Chapter 1: Penmanship

“Father,” Esther Slater said, “it is a great honor. The girl with the best handwriting helps Lady Dorwich each year. She is the most important graduate the school has.”

“The most important? Or is she merely an aristocrat? Is she one of those flighty aristocratic women with loose morals? What has she done that makes her ‘most important’?”

“She is hardly flighty. The last time I saw her speak to the school she was expecting a child; her second. She is a married woman with children. She holds dinners to honor members of the Royal Society and other natural philosophers. Madame Gallienne is a frequent guest. You always say that rather than what The Lord has given you, one should ask what you have done with The Lord’s gifts. Well, she married a great nobleman. That is what The Lord gave her. What she has done with it is to raise the honor of learning in this world.”

“Our family does not need you to go out to work.”

“So, when I graduate from l’Ecole Gallienne, you no longer wish me to start keeping the books?”

“You are twisting my words. Working for me is not going out. The family should work in the family firm. Idle hands are the devil’s playground. While you are in school, that is your work. If you have time to spare, you may begin keeping the books now.”

“This is one afternoon and evening. It only gives me one pound.Madame Gallienne said that I might need a hackney from school if the weather is bad, and I probably would need a hackney home. It will be well after dark. Lady Dorwich will pay me more than enough to cover both.”

“And when will you eat?”

“I shall eat with Lady Dorwich. She says dinner and luncheon.” Actually, the note said ‘luncheon and dinner,’ which was a strange order to write those meals. “If the luncheon is less than our supper, I shall fill up on bread and cheese after I get home. It is an honor; the other girls will be asking me about it that Monday.”

“Very well, Esther. You may help her with this task. I shall ask you Sunday whether you think the life of the aristocracy is all that impressive.”

“Thank you very much, Father.” Not that she would see anything of the life of the aristocracy. She was going to be amanuensis for Lady Dorwich, not Lord Dorwich’s dancing partner. Still, that was an honor in the small world of her school, and it was a step out into the greater world. She loved her family, but sometimes she felt as though it were a prison and that chapel and school were the only escapes.

So she felt quite adventurous on Saturday when she told the driver of the hackney cab the address of Dorwich House. It was closer than the mile-and-a-half she normally walked to school, but rain was coming down in sheets.

“Rain is coming down in sheets,” George told his brother and sister-in-law. “I’m taking my coach to look for a London residence; I am well able to take Anne to Dorwich house on my way. It would be much drier a trip than in your phaeton”

“I still think it wiser to make this your London residence,” Lionel said.

“Father left Darrow House to you, Lionel. I have so much by right that I would feel greedy indeed to take a share of Darrow House.” Then, too, a landlord would wink at behavior of a bachelor tenant which would shock Anne from a brother-in-law. “A visit is one thing; I do feel welcome on a visit. Staying for the time I am in attendance at parliament is something else. If I need to give a dinner, we shall consider whether this is the appropriate place.”

It was past noon before he handed Anne into his coach. She thanked him prettily, and he sat across from her and handed her out at Dorwich House. Anne and Lady Lenora Dorwich had quite similar handwriting, and Anne was going to help address invitations to the Dorwich Anniversary Ball. The ballroom at Dorwich House held only 80 couples at most; the Dorwich couple made a virtue of that limitation and invited only the ton of the ton. Anne and Lionel hardly qualified for that description. George, after all, was the Earl of Fenhurst. Lionel was merely the younger brother -- Mr. Grant. And George was barely in the ton. Anne, however, was sister to James, earl of Dorwich. That not only earned her an invitation, it put her at the center of the planning. Having handed Anne down, George walked her to the door. The footman took them to the front parlor where Lady Lenora was sitting at one table and a young woman sitting at another. Lenora rose.

“George, Anne, might I present Miss Esther Slater? She is one of the bright lights of l’Ecole Gallienne. Esther, this is Lord George Fenhurst and Lady Anne Grant. Mrs. Grant is my husband’s sister and Lord George is her husband’s brother.” Esther rose and dropped a quite presentable curtsey. Anne curtsied in return and George bowed.

“Charmed,” he said. And the young lass was charming. A pretty face atop a supple figure. The clothes looked stodgy beside the ladies’ but the hair was magnificent. When she sat down, he saw her brush the stream of hair out of her way. Otherwise, it would have caught between her back and the back of the chair; there was even a risk she might have sat on the end. Now, that was hair - beautiful brown hair, as well.

“George,” Lady Lenora asked, “can you stay for luncheon?”

He had planned to drop off Anne, pay his respects, and go. On the other hand, his business was not that urgent. “That is very kind of you. I shall tell my coachman.” And he sent a footman to tell the coachman. Meanwhile, he took himself to the library. With the contrasting tastes of James and Lenora, the Dorwich library always had something interesting.

For a moment, Esther had thought that she had entered into the life of the aristocracy, as her father said she would. Lord George looked handsome and spoke quite courteously. Then, he left; and she went back to writing and addressing invitations. Lady Lenora checked and signed the ones that Esther and Mrs. Grant wrote as well as writing her own. It was dull work when the interesting visitor had gone. The mention of “luncheon” worried her. Dinner at school and at home were at noon. She was getting hungry, and seemed to have missed dinner if her hostess were speaking of some light snack of a “luncheon.”

“Esther, dear,” Lady Lenora said, “luncheon will be more than an hour from now, and I know that you usually eat at noon. I was a boarder there for three years. Would you like some bread and butter?”

“Please Milady.” Lady Lenora rang and ordered the bread for her and tea for them all. When the bread arrived, it was already lavishly buttered, and the tea came with sugar. They used honey at home, in protest of slavery, but she would not mention this at home. The bread and butter slaked her appetite for a while, but she was hungry again when luncheon was announced. She worried that she would look a glutton, but she had missed dinner.

She need not have worried. Luncheon was a heavy meal with more formality than her family used for dinner, although there was no prayer at all. Instead of a maid bringing in the food to be distributed by father, there was a footman to seat her and see to her needs. The food was soup followed by fish followed by roast lamb, followed by sorbet. She barely had room for the sorbet. The first two courses had one wine, and the next two had another. She kept her drinking moderate, and the others stayed sober. If Lord James took two glasses for every one she took, he might be twice as large. The conversation was an experience in the life of the aristocracy. She was seated between Lord James, her host, and Lord George. The meal lasted for more than an hour, and she would have been content to sit there and listen to the strands of conversation for another hour. As her father said, youth was given mouths for eating and ears for hearing the wisdom of their elders. They should speak only in answer to direct questions. Lord George, however, expected her to speak. He kept asking her questions.

“I have always admired the education that Lady Lenora received,” he said. “You are learning the same things? French and natural philosophy?”

Lenora noted the interest of the Earl in her guest. It might well be innocent flirting; the ton flirted more than they danced or gambled, and they did both to excess. Lord George often flirted with her, and he would have been shocked if it had led to anything. On the other hand, the flirting had never extended to expressing the admiration he now professed for her education. She would watch over Miss Slater; the girl was her guest, her employee, a student at l’Ecole Gallienne. On all three accounts, she was under her protection.

Esther told Lord George and the table about her education. She knew that she would describe the luncheon to friends at school the next week. They would be wildly curious about the aristocracy and Lady Lenora, Countess Dorwich, in particular. Perhaps these polite aristocrats were really curious; perhaps they were only expressing polite interest. Certainly, Lady Lenora could have told them almost all Esther could. The school had not changed that much in five years. Lord George, however, kept asking questions after other subjects had arisen.

George found the young miss attractive. Her information gave a window into a different kind of world. His education at Eton had been purely classical, if you ignore the sports aspect which was classically based. The very idea of a school for women was original, although he had known that Lady Lenora had attended this school. The information Miss Slater conveyed was, however, less than half the charm of her exposition. Her voice was musical despite the traces of London accent. When they rose from luncheon, George took his leave. Lady Lenora walked him to the door.

“George, about Miss Slater.”

“Yes?”

“She is a gentlewoman and under my protection.”

“Have I offended her in any way?” he asked.

“You have offended no-one here. You have, no doubt, charmed her. You are a charming man. I simply want your charms to go no further than a gentlewoman should be charmed.”

“I respect her. I shall respect your protection. I simply find her attractive. I apologize for concentrating on the experiences which I find enlightening, but you must find dull.”

“No apology needed for that,” she said. “I enjoyed hearing of the school again. Anne is staying for dinner. Can you come back for that? Eight o’clock? It will be just us and quite informal.”

“You are too kind. Eight o’clock it is.” He went about his business of finding a residence for his time in London. Finally, he settled on the third place on the list compiled by his man of business. It was a suite of four interconnecting rooms in the house of a gentleman whose children had moved away. He contracted for breakfast every day and would pay for other meals when he requested them. He would have the use of the servants and fee them himself. The rent included stable room for his carriages and room for his coachman and valet among the servants of the house.

He returned to Darrow house to bathe and change for dinner. When he got to Dorwich House, he found that the others had not changed. Of course! Miss Slater would not; and the others did not wish her to feel singled out. The women were having tea in the parlor where they had worked when he arrived. Dorwich joined them a few minutes after George did. Chastened, he let the conversation cover other subjects than Miss Slater. Since she provided few words to please his ears, he must content himself with the pleasure she provided for his eyes

Esther was copying virtually the same message over and over. Only because she crossed out each name on the list after she addressed that invitation was she certain she had not copied the names over and over as well. She thought it would never end, but -- finally -- Lady Dorwich spoke.

“This is my final one. Do either of you need me to work on your list?”

“Not I,” said Mrs. Grant. “Two more addresses, and three for you to sign when the ink is dry.”

Esther looked at her list. “I only have one more on my list, but not all of these are addressed.” Lady Dorwich rose and shook her right hand vigorously before walking over to take the unsigned invitations from each of them. She sat at her table, signed them, and sprinkled them with sand. She rang for a maid and ordered tea. Soon after the pot arrived, all of them had finished. Esther took the tea she was offered. Lady Dorwich drank tea more often than Esther’s family did, but that could not be an insight into the aristocracy. Everyone knew that the typical beverage of the aristocracy was brandy.

Lady Dorwich asked after teachers she had known, but then the conversation turned to discussion between the two older women. Esther was surprised to hear that the subjects were similar to those her mother would indulge in with friends. Instead of gossiping about the last ball, they mostly told stories of their children, especially Mrs. Grant’s young boy, “the cub.”

Lord Fenhurst returned, dressed somewhat differently than he had gone out after luncheon. He still wore black trousers and a white shirt, but he wore a dark blue coat over a light blue waistcoat. He looked even more handsome dressed like that. Mrs. Grant appealed to him:

“Now, George, Is young Lionel not the spitting image of his father?”

“Spitting? I would not say so. Most of the water emerges lower down.”

“Oh, George.” Mrs. Grant looked disapproving. Esther had to struggle to suppress her laughter, and Lady Dorwich smiled. Indeed, she grinned.

“You have to accept parentage, my dear,” Lord George said.” The cub’s hair and eyes are brown. He is not a Grant blond. Miss Slater, have they spent the entire afternoon talking about their children?”

“No, Milord. The subject, indeed the conversation, only just came up. Writing invitations is not something you can do while you are talking.”

“Before I forget,” Lady Dorwich said. She handed Esther a sovereign.

“She only paid you a pound?” Mrs. Grant asked Esther. “The first time I did it, I got to invite the man I fancied to the ball. The pay scale has fallen in two years.” Esther suddenly saw the sort of scandal one always heard about engulfing the ton. A married woman was talking about the man she fancied. And Lord George was her husband’s brother. He looked amused when he should be shocked.

“Yes, Anne,” Lady Dorwich said. “But I had not agreed to that wage. You cozened it.”

“On the other hand,” Lord George said, “Lionel was not invited alone. Sophia and I had to be included.” That comment relieved Esther. Apparently, this had been a jape rather than a sin. It had been a single woman fancying a man she later married.

Dinner was announced. Except that Esther was on the other side of the table from before (as were Lord George and Mrs Grant, for that matter), the seating was as it had been at luncheon. Again, there was no prayer. This time she resolved to eat lightly; nobody had told her how many courses there would be, but she could expect as many at ‘dinner’ as there had been at ‘luncheon.’ The soup was quite different from the previous one, but equally delicious. The fish was also differently prepared from the one at luncheon; it seemed to be a different breed, although it was minced and spiced beyond recognition. Meanwhile the conversation went on around her without Lord George trying to draw her in. She followed it and stored away her impressions. She could regale both school and family with tales of her adventures with the aristocracy.

George participated in the conversation without giving it his whole attention, an easier task than participating in the conversation with one’s partner while following what was said around one -- the task at a large dinner. Anne and Lord James were trading barbs, a conversation common at a Tarleton dinner. George kept out of it. Tarletons only fought each against each for practice; were an outsider to attack one, they all would retaliate with unbated tongues. Miss Slater seemed amused with the byplay, perhaps amused with all of them. She had a rare presence. This had to be her first dinner chez le ton, informal as it was. He had dined with dozens of debutantes all of whom had had more experience. They had all evinced nervousness, ranging from mild up to desperate. Miss Slater was enjoying the meal, enjoying the conversation. She was clearly not concerned with drawing out her companion, not concerned with shining. And, in her unconcern, she shone indeed.

While they were eating their roast beef -- excellently cooked but quite standard fare -- mention was made of a dinner that Lord and Lady Dorwich had held for several of the members of the Royal Society. Lady Dorwich explained some of the latest research which had been expounded there. Esther was grateful for the insight into new discoveries; the lessons at l’Ecole Galliennne tended to be on discoveries made in its proprietress’s youth.

A salon des savants, last month” said Mrs. Grant, “and a ball for the ton this one. Some times, Lenora, I wonder at the two worlds you inhabit. This Season’s girls have less in their minds than the ones of my Season did -- and I would have thought that impossible.”

“After all, Anne,” Lord Dorwich said, “empty heads count little. Father reminded me often enough that nurseries are filled ‘pas de la tete mais de la queue.’”

“Please, Milord,” Lady Dorwich said. George who had Miss Slater full in view during the enirety of Lord James’s comments, had not noticed the slightest response. She had neither looked down as a shy maiden -- or a maiden pretending shyness -- would have nor smiled at the mild ribaldry as a fashionable jade would have.

“And James,” Mrs. Grant said, “you ignored that advice as you did all of Father’s advice. Although even Father admits that the result of your ignoring this piece of advice was fortunate.”

“You know, M’love,” Lord Dorwich said, “Anne approves of you. Makes me doubt my decision.”

“You could go and live with the children in the south wing,” Mrs. Grant said. “I’m certain that Mother and Father would rather have you there than James.”

“Now, Anne,” Lady Dorwich said, “I am quite happy with my present arrangement. James may be annoying on occasion, but he is never dull.” At that point, a goose was brought in. Esther congratulated herself on not having taken any seconds on the previous courses. The conversation turned to politics. Lord George intended to attend the sessions of the House of Lords regularly.

“That is why I needed a London residence of my own,” he explained. “The sessions can last all night.”

“Yes, indeed,” Lord Dorwich replied. “But can you? I can dance until dawn, but I cannot listen to speeches until dawn. When I was young, MacTavish trained me to advocate on any subject in five minutes. We began with ten minutes, but he gradually reduced the time to five minutes. Then I had to expound the opposite view in equal time. Two hundred MacTavishes and the next generation of Parliament would have a House of Lords which met noon to dusk once a week.”

“Each speaker,” said Mrs. Grant, “taking ten minutes to expound both sides of each question. That is two thousand minutes. Something over thirty hours.”

“Thirty three hours and twenty minutes,” Esther had to say. After all, it was simple arithmetic. “That’s not counting the time to recognize each speaker.”

“Sounds no faster than the present system.”

“And,” Lady Dorwich pointed out, “we are unlikely to see two hundred men like Mr. MacTavish. One other would be a surprise. Another scheme for reforming Parliament goes awry.”

The goose was gone by this time, and a footman brought in a large tart. When Esther tasted it, she was happy that she had controlled her appetite during the previous courses. It was filled with pitted cherries and was the tastiest thing she had sampled in her life. She was considering whether to ask for seconds when Lord Dorwich asked for the last piece. Well, it would not have been polite to ask for more when her host was still hungry.

George saw Miss Slater’s disappointment. Rare presence or not, she was still a young chit with a taste for sweets. “Is there more tart?” he asked. Lady Lenora ordered another to be brought in. “Cut it in quarters,” he said. The butler did so. “Miss Slater will have one of those and I’ll have half of another.” They were served that way.

Esther was quite gratified that someone else had asked for more tart, and quite surprised that there was another. Did the Dorwich household have a kitchen or a bottomless cornucopia? Then, she was embarrassed that she was eating more of the dessert than anyone else. When she finished, Lady Dorwich rose. Mrs. Grant rose with her, and Lady Dorwich called to Esther. They left the room together.

“I am sorry,” Esther began to tell Lady Dorwich. She felt that the tart incident was a tremendous faux pas.

No reason to be sorry. We always leave the men together, even when it is so few of them. George and James will smoke a cigar. When James and I dine alone, I get up before he does, although he takes only a minute thereafter. It is an old custom, sensible at large dinners.”

“I am afraid that I know too few of the customs,” Esther admitted. “It seems strange for you to call your husband ‘Milord.’”

“That is not a common custom of the ton. I use that when I tease him or to express annoyance. Occasionally, as I told Anne, he can annoy me.”

“That, Miss Slater, is love talking. Truly, James is annoying only occasionally. The rest of the time, he is infuriating.”

“Do you have a brother, Miss Slater?” asked Lady Dorwich. “Do you ever quarrel with him?”

“I have two younger brothers,” she answered. Did she quarrel with them? She had. Not as openly as Mrs. Grant quarreled with her brother, though. Was it something that she wished to share with these two ladies, friendly as they were?

“I have two brothers, as well,” said Mrs. Grant, sparing her the necessity of either answering or declining the rest of the question. “I wager that they are more vexing than yours.”

“At least,” Lady Dorwich said, “you are more vexed with them. Is that difference because of their natures, or your nature? Perhaps Miss Slater has a more equitable temper than yours.”

“That is quite probable,” said Mrs. Grant. “Unless she dosed on laudanum this afternoon, she has a remarkably equitable temper. And, I must admit, mine is not particularly placid.”

“One Tarleton has a not particularly placid temper,” said Lady Dorwich, “and one river bottom is not particularly dry.” There was a stirring in the hall, and the Earls of Dorwich and Fenhurst came in the room.

“James,” said Mrs. Grant, “your wife implies that members of our family have not particularly placid tempers.”

“Lenora,” asked Lord Dorwich, “we have been married what? five years?”

“Five years come the ball.”

“And in all those years, you have never recognized my placidity, my reasonableness, my amenability? How could that possibly be?”

“Because they do not exist.”

“George,” Lord Dorwich turned his attention to the other man present. “Would you say that that was a reasonable answer to this conundrum?”

“Only,” said Lord George, “were I to be honest.” Lord Dorwich collapsed into a chair, luckily a quite sturdy one. He roared, the roars turning to loud laughter. It was minutes before he quieted and wiped tears from his eyes.

“Admit it, m’love,” he said. “That answer was better than yours, miles better. George, that is the comment of the evening.”

“If so,” said Lord George, “It would be foolish to try to top it. If Anne and Miss Slater are ready to leave, I shall take the two of them home.”

Mrs. Grant expressed her willingness, and Esther pinned up her hair before the footman helped her on with her hooded cloak. The evening showed no rain although the streets were still wet. Lord George helped Mrs. Grant into the coach and then helped Esther in after her. His touch warmed her hand even through the glove.

“Darrow House,” said Lord George. Then he climbed into the coach and sat facing them. Mrs. Grant and Lord George continued the conversation without any effort to include Esther. She was well content with that situation.

“Was my answer all that funny?” asked Lord George.

“Nothing is that funny. James enjoys his stubbornness, as I enjoy my own. He likes to think that he is the most stubborn man on earth. Perhaps he is the most stubborn man, but Lenora is as stubborn as he when she wishes to be. The woman is a saint for bearing the pains of marriage to that loon, and she greets the world with a smile so often.”

“Now, Anne,” was Lord George’s only answer to that. The coach soon came to a standstill. Lord George climbed down first and helped Anne down.

“Walk me to the door?” she asked. He did so. “George, about Miss Slater,” she began when they were well away from the coach. He merely pulled a questioning face. “You should not plan any haymow incidents with that one.”

“Haymow incident? Does Lionel tell you everything? Lady Lenora has already told me that Miss Slater is under her protection.”

“And, rightfully, under mine as well.”

“I intend no ill towards the chit. I merely find her voice pleasant. What is wrong with taking her home? You speak as though the good deed is something nefarious.” And, besides, the haymow had been Margaret’s idea. At fifteen, he had yearned for many; but he had possessed neither the skills nor the coin to seduce any.

“The good deed would have shone brighter were you to have taken Miss Slater home first,” Anne said. She knocked on the door and was admitted.

George returned to the coach and opened its door. He looked at the pretty chit sitting within.

“Miss Slater,” he asked. “What is your address?”

“Thirty two half Moon Street.” The coachman did not know the street.

“What is a large street that crosses that close to your house?”

“Piccadilly”

“Piccadilly he told the coachman. “And do not strain the horses.” He climbed into the coach and sat beside Miss Slater. “You are going to be late. What time do you usually get back on Saturday?”

Esther found the man sitting beside her slightly disturbing. But, after all, it was his coach. She could not expect him to ride backwards in it. But she was alone with him in the dimly-lit interior. And she could feel his thigh alongside hers. It must be the possible impropriety of this which disturbed her. It could not possibly be any attraction to him that made her heart beat faster. Well, he had asked a civil question. He deserved a civil answer.

“Yes, I shall be very late. I missed the class meeting this week. I normally get home perhaps half after noon or a little later. Classes end at noon, but we day girls take our time leaving. Then I have to walk home a mile and a half. The school is only about a mile away from our house as the crow flies, but I am no crow.”

“More of a meadowlark,” he said. Esther -- a London girl -- had no idea what one of these looked like or sounded like, but she knew she had been complimented. She blushed, hoping that this earl could not see it in the dimness. She needed to talk! She asked a question which had been bothering her.

“Are all aristocratic families like that? The arguments?”

“Not all aristocratic families are like any one thing. Your father is?”

“A cloth merchant.”

“And some cloth merchants cheat their customers, while others cheat their wives. If you doubt this, ask your father. That does not mean that he acts in that manner. Everything that you have heard about the ton does happen. That does not mean that everyone in the ton behaves that way. As for the arguments, you heard Dorwich about his training. He was taught to argue, and he thoroughly enjoys it. He laughed too loud at my quip, but he genuinely enjoyed it. The entire family enjoys argument and verbal duels. When first I heard Anne and James argue, I was tempted to take Anne’s side. She is, after all, my sister in law. Then, I learned that she will protect James as fiercely as she attacks him. She merely enjoys sparring with him. After all, she was there to help the Dorwich family by choice.

“To get back to the question, no! Few aristocratic families are like the Tarletons. Perhaps no other is. And the Tarleton sparring is not something to take seriously.”

“How can that be? I do not like arguing, even when it is over something important.”

“Nor do I, but others do. Do you play games with your friends? Do you ever run races?”

“I have. Every summer, my sister and I go to the park and race each other. I used to race my brothers. But Danny thinks playing with girls is bad now; and Sam is really too young. He is only eight.”

“Well, you like to run, and you like to win. Even when you like the person you are racing against, you enjoy beating them. Anne likes to argue, and she likes to win. She especially enjoys beating James because he is the most argumentative person she knows. It is not so far from your preferences, and it is not the ton. It is one large family.”

Some time in the midst of that speech, the coach had rolled to a stop. George threw open the door. “Your house?”

“Across the street.” He threw open the doors on the other side, and climbed down. He handed the lass down and watched until she had entered the door. A pleasant evening to end a productive day. A pleasant relationship over, definitely over. He had enjoyed listening to the lass, watching her, explaining things to her, and sitting with his thigh against her sweet thigh. Anne and Lady Lenora, however, had exaggerated, imagining that this liking was some sort of lust. It was an entirely innocent pleasure.