10. London

Chapter ten

London

T he trip to London was undertaken without any mishap. Gyles, much to Miss Trafford's disappointment, elected to ride in his own carriage to keep an eye on the Sweet-Scented China Rose that he was bringing with him. He was resolved to document every step of the transplant and migration to the metropolis to see just how hardy this variety of rosebush was.

Miss Trafford had pouted a little when she saw the rosebush taking pride of place in the Audeley carriage, but her liveliness reignited itself when she discovered that Gyles' mother would accompany her and her uncle. "You must tell me all about yourself," Miss Trafford gushed, her words wafting out the Kendall carriage window into the warm air, "and about your son too."

Gyles found himself breathing a sigh of relief in the quiet of his own carriage. It was all well and good to rescue a damsel in distress, but one never considered how unpleasant it might be to have to accompany the damsel across half the length of England. Miss Trafford had exactly the qualities that Miss Morrison lacked—beauty, imagination, enthusiasm—but none of the ones that made Miss Morrison so supremely sensible. If only there could be a perfect blend of the two women. Gyles grinned to himself at the thought of grafting virtues onto humans in the same manner as new varieties were grafted onto rose stems.

When they arrived in London, the Audeleys stayed at a hotel until they could find more permanent lodgings. Their solicitor did not think it possible to let a house near Mayfair for the price Mrs. Audeley wanted to pay, but Lord Kendall, with the canny knowledge of a London local, discovered a house for let that was perfect for their needs and not too far from his own home in Grosvenor Square.

The one thing the house lacked was any sort of garden, but Lord Kendall obligingly allowed Gyles to plant the rosebush in the courtyard behind Kendall House—a fitting gesture since the earl was, in a sense, responsible for uprooting the Audeleys from Derbyshire. It was a little spot of beauty in a sea of stone and brick. For the first week, all seemed well, but as the late summer heat continued, the bush began to look a little bedraggled. One afternoon, after a thorough inspection, Gyles could see that the sepals on one of the buds had grown most alarmingly yellow.

"I don't know what to do with it," he said morosely. "The whole bush may be going into shock. I think I must call on Sir Abraham Hume."

His mother nodded. "It is high time you met the man after corresponding with him for so many years. You must take the carriage, and I can see if Lord Kendall will give Penelope and me the use of his. Shall you mind, then, if I go shopping with Penelope without you? "

"Certainly not," said Gyles, his mind on far more important matters than Penelope Trafford. His mother sent him a look of surprise. Clearly, she was wondering why he had not been more attentive to the melodramatic maiden who had prompted their visit to London. He decided to convey his opinion on the matter in no uncertain terms. "How pleasant it is for Lord Kendall to take on the task of escorting you ladies so I shall not be taxed with it."

"That is not very gallant," protested his mother. "I daresay Penelope would be quite put out if she learned you were only happy to protect her from her guardian when milliner's shops are not involved."

"Oh, do you think I ought to come then?" Gyles began to worry that his trip to visit Sir Abraham must be postponed. "I must confess, on our trip here, Lord Kendall lulled me into thinking that he is not as terrible as Miss Trafford describes. But she says his affability is all a front and that I must not be taken in. If you think my presence is required—"

"No, no," said his mother. "You may tend to your rosebush. I have everything well in hand."

Sir Abraham Hume lived in the fashionable part of town. As a member of Parliament, he had arrived in town early this year. Rather than waiting till after Christmas, Parliament planned to convene in the autumn months to examine the fitness of His Majesty for rule and to discuss whether a Regency with Prince George at the helm might be for the best during these turbulent times. If this war with France were to ever end, a firmer hand was needed. England could not be ruled by insanity if Napoleon was to be one day defeated.

With the summer sun still holding sway, however, Parliament had not yet opened its doors, and apparently, Sir Abraham's political duties still left time for visitors of the botanical variety. Gyles waited only a few minutes in the portrait-clad entryway before he was admitted to Sir Abraham's study. He saw a lean old fellow with a fringe of flyaway white hair along the sides of his balding head.

"Audeley!" the baronet said, bounding up from his desk with enthusiasm. "You're younger than I expected."

Gyles accepted the statement without demur. It was unusual for a man of three and twenty to be so devoted to rosarian pursuits. Sir Abraham was not the first to remark upon it.

"What can I do for you? How is that Sweet-Scented China Rose faring?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about," said Gyles, fingering the brim of his beaver. "It hasn't bloomed yet. I recently transplanted it to bring to London with me—"

"Oh dear! A little warm for transplanting."

"Yes, but the trip was unavoidable, and there was no one to care for it in my absence." Sir Abraham, no doubt, had a whole team of gardeners to tend his succession houses in Hertfordshire, but Garrick's nephew was hardly a worthy substitute for a matter of this delicacy. "The foliage is beginning to yellow."

"Hmm…" Sir Abraham sank down into the chair at the desk once again and motioned for Gyles to do the same in one of the armchairs across from him. "There are two conditions that come to mind that would result in yellowing of foliage."

A protracted conversation followed in which Sir Abraham asked pointed questions about the quality of the soil the rosebush had been placed in and the length of time it took for water to absorb at the base of the bush. "There's your answer," he said. "Drainage. Very poor where you have it." He began to discuss ways of ameliorating the soil with rough sand and pebbles. "In some ways, we have it very difficult in our climate. Poor soil, and not enough sun to truly bring out the best in our flowers. Malmaison, on the other hand, that's where real strides can be made with these cultivars from the east."

"Malmaison—in France?"

"Just so. The former empress Josephine lives there. It's a boon to mankind that Napoleon divorced her this year, for now she can focus on her first love—roses!" Sir Abraham pulled out a journal that lay at the side of his desk. It was a portfolio of loose watercolours, each containing a different specimen of rose. "She has an artist working for her, documenting each variety with wonderful precision." He gestured to a bicoloured specimen. "Look here! Have you ever seen the like?"

Gyles took up the watercolour with almost reverent eagerness. The contrasting layers of bright pink and paler pink gleamed like the edges of a tropical shell. This artist, whoever he might be, was a master of capturing a flower in all its precision and beauty. Gyles felt a little jealous that he had never learned to draw himself. His own rosarian notes would be greatly enhanced with watercolours of this kind.

"Have you been to Malmaison, sir?"

"No. More's the pity." Sir Abraham sighed and leafed through the portfolio for another painted piece to show his guest. "I should like to someday, but with that blasted Bonaparte warmongering his way across Europe, I don't know when it will be safe to travel."

The Audeleys initially had little acquaintance in London besides Mrs. Audeley's old friends the Haverstalls, but their connection with Lord Kendall soon yielded a wider social circle. Gyles was introduced to two bachelor gentlemen—Mr. Tavinstock and Mr. Heller—who invited him to their club, their haberdasher, and their other haunts about town.

On one occasion, he and his mother rode out in Mr. Tavinstock's barouche through Hyde Park. The affable fellow, with his crisply starched cravat and crisply pomaded hair, was acquainted with all the world. By the time they had gone halfway around the Ring, Gyles' head was ringing with the number of introductions and well wishes from stopping carriages and riders. His mother, however, seemed particularly pleased with their conquest of the ton, and so Gyles pasted on a pleasant smile and pretended that he was as eager as she to make the acquaintance of every baronet and his brother.

"Warrenton and Digby are bearing down on us," said Mr. Heller. Gyles looked over his shoulder and saw two more unknown men approaching on horseback. They slowed their mounts and reined in at the side of the barouche. "Mr. Tavinstock, Mr. Heller," said the taller of the two men, nodding at their companions in the barouche. The man's voice was as firm as his shoulders, and Gyles suspected that the fellow was nearly the same age as his mother. Although Gyles was no connoisseur of clothing, he could tell the gentleman was immaculately attired in one of those suits from Wembley's or Weston's that Lord Kendall also wore.

The second rider was a marked contrast to his friend. Short and rotund, he seemed ill at ease on a horse and equally ill at ease in the area of fashion. Gyles grimaced at the sight of the second man's green paisley waistcoat which did not sort well at all with his bilious complexion.

"Mrs. Audeley," said Mr. Heller, "may I present his grace, the Duke of Warrenton. And beside him, Mr. Solomon Digby."

"I am pleased to meet you both. And this is my son, Mr. Gyles Audeley."

"You must be new to London, Mrs. Audeley," the Duke of Warrenton said, his nostrils flaring as he spoke. Gyles did not particularly like the man's appraising look as he took in his mother's appearance. "I would have remembered seeing you before."

"Yes, we are but newly arrived from Derbyshire."

"And did Mr . Audeley accompany you from Derbyshire?" Mr. Digby asked gruffly. It was a personal question to demand of someone so recent an acquaintance.

"I am a widow, Mr. Digby." Gyles' mother spoke with quiet dignity.

"Are you now?" replied Mr. Digby. His heavily lidded eyes gave an insinuating look, and Gyles began to dislike the fellow immensely. One never thinks of one's parents as attractive, and Gyles had never considered that his mild-mannered mother would awaken such interest in the metropolis.

"I say, your grace," interrupted Mr. Tavinstock, steering the conversation off in a new direction. "We've all been waiting to catch sight of the Incomparable from last season. Where has Lady Louisa been hiding herself?"

The Duke of Warrenton did not seem to welcome the question. "You must be patient, Mr. Tavinstock," he said curtly. "The season hasn't even begun. I daresay you'll see my niece soon enough."

"The trick is," drawled Mr. Heller, "to see her before she's gone and engaged herself to some other fellow. I wouldn't expect a girl that pretty to last two seasons on the marriage mart. "

"You're right about that," said Mr. Digby with a smug smile. "I'll lay you a monkey that Lady Louisa has a different surname next time you see her."

"I hope you are misinformed, Mr. Digby," said Mr. Tavinstock. "Young Audeley here has not even had the pleasure of catching a single glimpse of her. How cruel if she were to be spirited away over the summer."

Gyles lifted a hand in protest. As much as he appreciated beauty, he had no interest in pursuing some unknown Incomparable.

"Nonsense," said the Duke of Warrenton. "No one has spirited anyone away. Shall we continue our ride, Digby?" The duke lifted his hand to his beaver and tipped it towards the barouche. "Charmed to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Audeley. I shall call on you, if I may."

"Of course," said Mrs. Audeley, in a tone that was—in Gyles' opinion—far more friendly than the duke and his uncouth friend deserved. The Duke of Warrenton and the Earl of Kendall were six of one and half a dozen of the other in the eyes of the world, but somehow, Gyles trusted Lord Kendall far more than he did the duke when it came to visiting his mother.