Page 28 of The Viscount's Pearl
To his surprise he found himself next to Miss Lilley.
“Miss Lilley, how unexpected. May I have the honour of a dance?”
“No. My feet hurt and I have barely slept. I have been dragged to three balls this week. None of them ended before two.”
He could not help chuckling, enjoying her usual blunt honesty. “I am sorry. Perhaps an ice, or a drink?”
She nodded. “Yes please. I am hungry but there is nothing decent to eat here. The ham sandwiches are dreadful. Dry and the ham is cut too thin.”
Laurence had never heard a lady confess to being hungry. “I hope the other parties you attended this week fed you better.”
“They tried. But if you are a lady, you must only take tiny mouthfuls. A single pea and perhaps a shred of beef. By the time dinner has ended you have only eaten enough to satisfy a mouse.”
“Do you have a remedy for this dreadful state of affairs?”
Her lips twitched in a smile. “My maid Deborah waits up for me with a wedge of ham pie, a pot of tea and some gingerbread. Else I would starve.”
The idea of her sitting in her bedroom eating ham pie while still in her evening finery made him laugh. “Do other young ladies have ham pie waiting for them when they get home?”
“I hope so, for their sakes. If not, you will find yourself dancing with skeletons by the end of the season.”
He found her an ice and a drink, then secured her a plateful of small rout cakes, which, while dry and somewhat tasteless, were enough to stave off the worst of her hunger pangs.
“I am promised to Miss Skeffington for a dance,” he said, reluctantly. Miss Lilley’s conversation had made a welcome change this evening, but he could hardly leave a lady without her promised dance partner. “I hope to see you again soon,” he found himself saying. “Will you be at the Portman picnic?”
“I begged off and Mama allowed it if I would attend tonight.”
He hesitated. “Then perhaps our paths will cross in Margate one day.”
She sighed. “I long for Margate. But Mama is determined I should stay here for the remainder of the season. I will try to convince her otherwise. Goodnight, Mr Mowatt.”
“Miss Lilley.” He bowed and watched her depart. A shame. She had made him laugh, which had cheered him. If he could have taken her away to the safety of Lord Barrington in Margate, he would have done, but she was immersed in the season now and there was no way out of it.
Lord Barrington sat in his study and re-read Laurence’s letter. He smiled at its contents, but his eyes drifted to a portrait hung above the desk, of two young men in the outdated clothing of an earlier era, posing on a bridge, the Grand Canal of Venice behind them, misty buildings shining along the waterways. He lingered on their happy smiles, then took up his quill and wrote.
My dear Laurence,
It gave me great pleasure to receive your last and to hear of your progress through the season. I am certain you are regarded with great esteem amongst the families of those young ladies who seek their companion of a lifetime. As for your misgivings regarding the fairer sex and their apparently shallow conversation or interests, I shall refer you to the great poet John Dryden and his words, thus: ‘He who would search for pearls must dive below’. Dive below, my boy. Do not allow the strictures of our society to bind your actions, nor your words. When you sense something more than mere comeliness lies beneath a young woman’s exterior, take the time to understand her true character and do not be shy in divulging your own. It is in this way that two souls come to know one another, and when they do, there is nothing in heaven nor earth that can dividethem, nor can any subsequent deed or occurrence take away that joy of true union which I so deeply wish for you.
Believe me always your most affectionate uncle,
Barrington
He thought for while longer, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed out at the gardens and the empty swing which swayed in the breeze, before penning another missive, this one to Lady Lilley.
My dear Lady Lilley,
I hope that Frances acquits herself well this season and that she will find a suitable match soon. I know that this is your most earnest desire as it is mine, to see her happy and settled. May I suggest that for a girl with her delicacy of feeling it might be beneficial to host a house party? In the safety of her home and in the bosom of her family, she might find the necessary courage to more easily converse with appropriate gentlemen of your choice? You will forgive this old man his abominable habit of interfering in the lives of those for whom he holds great affection.
I remain your faithful servant,
Barrington
“Really, Lord Barrington is an old mother hen when it comes to Frances,” sniffed Lady Lilley on receiving the letter a few days later. “He indulges her fancies.” She sipped her tea, waiting for an answer from Lord Lilley, but she was disappointed in this, as he was buried in the newspaper and made no reply. “Although,” she added, thinking over Lord Barrington’s point and deciding that there was some possible truth in it. “Perhaps he is right.”
Her husband made no reply.
“Lilley!”
