Chapter 17

"Can you help me, Digby, I don't know how to attach these," William admitted, struggling with a pair of cufflinks.

He had never worn the clothes now laid out in front of him and had no idea as to the proper order or way of dressing. He remembered his godfather once making mention of his valet.

"If it wasn't for Richards, I'd have all my clothes on inside out and back to front," he had once said, and William now understood what his godfather had meant.

Holding out his arms, Digby attached the cufflinks to William's shirtsleeves, angling them so the stud faced out. They had spent much of the afternoon getting ready, having visited a barber's shop for a haircut and hot shave earlier in the day.

"There, now, you look very smart, William – like a proper gentleman," Digby said, as he helped William into the purple waistcoat.

It fitted perfectly, and looked exceedingly fine, so that William could not help but smile at the impression the looking glass gave.

"It does look rather fine, doesn't it?" he said, imagining the look on Anne's face when she saw him.

"Why did you choose purple?" Digby asked, and William smiled.

"Oh…because Lady Miller's dress is the same colour," he said, and Digby laughed.

"Is that the only reason? Purple carries all manner of connotations, William – a regal colour, redolent of the Roman empire. Purple was always the most costly of dyes," Digby said.

William had not thought about it like this – he simply liked the colour, and was glad to think of himself matching with Anne. If anything, purple was a colour associated with mourning, and he recalled entering the Catholic chapel in Burnley during Lent and seeing the altar festooned in purple cloths.

"Well… I'm sure you'll make quite the pairing at the ball tonight. Are you nervous?" he asked.

William was nervous – exceedingly so. But the moment of truth had arrived, and there could be no going back. He had practiced his dancing, dressed in his finery, and had the fake invitation in his pocket. For all intents and purposes, William was a gentleman, and it was as a gentleman he would now step out into the breach, and to whatever fate awaited him.

"I just hope I don't make a fool of myself," William replied.

It had been easy to say yes to Anne's suggestion he attended the ball at Charlton Lodge, but now the time had come, William's mind was filled with doubts. He knew nothing of the society he was entering, nor of how they would treat him. Like at Boodles club, William would be an unknown entity, looked on as both a possibility and a question mark.

"I'll be at your side the whole time, William. Haven't I proved myself a mentor to you since your arrival in London? Would I let you down in your hour of need?" Digby asked.

William shook his head. Digby certainly had some odd ways about him, and there had been times when William had felt uncomfortable as to the way his new friend led him. He was still uncertain as to Digby's connection with the forger, and the thought of continuing his attempts at gambling were unnerving. But there could be no doubting Digby's intentions, or so it seemed, and William was glad to have him at his side now.

"No, you wouldn't. I know that. But am I ready? Do I have everything I need?" William asked.

He wished his mother could have seen him now, dressed in such finery. She would have been amazed, as would the Duke of Lancaster. William smiled to think himself as equal to Maximilian, and he wondered what his godfather's heir was doing that very moment.

"Not preparing to dance with a beautiful woman, I'm certain," William told himself, as he checked his appearance in the looking glance one final time.

"You couldn't be more ready, William. You look the very part of a gentleman. I commend you," Digby said, and William smiled.

"I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, Digby. You've done so much for me, and I hardly feel able to repay you in any meaningful way," William replied.

Digby was selfless, and time and again he had proved himself to be the most excellent of friends. Now, Digby shook his head and smiled.

"You owe me nothing, William. Can't a man take pleasure in seeing himself reflected in another? I look at you, and I see myself thirty years ago – setting out into the world, filled with hope and expectation. But I had to make my own way. It wasn't easy, and I'm only too glad to share something of my own wisdom with you. I see great things in you, William – and all that begins tonight," Digby replied, as he took a brush and brushed the shoulders of William's waistcoat.

They were ready now, each of them dressed in their finery, and they made their way down to the taproom, where the landlord looked them up and down with an impressive look on his face.

"No finer gentlemen do we ever see here," he said, giving them both a curt bow.

"The Charlton Lodge ball beckons us, landlord," Digby said.

Several drinkers turned to look at them, and William felt suddenly self-conscious. This was not how he usually dressed or behaved – if ever. He was the son of a seamstress, hailing from Lancashire. Had it not been for his godfather, William would have had nothing but the clothes he stood up in and the simple job of a manservant or farm labourer. To be dressed in finery, to be on his way to a ball, to dance with a woman of high society…

"Digby, I'm not sure about this…it might not be…the right thing to do," William said, but Digby placed his hand on William's shoulder with a reassuring look on his face.

"Don't let doubts hold you back, William. You've as much right to be there as they have. You're a gentleman. You're dressed as one, you're as rich as one – doesn't that make you a gentleman?" he asked.

William was uncertain what did make a gentleman a gentleman. There appeared to be no specific rules governing the matter, even as it was clear who was and who was not one. As for himself, William was uncertain. He wanted to be a gentleman, and had given the distinct impression of being one, too. He nodded, allowing Digby to reassure him.

"It's just… I don't want to say the wrong thing, or give the wrong impression," he said, as Digby led him from the taproom out onto the street, where a carriage was waiting to take them to Charlton Lodge.

"People make the wrong impression all the time, William – that's what happens. It's how we recover from it that matters. Besides, I doubt you'll have any trouble. You're only there for one reason, aren't you? To see Lady Miller," Digby said, and William nodded.

Had it not been for Anne, William would never even have heard of the ball, let alone possess an invitation to attend. His purpose in going was singular, and the object of that purpose was Anne alone. He wanted to see her, to speak to her, to dance with her, perhaps even…

"Steady on, you can't kiss her. It's not like a roll in the hay after a barn dance," he told himself, thinking back to the shenanigans of his youth in Lancashire.

The Charlton Lodge ball would be an elegant affair, dictated by stringent social customs. There would be no opportunity for misbehaviour – surely.

"If I see her, I'll be happy. If I talk to her, I'll be ecstatic. If I dance with her…well, I can't describe how I'll feel," William said, and Digby laughed.

"Well, then, isn't it worth the nerves?" he asked, and William agreed it was.

As they drove in the carriage through the streets of London, William's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Anne, and the possibility of what was to come. He imagined the conversation between them, the glances, the smiles, the sense of nervous anticipation.

My Lady… Miss Miller… Lady Anne… Anne. It's such a pleasure to meet you again, and don't you look pretty – no, she's not a lapdog to be fawned over. You look…majestic…oh, listen to yourself…majestic? What nonsense. No, you look…lovely, my Lady. Your beautiful dress, your eyes, your delicate skin…stop it, delicate skin? What are you? Some penny novelist. No, I can't say that to her. But I… I wonder if…oh, it's no use, William thought to himself.

He did not know what he would say to Anne – or Lady Miller, as he should surely address her. She had remembered who he was in the arcade. Indeed, it had been she who had approached him during his deliberations over the waistcoats at the tailor's window.

"Don't look so glum, William. Aren't you excited about the prospect of what's to come?" Digby asked, returning William to his senses.

"I…oh, yes. I'm just thinking about what to say, that's all," William replied, gazing out of the window as they passed rows of townhouses and elegant buildings in this fashionable part of the city.

Digby laughed.

"Those who attempt to plan what they hope to say, usually fall foul of circumstance. It's all very well imagining what you'll say, but how can you be certain they'll respond in the way you want them to?" he asked.

William nodded. Digby was right. A speech could be rehearsed a dozen times, but it would take only the slightest deviation on the part of the one to whom it was delivered to bring the whole thig crashing down. It was a foolish thing to contemplate, even as William sighed at the thought of falling foul of social grace. He quite simply did not know how to behave, how to talk, or how to act. These things required a lifetime. They came naturally to the likes of his godfather, but for William such things had to be learned, and he had run out of time to learn them.

"You're right, I shouldn't dwell on it. There's no point in doing so. We're on our way to the ball, and there's nothing I can do to better myself now. I can only pray I'm not made a fool of," William replied.

They had now reached the gates of Charlton Lodge, where imposing gate posts, topped with stone lions, stood guarding the entrance. Despite being in the middle of the city, the gardens seemed peaceful, with mature trees rising along the length of the drive leading up to the house. Charlton Lodge was less a lodge than a grand house, built in the neo-classical style, with colonnades at its front, below an arch, where wide steps led up to the entrance. Dozens of carriages were drawn up, and a parade of fashionably dressed men and women were making their way inside, greeting by liveried footmen directing them inside. William felt sick. His stomach was churning. He was like a fish out of water, gasping for air. These people were his betters, not his equals.

"Look at it, William, isn't it magnificent? The upper echelons of society, all gathering together – the power, the wealth. If you want influence, this is the place to come," Digby said, rubbing his hands together with glee.

William was uncertain if he was not talking more to himself than to William, and he wondered why Digby had been so keen to accompany him that evening. What would Digby gain from an evening spent watching William dancing with Anne?

"Why were you so keen to come, Digby? Will you know anyone here? Won't it be terribly dull for you?" William asked, taking out his fake invitation in readiness to show the stewards.

His friend smiled at him and shook his head.

"Not at all, a man can always find entertainment and diversion in such a place as this. Mark my words, William. But come, now. We must step forth unto the breach. Look, I think I spy Lady Miller over there," Digby said, pointing out of the carriage window.

William's heart was beating fast, and he peered out of the carriage window, looking out across the crowd, and spotting Anne in the purple dress she had spoken of. She looked beautiful, and William could hardly take his eyes off her. She had changed her hair, tying it up in a bun, and she was wearing exquisite earrings, which sparkled in the evening sunshine. William stared at her, caring nothing for anything else but her, his fears and worries melting away.

"I've never seen…look at her, Digby," William said, shaking his head, as he could have eyes for no one else but her.

"She's quite something, isn't she? And that's her mother and father with her, I presume," Digby said.

Anne was walking with her parents, and William watched as they made their way up the steps, presenting their invitations to one of the stewards, who nodded and bade them enter. William opened the carriage door and climbed out, his hands trembling as he held the fake invitation, his heart beating fast. Digby came behind him, and the two men made their way up the steps, approaching the nearest steward, who nodded to them.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Might I see your invitations?" he asked, and William presented his, hoping nothing untoward would be noted.

The steward examined it, nodding his head, as he handed it back to William.

"Is everything in order?" William asked.

"Oh, yes, sir, certainly. But we've had some attempts to gain entry on a false invitation. Would you believe it – there're those who'd stoop so low as to create forgeries of the invitations? But I know a forgery when I see it. This way, sirs, I hope you have a wonderful evening," the steward replied, ushering them through the doors.