Tangled Reins. Stephanie Laurens

dears! I’m so glad to see you safely arrived! Now sit down and let me give you some tea. My chef, Henri, has sent up these delicacies to tempt you after your journey.’

      Drawing them to sit around the fire, already burning brightly, Lady Merion noted that neither sister was looking her best. ‘Tonight we’ll have a very quiet time. You must both retire immediately after dinner. Tomorrow morning we’ve an appointment with Celestine, the most fashionable modiste in London. You must have recovered from your journey by then.’

      As soon as they had eaten the delicious pastries and drunk their tea, Lady Merion rang the bell. It was answered by Witchett, a tall, angular woman with sparse grey hair whose peculiar talent in life lay in being able to turn out her elderly mistress in the most suitable of the currently fashionable styles. She was burning with curiosity to view the latest challenges to her skill. A quick glance at the Misses Darent told her that Mellow, the butler, had not exaggerated. In spite of their tiredness, their potential was apparent. The younger, properly dressed, would be a hit. And Miss Darent had that certain something that Witchett, a veteran campaigner, instantly recognised. The sisters were therefore favoured with a thin smile.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Witchett. Please conduct Miss Darent and Miss Cecily to their rooms. I suggest, my dears, that you rest before dinner. Witchett will see your things are unpacked, and she’ll take charge of your dressing until we can find suitable maids. Off with you, now.’ She dismissed them with a wave of one heavily beringed white hand.

      They followed Witchett to two pretty bedchambers, obviously newly refurbished, Dorothea’s in a soft pastel green and Cecily’s in a delicate blue. Everything was already unpacked, and Witchett helped them undress. ‘I’ll return to assist you to dress for dinner, Miss Darent.’

      Dorothea sank thankfully into the soft feather bed and immediately fell asleep.

      Lady Merion had instructed her chef that a light and simple meal was all they required that evening. Consequently there were only three courses, each of some half a dozen dishes. Luckily both Dorothea and Cecily had recovered their appetites and were able to do justice to their first experience of the culinary delights of London.

      Their grandmother was pleasantly surprised to find them considerably restored. Throughout dinner she monopolised the conversation. ‘First and by far the most important task is to have you both suitably gowned. For that, Celestine’s is first on our list. She’s the best known of Bruton Street’s modistes for good reason.’

      Lady Merion had paid a visit to Celestine as soon as she had decided to launch her granddaughters into the ton. She had made it clear that she required that lady’s best efforts. Celestine had built her highly successful business through shrewd assessment of her clients’ abilities to display her creations in ton circles. Lady Merion’s granddaughters would be paraded at all the most exclusive venues. Having extracted a description of the young ladies, she had graciously agreed to do all possible to ensure their success.

      ‘Celestine’s talents are truly stupendous. After that, we’ll have to get your hair seen to, and I’ve organised a dancing master as well. I don’t expect you know the waltz?’ She paused to help herself to some buttered crab. ‘Once you’re presentable, our first outing will be a drive in the Park. We’ll go about three, which at this time of year is the right time to meet people. I’ll introduce you to a number of the leaders of the ton, and hopefully we can find some of the younger generation for you to make friends with. In particular, I hope we’ll meet Lady Jersey. Her nickname is “Silence”, because she chatters all the time. Don’t be put out if what she says seems rather odd. Princess Esterhazy should also be there. Both these ladies are patronesses of Almack’s. You need vouchers from them to attend. If you’re not admitted to Almack’s you may as well give up the Season and go home.’

      ‘Good heavens!’ said Dorothea. ‘I’d no idea it was that important.’

      ‘Well, it is,’ answered her grandmother with absolute conviction. She continued in this style, pouring forth an abundance of information. Dorothea and Cecily listened avidly. Possessing a fair degree of common sense, they needed no urging to learn all they could of the mores and practices of the fashionable from their experienced grandmama before their first venture into the critical world of the ton.

      At nine o’clock, seeing Cecily stifle a yawn, her ladyship brought her lecture to an end. ‘It’s time both of you were in bed. Ring for Witchett, Dorothea. She’ll help you change. Go along, now. You’ve had enough for one day.’

      As the door shut behind the sleepy girls Lady Merion settled herself more comfortably in the corner of her elegant sofa. She was going to enjoy this Season. Lately, her accustomed routine of fashionable pleasures had been sadly lacking in excitement.

      She had not spent over sixty years at the hub of aristocratic life without learning to gauge the qualities of those around her. Every bit as shrewd as she was fashionable, she had been agreeably impressed by her rustic granddaughters when she had met them, for the first time in many years, at Darent Hall. On the basis of one afternoon’s reacquaintance she had decided it would be highly diverting to unleash them on the ton. While she had little doubt she would become sincerely fond of them, her main purpose had been purely selfish. Now, having re-examined their fresh faces and charmingly assured manners, she wryly wondered whether she would be able to cope.

      Thinking again of the girls, she frowned. Dorothea had seemed strangely preoccupied. Hopefully she had not conceived a tendre for some country gentleman. Still, even if she had, the delights of a London Season would soon distract her from her sleepy country past.

      Her cogitations were interrupted by a knock on the door. Dorothea, clad in a delicate pink wrapper with her dark hair swirling over her shoulders, put her head around the door. Seeing her grandmother, she entered.

      The fair brows over the sharp blue eyes rose to improbable heights. ‘Why, child, what’s the matter?’

      ‘Grandmama, there’s something I must tell you.’

      Ah-ha! thought her ladyship. Now I’m going to find out what’s bothering her. She motioned Dorothea to sit next to her.

      Sinking gracefully down, Dorothea fixed her eyes on the fire and calmly let fall her bombshell. ‘Well, for a start I have to tell you that the Marquis of Hazelmere will call on you tomorrow.’

      ‘Good gracious!’ The exclamation was forced from Lady Merion as she jerked bolt upright, her fascinated blue gaze riveted on her grandchild. ‘My dear, how on earth did you meet a man of Hazelmere’s stamp? I didn’t know your mother was acquainted with the Henrys.’

      Hermione was conscious of a dreadful sinking feeling at the mere mention of Hazelmere’s name. Drat the boy! He’d been the bane of many a hopeful mother’s life, proving so fascinating to their impressionable daughters that there was no doing anything with the silly chits. As he had proved impervious to the charms of all but certain delectable members of the demi-monde, careful mothers were wont to advise their daughters that, in spite of his undoubted eligibility, Lord Hazelmere did not feature on their lists of likely suitors. Dorothea’s words had started all sorts of hares racing in her mind, but why Hazelmere would want an interview with herself was more than she could imagine. She settled herself so that she had an uninterrupted view of her granddaughter’s face. ‘Start at the beginning, child, or I’ll never understand.’

      Conscious of the steady scrutiny, Dorothea nodded and carefully began. ‘Well, the first time I met Lord Hazelmere was while I was berrying in Moreton Park woods last August. He had recently inherited the estate from his greataunt, Lady Moreton.’

      ‘Yes, I know about that,’ said her ladyship. ‘I knew Etta Moreton quite well. In fact, she wrote to me after your mother’s death, urging me to take a hand in your lives.’

      ‘Did she?’ That was news to Dorothea.

      ‘Mmm. But what happened when you met Hazelmere? I presume he made himself charming, as usual?’

      Dorothea reminded herself that she had no idea how charming Hazelmere might