Page 12 of The Viscount's Pearl
“I have also received word that there is to be a ball next week at the Assembly Rooms, and one of my neighbours, a Mrs Pagington, has forcefully insisted that I attend – I told her I am not well enough to do so and have instead suggested you go in my stead. She is an amiable woman,” he added indulgently. “A pillar of local society here and means well. She was delighted at the idea of making your acquaintance, since you will be a man of some importance in these parts in the future, when Northdown is yours.”
Laurence, having just taken a mouthful of sliced beef, was not able to answer, so he only nodded again.
“Excellent. I am indebted to you for this kindness. Frances and I will stay at home, as she does not care for such events and, unlike her mother, I am of the opinion that her preferences should be honoured. Frances is more comfortable amongst select friends than at vast gatherings, are you not, my dear?”
Frances looked up from buttering her roll. “Yes,” she said. “Mrs Pagington is too loud and never stops speaking. She gives me a headache.”
Lord Barrington chuckled. “They are not a comfortable match at all,” he said. “Frances can barely say a word in her company. I see her growing pale with the strain within an hour of being there. We will be content here alone, while you stand in our stead, Laurence, since you are a man who can conduct himself well at balls.”
Chapter 4
Intentions Regarding Marriage
Aweek went by in which their days followed the same patterns – on dry days Frances collected shells while Lord Barrington and Mr Mowatt conversed. On wet days the gallery and library became their haunts, while Mrs Norris continued providing her excellent meals. But Mrs Pagington’s invitation loomed ever closer and on the appointed evening Laurence dutifully prepared himself to meet Margate’s society.
To a young man accustomed to the finer haunts of London, the Assembly Rooms of Margate in Cecil Square proved every bit as dull as he had feared. The ballroom itself was of a decent size, amply provided with large looking glasses and well-lit with five glittering chandeliers, but the card room was full of elderly locals who all knew one another and clearly held long-standing grudges over their ongoing games of Commerce, constantly referring to previous gambling success or failuressuch as to make any newcomer nearly bored to tears. The billiard room contained only those men who were reluctant to dance, and Laurence felt himself obliged to be sociable since he was representing his uncle. The dancing had not yet begun and the musicians, rather than playing something to make those already in attendance feel welcome, were still tuning up, a far from pleasant sound. The tea room was well provided however and Mrs Pagington, delighted at the sight of Laurence, would barely leave his side, introducing him to everyone in the room.
“The future master of Northdown House, you know, when our dear Lord Barrington is no longer with us,”
This information swiftly had the effect of all the local mamas lining up their daughters in what amounted to a parade of faces before him, each one hoping to be chosen for the first dance and thereafter to be shown favour throughout the evening.
“My daughter Miss Reid…”
“Miss Thrup, Miss Susanna Thrup and Miss Patience Thrup…”
“Lady Emilia…”
Mrs Pagington also saw it as her business to keep up a positive babble of instructions regarding etiquette to Laurence, as though she were the Master of Ceremonies and he had never attended such an event before.
“This will be one of our final assemblies, Mr Mowatt, for our social season runs quite contrary to London, since we are quiet in the winter and busy in the summer, nothing like the city! Now, the dancing will begin ateight, gentlemen are to change partners every two dances – so as not to show too much favour to one pretty face and have it remarked on, you know! The cotillion will be dancedaftertea, and we endpromptlyat eleven, even if we aremid dance! It is quite late enough for a social gathering, do you not agree?”
Laurence, who rarely got home before three in the morning when attending a ball in London, nodded politely.
“And of course, every lady of precedence shall be entitled to her proper place at the top of the set, but once a dance has begun, any lady joiningshallbe obliged to take her place at the bottom of the set…”
Eager to escape the monologue, Laurence threw himself into the dancing, offering himself as a partner to most of the young women in the room. The locals blushed and giggled at the attention from the man who would one day become a viscount with an estate both here and in Surrey. The ladies visiting from London affected superior airs, implying that a titled gentleman would naturally prefer a more sophisticated bride. All of them were anxious to point out that they were not in Margate for their own health, far from it, they were only being thoughtful daughters, sisters and nieces to family members who suffered from one malady or another which would benefit from the sea air and the salt water. More than one mama mentioned their intention to call on “dear Lord Barrington” soon, indeed the very next day, perhaps, if he were at home.
Laurence, understanding full well that they had no interest in Lord Barrington until such time as he died and left his title and estate to an eligible bachelor, thought that he must devise some means of being out of Northdown House on most of the following days. He smiled and danced, danced and smiled, made polite conversation with as many local dignitaries as possible and was infinitely relieved when the clock struck eleven and, as promised, the music stopped mid-dance and he could escape back to Northdown House. It was odd to be so eager to escape a social occasion, but the society at a resort such as Margate was too limited for his tastes. He had no intention of marrying a local girl and it would not do, in such a small community, to form intimate acquaintances with married ladies, it would be far too noticeable in a place where everyone knew everyone else and had nothing to fill their days with but gossip.
He envied Lord Barrington and Miss Lilley for having avoided the entire evening and wondered whether his natural inclination to attend far more social occasions than was strictly required was in fact as diverting a path as it seemed. There were certainly evenings, like this one, where he would have preferred to stay at home. His parents had eschewed most such social obligations, preferring to keep their social circle more intimate, comprising their family and close friends, going to London only infrequently and, although good-spirited while there, always returned to the countryside with pleasure, saying that they had had enough of the city and its delights until the next year.
“Society is best in small doses,” his father was fond of saying.
Laurence, as a child, had never understood this statement, since London’s society was to him a place full of extraordinary delights and excitements, which he had certainly made the most of in the years since his mother had died, after he moved to Albany and took up life as a stylish young man about town. But tonight he understood his father’s view.
The next morning Frances was curled up on a sofa, hot chocolate clasped between her hands. She had come to breakfast early and eaten Mrs Norris’s buttery seedcake, half-hoping to hear Mr Mowatt’s description of the night before so that she could congratulate herself on having avoided the event entirely. But when the two men joined her Laurence ate heartily without much description of his outing at all, while Lord Barrington had dry toast and a cup of broth and seemed quieter than usual.
“I feel a chill coming over me,” he said. “Frances is eager to go down to Margate, would you accompany her, Laurence? I will follow in an hour or so, when I have warmed my old bones longer.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Frances was disappointed, but she supposed that an outing to find shells was better than staying at home, so when Mr Mowatt asked if she were ready to depart she only nodded and rang for Deborah to fetch her pelisse and bonnet, both in dark brown velvet and silk with fur trims. Deborah was additionally pressed into service as a chaperone and followed them into the carriage with a sulky countenance, since she disliked the chilly breeze that came in off the sea.
They walked along the soft sands, feet occasionally slipping in the sifting grains.
“You should walk where the sand is damp,” said Frances after a while, becoming annoyed by Deborah’s huffs of irritation as sand got into her shoes and Laurence’s taking odd zig-zag steps to try and avoid the worst of the slippage. Could they not see the darker sand, how much more compact it was? She wished she could have come alone, for being trailed by two unwilling attendants was an encumbrance she would gladly have done without.
“When do you return to London?” asked Laurence.
