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 be expected to be. She stuck to her edited story. ‘He introduced himself. Then, because I was unattended, he insisted on walking me home.’
Lady Merion, reading into her granddaughter’s careful tones rather more than Dorothea would have wished, leapt to a conclusion. ‘My dear, you needn’t be shy about telling me he made love to you shamelessly. He does it all the time. That devil can be utterly undeniable when the mood takes him.’
Her gaze wildly incredulous, Dorothea saw the crevasse yawning at her feet only just in time. Lady Merion had used the term ‘made love’ in the sense in which it was used in her heyday, to denote suggestive flirtation. Swallowing the words she had so nearly uttered, she forced her voice to calmness. ‘Charming? Actually, I found him rather arrogant.’
Her ladyship blinked at this cold assessment of one of society’s lions.
Dorothea hurried on. ‘I met Lord Hazelmere again at the inn last night.’
Lady Merion would have described herself as being inured to the ways of those around her. It was consequently with some surprise that she realised that her granddaughter, having been in the house for only a few hours, had managed to seriously shake her calm. She repeated weakly, ‘The Marquis was at the inn last night?’
‘Yes. And so were a large number of other gentlemen, because there’d been a prize-fight on near by.’
Lady Merion closed her eyes, asking herself what next this outrageous child would reveal. She received Dorothea’s carefully censored version of events at the inn in silence. She was, in fact, more than a little puzzled. While Hazelmere had acted most properly in rescuing Dorothea, his subsequent actions were much harder to understand. She could not see why he had been so angry. Highly unlike him to lose his temper at all, let alone with a chit he hardly knew.
Aware that Dorothea was waiting for her verdict, she put the puzzle of Hazelmere’s behaviour aside. ‘Well, my dear, I cannot see anything in your conduct which should cause you undue concern. I would not wish you to go about anywhere unattended, that’s true. But I know your life at the Grange lacked the formality it might have had. The happenings at the inn were highly regrettable, but you could not have known how it would be and thankfully Hazelmere was there to rescue you.’ She paused, suddenly thoughtful. ‘Do you have any idea why he wishes to see me tomorrow?’
Dorothea had given that particular question a great deal of thought. ‘I wonder whether it was because of the other gentlemen in the stableyard. He knew them, and they now know he has met me previously. I assume we’ll have to agree on some acceptable tale to account for that?’
Lady Merion considered this, then nodded. ‘Yes, that’s a likely explanation.’ Hazelmere would be well aware of the possible consequences of that public acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and it was quite in character that he should seek to minimise any damage. Whatever else he might be, Hazelmere would always behave as he ought.
Relieved of the nagging worry that she had committed some heinous social sin, Dorothea enjoyed a blissful night’s sleep. Cecily, too, slept the sleep of the innocent and was fully recovered from their travelling. Arriving in Bruton Street, they were met by the great Celestine herself. One look sufficed to tell that sharp-witted modiste that in the Misses Darent she had models equal to her talents. Five minutes in their company convinced her that, with their charmingly open manners and that unconscious air of the truly well bred, they were destined to be among the foremost hits of the Season.
The last thing needed to make her throw all her most prized designs at the Darent feet was provided when, on their arrival, Lady Merion took her aside. ‘My granddaughters’ affairs are moving apace, madame. Miss Darent has made the acquaintance of one of the unmarried peers. I can’t, of course, reveal his name, but he is most eligible. Lord H is definitely behaving with very much less than his usual sang-froid. I have every hope to see her creditably established before the Season ends.’
No mean player of society's games, Lady Merion was confident of the response her indiscretion would elicit. At the very least, Hazelmere’s intrusion into her granddaughter’s life should be put to good use. She had no illusions about her elder granddaughter. Cecily would take very well; she was virtually the epitome of the current craze for blonde beauties. Dorothea was striking, but would, she was sure, pale into insignificance in her ssister’s companyister’scompany. And, on top of that, she was far too much in command of herself to appeal to any gentleman’s chivalrous instincts. Although a brilliant match was wishful thinking, a good match was still well within her reach. Particularly with Celestine’s help.
On the matter of style, Celestine, a superbly gowned dark-haired woman of indeterminate age, made her pronouncements with a slight French accent. ‘Miss Cecily is so young and so fair that she must be dressed à la jeune fille! For Miss Darent, however, I would recommend a more sophisticated style. With your permission, my lady?’ She glanced speculatively at Lady Merion.