Page 43 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Remark upon? Are you saying you’ve had no birthday celebration since you were seven?”
He shrugged.
“Not a dinner, a cake, a drink? Not even a heartfelt birthday wish?”
“No. And I’ve scarcely felt the lack,” he said with a lift of a shoulder.
She looked at him for a long moment. “What did you get for your seventh birthday?”
He closed his eyes. “A pony. He was a dashing, high-spirited prince of a fellow. He was grey, with a dappled flank and a white blaze and the heart of a Trojan.”
He opened his eyes again and they shared a flash of understanding.
“Unfortunately, perhaps, I had a growth spurt during that year. By my eighth birthday I was really too big for him.”
“And you were hoping for another mount that year?”
He lifted a shoulder.
Lady Tresham leaned toward her, which just happened to push her bosom even higher. “Lady Glory, you should take care not to show too much enthusiasm about such things. I’m sure you’ve no wish to appear childish.”
“Of course not.” Glory looked away from Keswick to regard her evenly. Was this how this was going to play out? She was heartily tired of being belittled. “But I do not believe enthusiasm should ever be frowned upon, so long as the object is harmless. What is life without enthusiasm? No, we should not allow such narrow judgments to stand. What if others decided to follow the logic of it in the opposite direction? They might decide that your antipathy towards birthdays comes from having seen too many. And we wouldn’t want that.”
Keswick abruptly sat down again. A little silence reigned in their shady spot. Lady Tresham watched Glory with hostility—mixed with a new tinge of respect. “No,” she said. “We would not.” She looked around. “It is pretty here, is it not? But I confess, I do begin to miss Town life. What of you, Lord Keswick? Are you pining for London’s excitements?”
“I do miss the company of my friends,” he admitted.
“The large variety of company is one of the highlights of the city, and the Season,” the baroness agreed. She turned an eye on Glory. “Oh, but you have not yet made your debut. Have you been to London?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry. You will adjust. And some day you might have a larger acquaintance in Town.”
“Were the two of you acquainted in Town? Did you meet often?” Glory asked.
“No, we were introduced here, by your sister,” Keswick answered.
“Do allow me to advise you a little, my dear,” Lady Tresham broke in. “Convince your sister to take you to her modiste in London—and make them dress you in the pastels that are allowed for the young debutantes.” She ran an evaluating eye over her. “White so often washes a fair complexion out.”
Glory cleared her throat. She knew people discussed her behind her back. Her limp made her a topic of gossip, and there was nothing to be done about it. Lady Tresham knew better than to bring up her lameness to her face, but Glory would be damned if she let the baroness use her youth, her coloring, or anything else, against her. What sort of woman tried to knock another one down to lift herself up? “Thank you, Lady Gresham. I’ll let Hope handle all of that. She always knows what is pleasing . . . and what is inappropriate.”
Before another silence could stretch out, she held up her garland. “I must get this finished before people tire of the hunt.” She smiled at both of the others. “At least we know one thing this house party has accomplished. Now we are all friends and as you say, I will possess some acquaintances if I ever make it to London. Perhaps next spring we will all be together in London and looking back on this day with fondness.”
Lady Tresham gave an indulgent laugh. “Don’t count upon it, dear. However lax the rules are in the country, they are very stringent in Town. You will scarcely be allowed near Lord Keswick.”
“Why ever not?”
“He is a young buck of the Town. He occupies a different plane altogether. London is a very different place for debutantes.”
“Lord Keswick has already assured me that there are many activities worth pursuing.”
“There are—but you will not be granted access to many of them. The young girls on the marriage mart are coddled and corralled. They might be trotted out at Almack’s and at tepid balls, but they are not allowed at the places a man like Keswick frequents.”
Glory’s hackles began to rise. “A man like Lord Keswick?” she asked dangerously.
Lady Tresham, warming to her subject, did not recognize the danger. She cast an amused glance at Keswick. “Dear, the viscount is a man of diverse tastes and experiences. He spends his time in the clubs, the haunts, hells and back streets of a London you will scarcely see.”
She frowned. “You paint an unfairly dark picture, I am sure.”
