Chapter 3: Chance Encounters

Lady Anne was enjoying London. She had her own dressing room for the first time. Lenora, who was closer to her age than to Deborah’s, treated Anne as a confidant, not as a little girl. Even the secrets she did not share with Anne, she did not share with others. Walter was a darling, and he curled his hand around her finger as if he liked her too.

Anne believed that she had purchased as many clothes in the past weeks as she had purchased in her previous life. On her first shopping trip, Deborah asked which gown she preferred among the fashion dolls the seamstress had shown her...

“I am trying to decide between these two,” she said putting two dolls to one side.

“Very well, then. We shall take these. Now choose the fabric for each.” Two gowns at once! And from there, they had visited another dressmaker to select other ball gowns. Instead of covering her to the neck, her new chemises bared much of the tops of her breasts. Mamselle had been dismissed, and Anne’s time not spent shopping was hers to spend riding. She needed to ride with company; she sometimes expected Mother to assign a maid to accompany her to the jakes. Company, however, was usually available. Deborah, who had not had a child in fifteen months and was not breeding now, feared nothing when on horseback but being hemmed in by London traffic. The one excursion on which they were accompanied by Father was rather staid, but Deborah had Bryan trained to accept her style of riding. James and Charles rejected it, but Deborah laughed at their prohibitions. And, being daredevils themselves, they cursed and followed along. Before the Season started, Anne was half in love with it.

Her first ball was less enjoyable. She had always known that she was tall. She had seen the adults who came to her parents’ house parties every summer, sometimes even met them. Some of those men were shorter than she was. But many of them were Tarleton relations, and they averaged taller than most. When she got to the ball, she was as tall as a good half of the men. Worse, some of the tallest seemed to prefer girls who could stare straight at their waistcoat buttons. Men asked her to dance, but there were crowds competing for the attention of some girls, and Anne was not one of those. She filled her card, but half her partners were over twice her age.

Anne had spent sixteen years being, if not the center of attention, unique in her position. For nearly eight months of every year she had been the only family member at Stroud Hall. Dozens would say, “You are not permitted to be here, milady”; nobody would say, “who are you?” Even in the four months when other family members might be there, everybody knew Lady Anne.

At the balls, if they knew her at all, they knew her the way she knew them. She had spent long hours memorizing the complicated knot which was the ton’s family of ‘family trees.’ But they did not appreciate her, did not know -- as James did -- that she liked puns which played on French-English homonyms, did not know -- as Lenora did -- that she enjoyed feeling the baby kick, did not know -- as Joyce did and Deborah was learning -- that she despised the color pink. They did not know -- as even Cook did -- that when a mama cat was kicked by a horse, only Lady Anne had the patience to get the kittens to drink from a saucer. They knew that she had an ancient name and over ten thousand pounds in dowry. That might bring her proposals, but she would despise any proposal built on that. Meanwhile, the men wanted to dance with china dolls -- many of them china dolls who lisped.

The second ball threatened to be even worse. The ball at Barhill House was definitely the least attractive of the three given on the second night. “Why do I have to attend this ball?” she asked Mother.

“They are friends,” James answered. “You honor friends.” James was there to escort her and Mother to the ball.

“Really, Anne,” Lady Stroud said, “your success this season depends on your family and the associations they have built. ‘Lady Anne’ will be engaged, but it is ‘Stroud’s daughter’ and ‘Dorwich’s sister’ who gets invited to balls where you can meet the bachelors. James is willing to use his connections and reputation to aid your debut; you should not object to honoring his connections. There will be fewer men there than at other balls, but far more than can be your partners during the night.”

“That is the first time,” James said “that you have ever suggested that I have a favorable reputation, Mother.”

“Your past escapades make it unlikely you will ever be invited into heaven, James. They are ideal for getting invited to balls. Anne, there are more women anxious to attend these balls than men. That inviting you and your brothers means that they may get the notorious Dorwich at their balls makes the hosts eager to extend those invitations.”

Since it was raining, and there were five of them, they went by coach. James sat with Joyce and Alice facing Anne and Lady Stroud. At Barhill House, James greeted their host while the ladies went upstairs with their maids to repair the ravages of the journey. There was a slow parade down those stairs and a cluster of men waiting at the bottom.

“Remember,” Lady Stroud whispered to Anne as they walked down, “that your pouting punishes neither James nor me. It does damage your reputation as a pleasant dance partner. And that reputation will last this Season -- probably for years. Smile at them; snarl at us later.” The men did seem somewhat more interested in Anne. Her humor improved a little through the first three dances. It improved even more when her fourth partner appeared to claim his dance. He was Lord Lionel Grant, a handsome blond who was only two inches taller than she was. The quartet struck up a waltz, and they danced smoothly away.

Lionel asked, “So, Lady Anne, how are you enjoying your Season?” This was a waltz, after all. One conversed with one’s partner. This partner, attractive as she was, was a stranger. You could hardly ask how she enjoyed being Dorwich’s sister.

Anne replied, “Comme ci, comme ca,” Even that was shading it.

Lionel said, “Mademoiselle! Vous avez presq’un accent parisien.” And her accent was almost Parisian. Besides, compliments were due one’s dance partner, and to compliment her dancing would be insincere. She danced like a girl a few waltzes away from dance class. Her face was pretty enough; and her striking, jet black, hair and thick-lashed eyes were lovely. He doubted that he could frame a compliment for those that she had not heard a dozen times. Complimenting her attractive shape or the silken white of the tops of her breasts would earn him a challenge. He suspected that Dorwich was a dead shot.

Anne said, “Merci, monsieur. Vous ettes tres aimable.” And he was kind. She relaxed and enjoyed the dance. They continued their conversation in French. Meanwhile, she decided that Lenora had been right; the waltz was more enjoyable when you followed your partner’s lead.

Lionel would bet that she had not heard her eyes complimented in French. He described how lovely they were. Then he held her closer and told her how attractive her hair was. The standard decorations of gold and pearls really stood out against black hair. Her dancing grew more responsive as their conversation wore on. If he had lost sight of her breasts in this embrace, he was more than compensated by the feel of them against his chest. The music ended and he led her back to where her mother had been sitting. Dorwich was there.

“Mon frere,” Anne began, “cet monsieur s’appelle Lionel Grant.” Having switched to English, she continued in that language. “Lionel, this is my brother, the Earl of Dorwich.”

“Good evening,” James said, “or should I say ‘bon soir’?”

“Good evening,” Lionel replied, “we had been speaking French. I must say that I know few Englishwomen who can waltz while speaking French as well as Lady Anne can -- or at all.”

Lady Stroud was returned by her partner at that moment. After being introduced to them both, Lionel went to find his partner for the next dance. Anne was much less angry with James after that dance. Her dance card filled, and she enjoyed the dance and the dinner. She might not be the belle of the Season, but she could waltz and speak French. And the handsomest man in the room appreciated that skill.

Lionel was quite conscious that, since he was not in the market for a wife, his dances with maidens were a gift. He repaid the gift by telling of the good points of his past partners. Besides, having danced with Dorwich’s sister provided him with twice-reflected glory. Not many in his club wanted to talk French while they were waltzing, but the story of Anne’s skill went around.

If Lionel Grant did not appear at the next several balls, Anne had other pleasures. More men were asking to be her partner, and Deborah told her how to refuse requests politely. By then, she needed that advice.

“Remember your purpose,” Deborah said. “Married men will not propose, and neither will a good many of the bachelors. The likeliest are widowers and those bachelors in their late twenties and early thirties. That you want to have a title of your own is not the only reason to prefer titled men. They are more interested in assuring their succession, therefore to propose. Heirs of living lords are even likelier; their fathers press them.”

“Do you think me so unlikely to get a proposal?”

“Not at all. Getting one proposal will not be the issue I want us to have as many as possible to select among.”

Anne wondered whether Deborah expected the ‘us’ who would have the power of selection to even include Anne. This was not the occasion at which, however, nor the company in which, to argue that question. Between Lenora’s sympathy towards Anne and James’s antipathy towards Deborah, they would take her side in any argument with Deborah. Mother sometimes asked Deborah to wait for her death before assuming her position as pre-eminent woman of the family; she would lean towards Anne’s choice, or -- at least -- away from Deborah’s. And there might not be any argument. Strange things did happen.

Finally, on Tuesday of the second week, Anne saw Lord Lionel waiting at the bottom of the stairs as she came down. This time, two other men tried to get her attention, but she turned to Lord Lionel first.

“Lady Anne, might I have the pleasure of the first dance with you?”

“Certainly, Lord Lionel.” And the dance was a pleasure for her. Lord Lionel was as skilled in the minuet as in the waltz. Walking her back to her mother, he asked whether she had been riding in London. “When the weather is good in the mornings, as it was not last week, I often ride with my sister in Saint James Park.”

“That sounds delightful. Perhaps I shall see you there some day.”

Friday, Lionel Grant was waiting at the bottom of the stairs again. She was ready to turn towards him, but he did not approach. When the last of the others had gone, when Earl Darnell was about to take her arm for the first dance, he did speak to her.

“Lady Anne, might I have the honor of the dinner dance?” His hanging back had not been a sign of indifference.

“Certainly, Lord Lionel.” She wrote it in. The dinner dance was a quadrille, which he danced as well as he had the others. He was her partner only slightly more than the other men in the square, but taking his arm and sitting beside him at dinner more than compensated for that. The man on her left was a fop and a bore about being a fop, but Lord Lionel compensated for that, as well. He had been to France and knew the social life of Paris. His descriptions of life there were much more interesting than the old stories that James told.

Saturday, they met again. Anne was riding with Deborah and Charles in St. James Park when she saw Lord Lionel ride towards them with a girl riding along behind him.

“Lady Anne,” he called. She turned her horse and rode towards him at a walk. Deborah and, especially, Charles were constrained to follow. What a scandal were an unmarried woman to converse in public view with a man outside her family without supervision of her kin! “Lady Anne,” he repeated when they were facing each other, “what a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mister Grant. Charles, Deborah, might I present Lord Lionel Grant. He has traveled in France. Mister Grant, may I present my sister Deborah, Countess Standish. My brother Charles Tarleton.”

“A pleasure, Lady Deborah, Lord Charles. And might I present my sister, Sophia Grant. Sophia, this is Lady Anne Tarleton, daughter to the Marquess of Stroud.” Sophia replied politely. Soon, she and Charles were talking while Anne and Lionel were talking. No-one cut Deborah, but she was clearly nobody’s favored conversation partner. Lionel could tell that she was working to keep her temper under control when he decided to bring the meeting to an end. Sophia needed the favor of a hostess more than the favor of a younger son and a debutante. “Countess Standish, Lady Anne, Lord Charles, this has been a pleasure. I promised Sophia a long ride, however.” The Grants trotted away, and the Tarletons rode in the direction that they had been heading when Anne and Lionel saw each other.

“Really, Anne,” Deborah said. “A younger son!”

“Much an inferior sort of person, younger sons,” said Charles conscious that this description fit him.

“Not so inferior as younger brothers,” Deborah shot back. She slapped her horse, which was happy to canter off. The other two followed her.

“Well,” Lionel said in another part of the park, “this ride was productive. Did you like the man?”

“Like him, yes. I was not so smitten as the girl was with you.”

“Smitten? She was merely greeting me politely.”

“Smitten. She was happy to see you, and Lady Deborah was definitely not.”

“Which was why I broke off the discussion when I did. The favor of the younger two is quite helpful, but it is not worth the disfavor of the matron. Still, you are acquainted with the Tarletons. We are not quite as de trop as we were yesterday.”

Sunday, Anne visited Dorwich House. Lenora greeted her with, “I know whom you are really visiting. Go see Walter.” Anne came back shortly.

“Every time I visit, he is either nursing or sleeping.”

“You should have asked Mrs. Dillon what his usual hours are for playing whist. Really, Anne, at that age, they either nurse or sleep. She has to interrupt his sleep to change his soiled clothes. Have you been enjoying your Season? Mostly, the weather has been beastly; I have missed little by staying in. Have the balls been enjoyable?”

“Not that enjoyable. I am too tall for more than half the men, and many of the rest are too tall for me. I have discovered that anyone of the height of Charles or more makes me fear that they will deal with me by force majeur. James and Charles used to keep me from following them by carrying me to a tree and sticking me up in a fork too high for me to jump down. I fear giving any more men that opportunity, especially huge dark-haired men like my brothers. James would not do that to you, would he?”

Lenora was careful in her response. “We are different people. My memories of being carried are of my father carrying me on his shoulder, and that stopped when I was very young. Being carried is being cherished. On the other hand, I spent three years in a school dormitory in which the beds measured six feet between the outside of the headboard and the outside of the footboard. I went to sleep on a diagonal. If I stretched out my arm, almost if I pointed my toes, I would not fit. Returning to a life in which I am the small one is a comfort. But your comfort is not my comfort. So, your ideal husband should be taller than you, but only slightly, his hair should be light, he should neither bore you nor commit as long a string of escapades as James did, and he should love you and be loved by you. That is a long list of requirements. Take care that you leave anyone of the ton who meets them all.”

“Oh, I think there are some, if you were to remove the last two.”

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday had multiple balls, and the Grants attended different ones from the Tarletons. Tuesday’s most elite ball, however, was given by the parents of one of George’s old friends from Cambridge. The Grants were invited. To honor the friendship and increase their desirability as guests in the future, both George and Lionel went with Sophia. Two bachelors, even though neither was in the marriage market, more than balanced one maiden. The betting in the clubs was that this Season would produce a record number of spinsters.

Lionel saw Lady Anne coming down the stairs. She had introduced him to Dorwich, had greeted him in friendly fashion in the park. He should cultivate her more. The dinner dance was too much; her family would want her to dine with men looking for wives. He was third of the five men asking her for a dance at the foot of the stairs. He stepped back as Sophia descended. She had only two requests at the foot of the stairs, but he saw her dance with four men before his dance with Lady Anne. Anne was on Lord Lionel’s arm when the quartet began a waltz. He took her in his arms and led her in the dance. It was the most pleasant sensation she had had in days. She sank into it, allowing him to take her where he would. His choice was only the dance steps. He twirled them around, took a few steps, and twirled them around again.

“Your dancing is excellent,” he said. “You were skilled before, but the week has polished you.” Actually, he thought, she had been polished before. Now she danced like a warm human.

“Merci beaucoup, “ she responded. He continued in French, and she felt that she was in heaven. All too soon, the music ended. He returned her to where she stood between dances. James glanced over as Lord Lionel raised her hand to his lips. The kiss was no different than other men’s kisses, but her heart reacted differently. Had she found her love? Did he love her? If she could not answer the first question, how could she imagine answering the second?

The other dances were pleasant, and her dinner companions entertaining, if not brilliant. When the hostess led all the gentlewomen away to a parlor, another girl came up to her. It was one of those china dolls, blond and petite.

“Lady Anne?” At least she did not lisp. “My brother introduced us the other day. I am Sophia Grant.”

“Of course.” She looked different than she had looked on horseback. But, for that matter, had Anne’s eyes seen anyone else while Lord Lionel was there. “Will you join me.?” She patted the cushion beside her on the sofa.

“It is kind for one of the belles of the Season to speak to me,” Sophia began as she took the seat.

“Belles of the Season? Where? Half the men who are tall enough to be seen dancing with me prefer petite blondes like you.”

“For which ball this Season have you failed to receive an invitation?”

“That is my family, not me. I envy what you have, and you envy what I have.”

“Do you really want to be a petite blonde?”

“Not really, although it would be convenient right now. You have to fear marriage to a relative giant. I would rather have a husband my own size.”

“Well, there are few potential husbands my size. That is not one of my fears. Should I wish to be able to hold my own against my husband in a battle? Could any woman?”

“That is a point,” Anne conceded. Raising the fear of her husband picking her up and sticking her up a tree would be unfair to her. It probably would never happen. Giving the background would be unfair to Charles. He might have matured, and his misbehaviors, unlike James’s, were mostly family secrets.

But if Sophia’s family were getting fewer invitations than she wanted, that would explain why Anne was seeing so little of Lord Lionel.

The number of balls dwindled until there were few nights with more than one and some nights were without any. The Grants almost always received some invitation, but not always. When their mother attended, both brothers attended. They developed a reputation of balancing the sexes, which stood in their favor. One rainy night, George and Sophia went to a ball at Jardine House. They took the phaeton. After dinner, Lionel rang for a footman.

“Have my coachman ready the coach,” he said. “Mother, I shall go to White’s.”

“It is a miserable night,” she replied. “And the phaeton is gone with its top.”

“I shall take the coach. It is a short journey, but it has the best protection against the rain”

“Do as you wish. I no longer overrule my sons’ follies.”

When the coach was well away from the house, he rapped on the roof. When the coachman stopped and looked inside, he changed the address. Instead of driving to White’s, he cruised slowly down the streets favored by doxies. Soon, he saw one that appealed to him. He rapped for the driver to stop, and opened a coach door.

“In the coach,” he said.

“Only one of you?” The woman was plainly frightened.

“Only one of me. Look!” He opened both doors on her side. The inside of the coach was lighted faintly by two of the four side lanterns, but it was much brighter than the street. “And it is dry in here.” That might have been what persuaded her. She climbed into the coach and closed the doors. He showed her the usual price. “You will have to sit on my lap,” he said. “I shall take care of the rest.” He unbuttoned and showed her his shaft growing erect. “Are you wearing briefs?”

“No. What use in my trade?” She raised her skirts up to her waist to show him.

“Open your blouse.” When she had opened it, he said, “Now.” He slid forwards in the seat. With small adjustments, she sat on him facing forward so that he penetrated her. He rapped with his whip on the roof of the coach. The coach set off over the cobblestones.

“What now? Are you taking me away?”

“No. Merely taking you. Feel the motions?” And the jostling of the coach provided some motion. He slipped his hand into her blouse to feel the pendulous breasts. Soon, he required more motion. He pushed himself deeper into her and relaxed out again. That was enough to take him over. He clutched her belly and raised them both off the seat as he shot into her. A minute later, he was relaxed. “You can get up, now.” He gave her the coins. “If you want the same corner, look out the window and tell me.”

“Any corner will do.” she said. He rapped on the roof of the coach for the coachmen to stop. When she was out, he closed the door and rapped again. The coach proceeded towards White’s as he adjusted his clothing. When he got there, he gave the coachman two shillings. The tip not only covered his getting wet so Lionel did not need to; it also covered his silence.

His visit to White’s was brief. The only games going were whist, and joining a table was a commitment to spending hours there. He was back home long before George and Sophia were.

The next night, there was no ball and they all -- even Mother who had the most anxiety and the least participation -- breathed a sigh of relief. They dined en famille and played a few hands of piquet before making an early night of it. The night after that, Lionel accompanied Sophia to the ball. Lady Anne Tarleton, whom he had taken to calling la belle noire in his mind, was there and in demand. A half dozen men were ahead of him. Some of them he considered men seriously looking for wives. He took note of those for Sophia’s sake.

“Lady Anne, might I have the honor of a dance.”

“The dinner dance is free.”

“Might I have the honor of the dinner dance?”

“I would be honored.” She wrote his name in. As she did, he noticed that earlier lines were still empty. Could Sophia be right? Could Dorwich’s sister be smitten with him? He doubted it. Could she regard him as a live prospect? That was, if anything, less likely. His father had possessed a good, but not very large, competence. Three daughters took a small share of that. A younger son took significantly less than half the remainder. If the Tarletons knew nothing more, and were they interested they could find out the entire settlement down to the legacies to the servants, they would know that his income was nowhere in their range. They could tell that much by looking at him and Darrow House. And he had no title and little chance at a title. George would marry one of these days. He watched Sophia through the rest of the first dance, and then went to invite several more ladies to dance. If the Tarletons had a wrong estimate of his desirability, it was not widely shared.

The dinner dance was a minuet, and they enjoyed the silent agreement that this dance encouraged in a pair of partners.

Anne drew out Lord Lionel during the dinner conversation. “And the French,” she asked, “will they be content now?”

“Whether they will or not depends on the situation. But a country which has never executed its king is like a virgin. She does not want to begin. Once the blood has been shed, the question is: ‘Shall I with this man on this occasion?’ It is a different question. The mob tore out the leaders God had given them; then they tore out the leaders they had selected to replace the first. They never tore out Napoleon, but twice they decided that he was not worth the effort to support him. Will they rise again? God alone knows. Can they rise again? Everybody knows. Besides that, the government seized a good deal of wealth from The Church and the first estate. They sold it to pay for more than a decade of war. To whom does it belong? The people who bought it, sometimes cheaply, sometimes not, think it belongs to them. The Church and the descendants of those to whom it belonged before ‘89 think it belongs to them. One vineyard can only grow one man’s grapes.”

Anne thought that she had never heard such a succinct summary of one country’s problems. At home later, thinking about the evening in bed, she became unhappy with the metaphor. Mother, Lenora, even Deborah, were no longer virgins. Were they considering which men they would take to bed? They did not appear to be doing so. Neither did they appear to be considering which occasions; obviously, some times were inauspicious, menses for example, Lenora’s situation just now. But she never heard one ponder ‘should I or should I not’ aloud, never saw evidence of argument.

This was all hearsay, but she had experience as a virgin. She was not particularly reluctant to begin. She was, indeed, looking for a husband. In doing so, she was competing with a bevy of other virgins who were also looking forward to marriage knowing full well what that entailed. Rather the opposite from what he had said, virgins were the ones asking with what man they would have sex, even if they did not express it that way. Lord Lionel had been more than fashionably cynical. He had attributed the male perspective to women.

She had only the vaguest idea of how humans had sex. Now, she had seen dogs and horses. Deborah told her that men and women were face-to-face with the woman lying on her back. Kissing, however, which was related to sex and was also face to face, she had seen. James often wrapped Lenora in his arms and kissed her. She usually embraced him at those times, as well. Lenora had suggested that they closed doors for serious kissing. Anne’s parents, who spoke of the public nature of those activities as something that young married couples would outgrow, kissed in the entryway or the courtyard every time that Lord Stroud went off on a trip without his wife. Kissing she knew, and she dreamed of Lionel Grant’s kissing her. It was like James kissing Lenora, except that -- since it was not in public -- it lasted as long as the dream did.

The balls continued, the dances with Lord Lionel continued. She really enjoyed the waltzes more. A family story had James discovering which balls Lenora would attend and which dances at those balls would be waltzes. She could understand his interest in that, even though the methods would avail her nothing. Even today, James and Lenora danced one dance at their own balls; it was always a waltz.

But, back then, James, and James alone, had decided which balls he attended -- if he received an invitation. And, even three years before, a bachelor coming alone could receive any invitation he wanted. Anne had not the slightest voice in which balls she attended. She could, at most, plead illness to get out of attending a particular ball at the price of staying home. She had a small influence on which dances she granted, were she to know that they would be waltzes. She could accept Lord Lionel for the dinner dance, but that might well arouse suspicions were she to do it often. She had one to five pairs of eyes on her at every ball. And Lenora, whom she hoped would be the most sympathetic, was the exception who was never at balls.

Her first ball since the birth of Walter would be the one she and James gave on their anniversary. Since she would dance only occasionally at that one, she would be likely to be Anne’s chaperone, the person with whom Anne spoke between any two dances. Lord Lionel would be unlikely to attend that ball. Lenora and James had one of the smaller ballrooms in London. It would hold a mere eighty couples. Making a virtue of necessity, they tried to invite only the elite, the ton of the ton. If Sophia’s complaint had any validity, then that excluded the Grants. Anne, however, was a Tarleton. If less confrontational than her brothers and sister, she was no less determined to get her way. The question was how to get what she wanted.