Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I t was a strange feeling to wake in London the next morning. The sounds of carriages rattling by, and people calling to one another, were much different from the country sounds that Scarlett was accustomed to. She found she quite liked the bustle and got out of bed to go to her window and look down on all the activity.

The glass was cool against her forehead as she leant against the window to better see the street beneath her. It seemed a fine spring day was at its beginning; she knew not if it was her own leanings or those of the people scurrying about the streets, but there appeared to be an anticipatory bounce in everyone’s movements. Excitement rumbled in her stomach, joining the anxiety that was already there. Life, her real life, seemed to be right around the corner.

Lord Worthe had asked her permission to call on her here, and she wondered whether he would come even today. She had reflected, many times over the last day, on the manner of their parting, so much more agreeable than their parting at the assembly. He had handed her into the carriage where Miss Rogers already sat, then leant in, saying, “I have told the driver he must take especial care of his passengers, for they are dear to me above all.” Miss Rogers had tittered at that, but Scarlett could only blush and smile and thank him.

Scarlett was accustomed to dressing herself, and so she did, in one of her plain muslins that she had brought with her. Someone had seen fit to press it, but it still looked faded, formless, and unflattering. She hoped that, with some extra attention paid to her hair, she might pass for something besides a country bumpkin, but alas, the image that greeted her was much the same as it always was. Nevertheless, she would not permit it to distress her, and left the bedchamber with as much aplomb as she could muster.

Her stomach growled as she descended the marble stair towards the dining room, the scent of bacon and muffins emanating into the hall. She inhaled deeply and hastened her steps, arriving to find the rest of the family already at table. “Forgive me,” she said hurriedly. “I hope I have not kept anyone waiting.”

Leighton, who seemed to already be several plates in, judging by the empty ones on the table around him, only grunted at her from over the newspaper. Bess looked up with a smile. “You know we are not formal for breakfast, Scarlett.”

“Do sit,” Lady Leighton urged. “Fill your plate, darling.”

Scarlett felt excessively conscious as she took her plate and began selecting from the many offerings on the table. The reverend had always followed the teachings of the Wesley brothers who believed in eschewing meat, so while she had before tasted bacon, never had it been offered to her in such abundance. But it smelt absolutely divine, so she took a piece to enjoy along with two slices of toast.

Glancing round the table, she noticed Bess and Lady Leighton both looking at her. Bess slid the jam bowl towards her while asking, gently, “Is that what you wish to wear?”

The reverend did not generally approve of jam. When they used it, it was administered in the slightest swipe possible. But today she put on twice, nearly thrice, what she was accustomed to.

“It is not what I wish to wear,” she explained with her attention ostensibly on her bread. “It is all I have to wear.”

“We will most certainly shop later,” Lady Leighton said, “but for our call on Lady Tipton, Bess had planned to loan you something.”

“My blue muslin,” Bess reminded them. “It is a little snug on me, so I think it would be lovely on you, Scarlett. ”

Scarlett smiled through the feeling of taking advantage that coursed through her. How good it was that she had the Leightons with their seemingly endless well of generosity towards her! Silently she vowed to them both that one day she too would do good turns for them as they had so often done for her.

“And I shall send my maid to help you with your hair, but pray finish eating, child.” Lady Leighton pushed the plate of bacon closer to her and urged her to take more.

While they all finished their breakfasts, Lady Leighton informed them of good news she had had in her morning post. “Sir Humphrey will be able to join us sooner than expected,” she told them all. “He will likely be here by Monday next.”

Bess gave a little clap. “Less than a week away!”

Bess and Leighton’s father had been detained at the estate by business. He was a genial man, most known for his booming voice and his passion for shooting, yet Scarlett had always felt slightly intimidated by him. Bess and Leighton seemed happy to know he would come to London, though, so she supposed she was too.

In a short time, the three ladies were dressed, coiffed, and on their way to the Tiptons’ residence in Grosvenor Square. It was an incredibly short journey that Scarlett thought surely could not have equalled a mile, but her queries on why they did not merely walk were met only with indulgent smiles. In truth, Scarlett would have much preferred to walk, for butterflies had taken flight in her stomach and, mixed with the unfamiliar fullness of bacon and jam, produced an uncomfortable sensation she had hoped a walk might dispel.

The horses stopped in front of a handsome red brick edifice that boasted a view of Hyde Park. Lady Leighton sent in her card and was quickly granted admittance. Scarlett tried not to gape at the house as she was handed down from the carriage, but she thought she had never seen a building with so many storeys before. As they shook out their skirts and prepared to enter, the front door opened and two men strode out. The first gentleman, tall with broad shoulders, looked at her and broke into a beaming smile. “Well, what good luck! I should have thought you would be getting pinned and poked at the dressmakers’ all day. Oakley and I were just off to look in at our club.”

With quick paces, he came to Scarlett. Possessing himself of her hand, he bowed and kissed it. In a trice, he leapt back as if he had been burnt, dropping her hand and exclaiming, “I beg your pardon!”

‘Oakley’s’ attention had been on the curricle being brought up behind the Leightons’ carriage, but on his friend’s exclamation, he turned his attention to them. Scarlett felt a little jolt as their eyes met.

The other man, the one who had—clearly mistakenly—kissed her hand, said, “You are not Adelaide.”

“No,” she said. “I am Miss Scarlett Margrave.”

A brief pandemonium ensued. The gentleman who had mistaken her for Adelaide commenced to apologise and offered one handsome cheek for her to slap. The man called Oakley proclaimed that he was her relation and began to enumerate the family similarities between them, at one point wishing her to remove a stocking, which scandalised her. Scarlett did not know whether she wished to run away, cry, or embrace them all.

Somehow, they were all herded into a shockingly large drawing room, so large the entire ground floor of the parsonage would surely have fitted into it. Scarlett’s mind was awhirl, taking in the sights and sounds while simultaneously trying to remember who was who and also to make some sense of it all. Lord Oakley—her cousin? He certainly believed he was, although whenever he said so, he said it with a little wink that Scarlett did not know the meaning of.

The handsome gentleman who had mistaken her for Adelaide, Lord Kemerton, said, “Call me Kem, as I daresay I shall soon claim the privilege of a brother.”

“You will?” Scarlett tilted her head and wrinkled her brow. “But why?”

“He is engaged to Adelaide,” Oakley explained. “Your sister.”

“My sister,” Scarlett echoed faintly. It was like being thrust into the middle of a play. She knew not how she was meant to feel about any of it, and a small part of her still wondered whether they were all mistaken. How could Lord Oakley be so certain? So eager to claim her? The words of the reverend echoed through her mind. ‘No one has ever shown the least interest in you. Not a single soul has ever sent a letter of enquiry, not in eighteen years. ’

“Bring champagne!” Lord Oakley ordered the butler. “I daresay we must celebrate! And when Lady Tipton and Adelaide return?—”

“They have not yet departed, sir,” the butler told him. “I expect they will both be down directly.”

The butler then quit the room. Lord Oakley’s eyes shone with his enthusiasm as he turned his attention back to Scarlett. “I have sent for his lordship at his club, but pray do not say a word until he gets here! We will want to hear it all, I assure you, but you will likely grow weary of repeating it!”

“It?” Scarlett asked. She glanced at Bess and Lady Leighton who had been struck silent by the unusual circumstances of the call.

“Your story! Where you have been, what you have done. Is this your family? Your adoptive family, that is?”

Lady Leighton, it appeared, was still gathering her wits about her, but Bess had recovered sufficiently to answer, “No, sir, but Scarlett has been my dearest friend since…why, since forever!”

“And it was you who brought her to town?” Lord Oakley’s smile, unaccountably, grew even larger when directed at Bess. “So very good of you!”

Lady Leighton at last found her voice. “No, not exactly, sir.”

“No? How did—but no! Pray do not tell me! Not yet!” Lord Oakley cried out. “See there? I am simply mad to know, but no sense telling it now! Must wait until all of us are present! ”

Scarlett heard then the sound of the door opening and she turned, only to feel her jaw drop agape. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. A lady who was the veriest imitation of herself had just entered the room and paused, hand on her chest, before exclaiming, “Merde!”