Read Online 0800720903 (R) by Ruth Axtell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ruth Axtell
Tags: FIC042040, FIC042030, FIC027050, Aristocracy (Social class)—Fiction, London (England)—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction, 1760–1820—Fiction, Great Britain—History—George III
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carriages pulled up.”
Lady Bess closed her fan and said with satisfaction, “Any respectable dinner party will have at least a dozen guests. This one, by the number of coaches here already, will have at least twenty, I’d wager.”
A heavy, leaden sensation settled into the pit of Jessamine’s stomach.
“Twenty,” breathed Megan, excitement sparkling in her eyes.
Why hadn’t Jessamine pleaded indisposition and stayed home? Why had she insisted on a London season and not been content to remain in her small village where she knew everyone and was comfortable with them all?
“The baronet has a seat in the House of Commons, so there will be other members present, I’m sure. He is a Tory, so I wouldn’t expect any Whigs.”
Before Lady Bess could launch into another summary of all she’d gleaned in the past two days about the Marfleet family, the coach lurched again, sending her forward.
As she settled herself once more upon her seat, the coach moved only a short way before stopping. They waited in silence, tense. Even Lady Bess looked subdued, her fan clutched in her pudgy, beringed hands.
“At least we are not the first nor, hopefully, the last guests to arrive,” she said when the coach moved forward.
After a quarter of an hour of stopping and starting, their hired coach pulled in front of the entrance. Jessamine leaned over Megan’s shoulder, recognizing the fluted pilasters on either side of the door, which stood wide open this evening. A red carpet led down the steps onto the pavement to the carriage.
“Take off those hideous spectacles!” hissed Lady Bess.
Hurriedly, Jessamine complied, having seen enough, and stuffed them through the drawstring of her beaded reticule with shaking fingers. She quickly pulled the twisted silk cords closed just as a footman opened their door.
Wearing blue velvet livery and a powdered wig, he let down the step and handed out first Lady Bess then Megan and lastly Jessamine, who had deliberately hung back.
This would be her first real foray into London society. What would she say and do? How to behave? Would she meet someone to take her mind and heart off Rees Phillips for the first time since he’d dropped her for that Frenchwoman?
As these thoughts scurried through her mind like a mouse over a dining table, never stopping for long at any one dish, the footman handed her down, and she smoothed her gown before proceeding up the wide carpet behind her godmother and Megan.
Another footman met them at the door. He looked identical to the first, both tall and broad shouldered. He took their wraps, though Lady Bess retained her shawl, declaring one never knew when there would be a draft, even in the best of houses.
This footman led them up a wide, semicircular staircase to the first floor, where an older man, undoubtedly the butler, met them and took them into a room brightly lit by dozens of wall sconces and a chandelier hanging from the plastered ceiling.
He announced, “Lady Beasinger, Miss Barry, Miss Phillips.”
A sea of faces seemed to turn their way. How many were titled ladies and gentlemen, members of Parliament or high-placed officers, she wondered, spotting a red coat in the midst.
It was not quite a sea, she amended, seeing not a crowd but well over at least two dozen individuals. Lady Bess turned to greet their hosts. At the same time, Mr. Marfleet came up to them with a hesitant smile.
“Good evening.” He bowed to both Jessamine and Megan as Lady Bess spoke to Sir Geoffrey and his wife. “I’m glad you could come. May I present my parents, Sir Geoffrey and Lady Marfleet? And my sister, Miss Delawney Marfleet?”
Jessamine faced a distinguished-looking couple and a young lady at their side. She made her curtsy alongside Megan.
Sir Geoffrey reminded her of Sir Harold in a mature, fiftyish way, his dark blond, wavy hair graying at the temples. Still handsome, his chiseled features were ruddy as if he spent time out-of-doors, hunting perhaps.
Lady Bess closed her fan and said with satisfaction, “Any respectable dinner party will have at least a dozen guests. This one, by the number of coaches here already, will have at least twenty, I’d wager.”
A heavy, leaden sensation settled into the pit of Jessamine’s stomach.
“Twenty,” breathed Megan, excitement sparkling in her eyes.
Why hadn’t Jessamine pleaded indisposition and stayed home? Why had she insisted on a London season and not been content to remain in her small village where she knew everyone and was comfortable with them all?
“The baronet has a seat in the House of Commons, so there will be other members present, I’m sure. He is a Tory, so I wouldn’t expect any Whigs.”
Before Lady Bess could launch into another summary of all she’d gleaned in the past two days about the Marfleet family, the coach lurched again, sending her forward.
As she settled herself once more upon her seat, the coach moved only a short way before stopping. They waited in silence, tense. Even Lady Bess looked subdued, her fan clutched in her pudgy, beringed hands.
“At least we are not the first nor, hopefully, the last guests to arrive,” she said when the coach moved forward.
After a quarter of an hour of stopping and starting, their hired coach pulled in front of the entrance. Jessamine leaned over Megan’s shoulder, recognizing the fluted pilasters on either side of the door, which stood wide open this evening. A red carpet led down the steps onto the pavement to the carriage.
“Take off those hideous spectacles!” hissed Lady Bess.
Hurriedly, Jessamine complied, having seen enough, and stuffed them through the drawstring of her beaded reticule with shaking fingers. She quickly pulled the twisted silk cords closed just as a footman opened their door.
Wearing blue velvet livery and a powdered wig, he let down the step and handed out first Lady Bess then Megan and lastly Jessamine, who had deliberately hung back.
This would be her first real foray into London society. What would she say and do? How to behave? Would she meet someone to take her mind and heart off Rees Phillips for the first time since he’d dropped her for that Frenchwoman?
As these thoughts scurried through her mind like a mouse over a dining table, never stopping for long at any one dish, the footman handed her down, and she smoothed her gown before proceeding up the wide carpet behind her godmother and Megan.
Another footman met them at the door. He looked identical to the first, both tall and broad shouldered. He took their wraps, though Lady Bess retained her shawl, declaring one never knew when there would be a draft, even in the best of houses.
This footman led them up a wide, semicircular staircase to the first floor, where an older man, undoubtedly the butler, met them and took them into a room brightly lit by dozens of wall sconces and a chandelier hanging from the plastered ceiling.
He announced, “Lady Beasinger, Miss Barry, Miss Phillips.”
A sea of faces seemed to turn their way. How many were titled ladies and gentlemen, members of Parliament or high-placed officers, she wondered, spotting a red coat in the midst.
It was not quite a sea, she amended, seeing not a crowd but well over at least two dozen individuals. Lady Bess turned to greet their hosts. At the same time, Mr. Marfleet came up to them with a hesitant smile.
“Good evening.” He bowed to both Jessamine and Megan as Lady Bess spoke to Sir Geoffrey and his wife. “I’m glad you could come. May I present my parents, Sir Geoffrey and Lady Marfleet? And my sister, Miss Delawney Marfleet?”
Jessamine faced a distinguished-looking couple and a young lady at their side. She made her curtsy alongside Megan.
Sir Geoffrey reminded her of Sir Harold in a mature, fiftyish way, his dark blond, wavy hair graying at the temples. Still handsome, his chiseled features were ruddy as if he spent time out-of-doors, hunting perhaps.
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