt, and she began awkwardly, consumed with trepidation that she would make a fool of both of them. A few minutes into the set, she was reminded how well she liked her partner. Mr Hanson had lost none of the patience he had exhibited at Chiltern Court and remained in good cheer, even after she had trodden on his toes five or maybe six times.

"Pray do not concern yourself, madam. The fault is clearly mine," he assured her. "I neglected to practise with you enough. I am a heartless beast. "

"Would you believe that I have been practising? Oakley has tried his best, but I fear I am not a natural."

"Nonsense! A lady always excels at dancing. If there is any deficiency, it must be her partner's fault." He spun prematurely into the next figure, giving her feet no opportunity to go near his. "Have you enjoyed your time in London so far?"

"Yes, very much. It is so unlike how I remember it from when I was here before, though. I have never noticed some of the things my cousin has shown me this week."

"I am intrigued. What have you seen at other times?"

Adelaide faltered. She had been thinking of the tearoom Oakley had taken her to that afternoon, which had turned out to be just around the corner from the gin palace, whence she and Patty had once rescued the Grishams' footman, Gregory. Scarcely a politic example to give.

"Oh, the same things, only in more detail," she hedged. "Like the Tower. I have seen it many times, but never the menagerie. Did you know they accept meat for the animals as payment for admittance? We saw one man throw a stray cat in with the lions. It was ripped to shreds, poor thing."

The ladies on both sides of her cried out in disgust, and she cursed privately at the realisation that she had trespassed, so early in proceedings, onto one of her aunt's vast lists of unacceptable topics of conversation. To her relief, Mr Hanson rolled his eyes at the women's responses and winked at her .

"And did your cousin take you to the painting exhibition at Christie's?" he enquired.

When she answered that he had, he asked how well she liked it.

"It was fair. Two dozen bowls of fruit and a few naked old men can only hold one's interest for so long."

This time, she realised she had erred before the women alerted her to it with their stifled laughter. Looking at them made her fumble her steps—and Mr Hanson his, in turn. He showed not a whit of vexation for it, but it drew more jeers from the other dancers in the line and stole much of her enjoyment of the rest of the set. She hardly knew what answers she gave to his continued questions, for she was too preoccupied with attending to her feet, and when the time eventually came for her to return to Lady Tipton's side, she drained her glass of punch as though she might swallow her mortification with it.

"Calm yourself. I am sure it was not as disastrous as you think," her ladyship said soothingly.

"Oh, it was!" she insisted. "The more nervous I get, the more stupid things I say, and the less I am able to control my feet."

"You danced very well, all things considered."

"Did you not see me trip?"

"No—and neither can Sir Rodney have, for he is coming this way, no doubt to ask for a dance."

Sure enough, a gentleman appeared before them and asked Lady Tipton for an introduction to Adelaide, whose hand he then requested for the next set. After him came three others, and though all of them were pleasant gentlemen, she was too nervous to speak much to any of them. Every dance seemed more complicated than the last, and her performance showed no sign of improvement—a circumstance made worse by dint of the glass of punch they each insisted on fetching for her at the end of every set. By the time a Mr Dunnock approached to engage her for the sixth, her head was spinning, and she was desperate to escape the crowd.

"I am terribly sorry, sir, but I am feeling rather bilious."

"Would a glass of wine help?"

"Thank you, but I think I must regretfully sit this one out. I do beg your pardon."

His displeasure was obvious, but he still bowed politely before stalking away across the room. Adelaide wasted no time in slipping through the nearest door. It led to a small anteroom, in which a footman was filling a row of glasses on a table. He jumped when she burst in, then watched her nervously as she pressed her back against the wall.

"Do you think you could pretend not to have seen me?" she asked quietly.

He looked relieved and with a quick nod shoved all the glasses onto a tray and went on his way.

Adelaide let out a deep sigh and willed her head to stop spinning. Whenever there had been balls at High Brook, she and Patty had spied on the guests from an anteroom not dissimilar to this one, pointing out which of the men they most wished to dance with, deciding which ladies wore the finest gowns, and generally envying everyone such an extravagant evening. Now she was finally at a ball, she found that, up close, the dancing was far harder than it looked, the conversation was stilted and uninteresting, and the drink was nauseating. The memory of sitting quietly in the workroom, stitching napkins while she and Patty chatted, made her heart ache with longing.

She allowed herself to feel it for a while, wiping away the few tears that arose as she did. Yet, once the pang of homesickness had faded, the foolishness of her distress made itself known. If Patty was presently enjoying a quiet night of sewing, it would only be after a full day of backbreaking work. If the most Adelaide had to complain about was too much entertainment, well then, she had nothing to repine at all. Less than nothing, in fact, for as well as a life of luxury, she had a brother—and he would surely begin to think his sister had been lost again if she did not return to the party soon.

"Miss Richmond!" came a familiar voice when she exited the anteroom. Miss Hanson approached with another lady at her side, whom she introduced as her good friend, Miss Nugent. "I do hope you are enjoying yourself. You are certainly the woman of the hour. Everybody is alive with talk of your remarkable story."

"Indeed," Miss Nugent added. "To be discovered like that, after so many years. How on earth did Viscount Oakley find you?"

The musicians struck up for the next set, and Adelaide began to wish she had remained hidden a little longer, for her light-headedness had not abated as much as she thought.

"By chance," she said carefully, wary of revealing too much with her head spinning as it was. "He was not looking for me, nor I him. He only happened to see me in passing and recognised my likeness to our grandmother."

"How extraordinary! But what a shame so many years were lost."

"We are more than making up for lost time."

"Yes, I heard that your cousin has been showing you some of London's more insalubrious sights. Cat-mauling lions and the like," Miss Hanson replied. With a sympathetic smile, she added, "Men do not always know the best ways to please a lady. Miss Nugent and I could take you shopping, if you like." This time, her smile remained after she stopped speaking.

Adelaide had no complaints about Oakley's methods of demonstrating his brotherly affection—but neither was she averse to Miss Hanson's offer of companionship. "I should like that very much. I have not yet made any friends here." That felt a pitiable admission to make. She tried again. "I was hoping I might make a friend of my new lady's maid." And that made her sound imbecilic. "But we hired a woman who is quite a bit older, so that seems unlikely."

A look passed between the two women that made Adelaide rue ever touching the punch, for clearly, she had been reduced to a babbling fool.

"Shall we call on you, then—to make arrangements?" Miss Hanson asked.

Adelaide had time to do no more than nod her agreement and see Miss Hanson's impassive expression return before they were all interrupted by Mr Hanson, who stumbled over to them in a manner that made it clear he had drunk at least as much punch as Adelaide, and likely a good deal more.

"There you are, Miss Richmond! Come! My toes have quite recovered. You must dance the next with me, for I am quite pining away without you."

She gave him her hand, eager to leave behind the humiliating exchange, and could not help but laugh as he pulled her with him, shouting and gesturing at his guests to get out of his way. As they joined the line, she caught Lady Tipton's eye. Her aunt's expression was poised, but her fingers were working frantically at her necklace. Adelaide felt a twinge of alarm.

Another couple joined the line beside them, and when Adelaide realised the gentleman was Oakley, she asked him what was troubling her aunt.

Oakley gave her a pained look. "She was hoping to dissuade you before you joined the line. You refused the last dance with Mr Dunnock. He will take it as a slight that you are dancing with someone else now."

"Oh! I did not realise." Adelaide searched the line of dancers and discovered the gentleman in question at the far end, glaring at her with undisguised displeasure. "Oh my."

Mr Hanson laughed. "Ignore him. He's a pompous ass anyhow. My sister should never have invited him." He took up her hands. "Come, Miss Richmond. Let us have some more practice!"

It was not until the carriage ride home that Lady Tipton had the opportunity to fully explain to Adelaide the grievous slight she had afforded Mr Dunnock.

"I beg you would forgive me! Would that I could stop embarrassing you! I told you we should not have come."

"No, no, it is I who should apologise," her ladyship replied. "I did not explain properly. Some of these conventions are so commonplace, it does not occur to me that they require explaining, but I ought to have thought of it. Still, there was no harm done, and you will know for next time."

"Mr Dunnock would not agree there was no harm done."

"My dear, this is one of those occasions that you will feel the benefit of having an uncle who is an earl. Mr Dunnock's affront will be quickly forgot. Mr Hanson's opinion mattered a little more, since it was his ball, but he seemed to find the whole thing diverting."

"He was very kind. Even though I must have bruised his toes terribly. I did not show myself to great advantage in any of the dances, did I?"

Oakley snorted. "Neither did I. I never do. Two left feet must run in the family."

Lady Tipton gave a little chuckle. "They do. I cannot speak for Robert or Damian, but Charles is an atrocious dancer."

They all laughed, though it felt to Adelaide more like camaraderie than real amusement, for she did not believe they could truly be happy about her performance.

"Cease fretting," Oakley said. "You gave a good account of yourself this evening. I heard nothing but praise for you."

"Nor I," Lady Tipton agreed. "And it will get easier, now you have crossed this first hurdle. You will see. "

Adelaide was not convinced, but she had no wish to disappoint her family any further and so did not argue. Besides, they were right that Mr Hanson had not seemed to object to any of her gaucherie. He had merely laughed it off. She only wished his laughter had felt as companionable as that which she had moments earlier shared with Oakley and her aunt, and not completely disinterested.