Gift Of the Gods Page 8

  This was Wednesday and, as if once again luck was on Penelope’s side, the two girls saw that there were a number of smart and expensive-looking carriages standing outside the house, which made it obvious that this was in fact the day when the Marchioness was ‘At Home’.

  Penelope, with a self-confidence that Alisa admired and felt should be hers rather than her younger sister’s, said to the butler,

  “Is her Ladyship at home?”

  “Yes, madam. Her Ladyship is receiving,” the butler replied.

  “Then would you be kind enough to give her Ladyship this note,” Penelope enquired, “and ask her if she will allow Miss Alisa and Miss Penelope Wynton to call on her?”

  The butler took the note and sent a footman hurrying up the double staircase to the landing from which came the sound of voices.

  As they waited in the hall, a carriage drew up outside and two ladies dressed exceedingly elegantly with exquisite high bonnets trimmed with ostrich feathers and gowns in the new shape, entered the house and proceeded up the stairs.

  Penelope watched them and then said to Alisa in a low voice,

  “They are smart, but not nearly as smart or as beautiful as we are! Stop looking so frightened, dearest! This is the moment we have been waiting for and I promise that you will not be disappointed.”

  Alisa tried to smile in response.

  At the same time she was wishing that she was back at home in her shabby gown, looking at the daffodils in the Park and making face-creams in the still room from her mother’s recipes.

  Then, looking at her sister, she thought it would be impossible for anybody to be as beautiful as Penelope.

  Mrs. Lulworth had been very insistent that their gowns should, while being distinctive, complement each other’s with the whole ensemble in each case being of one colour.

  “Madame Vestris,” she chatted as they were being fitted, “has always said that a leading lady should stand out and that the eyes of those applauding her should not be distracted by a multitude of bits and pieces and that applies particularly to colour.”

  Alisa thought of the red coat Madame Vestris had worn and remembered that her hat was also red, as were her short boots.

  The only exception had been her white breeches, but that was something which certainly need not concern Penelope or herself.

  Penelope’s gown was pink, the colour, Alisa thought with a faint smile, of a rose. Her bonnet was trimmed with roses and satin ribbons of the same colour and even her slippers, showing beneath the elaborately decorated hem of her skirt, were pink.

  It said much for Mrs. Lulworth’s skill that neither the colour nor the shape looked theatrical, while at the same time it would be impossible for Penelope to remain unnoticed.

  With Alisa beside her, no one with eyes in their head could fail to stare at the two girls.

  Alisa was dressed in very pale blue, the colour of a spring sky, and her eyes, in contrast to her dazzlingly white skin, appeared to hold mysterious depths in them.

  Mrs. Lulworth had trimmed her bonnet with forget-me-nots and there was a small border of blue veiling round the edge of the brim.

  “You look as if you had stepped out of the mists in the early morning!” Penelope had remarked when she was dressed.

  “You are being poetical,” Alisa said with a smile and instantly thought of the books of poetry in the Earl’s library.

  The footman came hurrying down the stairs and both girls held their breath. He spoke to the butler and Alisa thought with a little throb of apprehension how disappointed Penelope would be if they were turned away.

  The butler moved towards them and spoke to Penelope.

  “Her Ladyship will be delighted to receive you, miss,” he said in a courteous tone and then went up the stairs in front of them.

  As they entered the large drawing room, which covered the whole width of the house at the back and looked over the garden, Alisa felt that everything swam in front of her eyes and she could see nothing but a sea of faces.

  However, there were not many people there, as she could see when her vision cleared and it was not difficult to pick out the Marchioness, who looked exactly the way she had been portrayed in the cartoon.

  “Miss Alisa and Miss Penelope Wynton, my Lady!” the butler boomed and a large, Junoesque figure advanced towards them with outstretched hands.

  “My dears! How delightful to meet you!” the Marchioness exclaimed. “I have often thought of your dear mother and I am deeply grieved to hear that she is no longer with you.”

  Alisa curtseyed, then looked up into the Marchioness’s face to see that there was a smile on her lips and she did in fact look kind and sincerely pleased to see them.

  Alisa felt that she would have known at once if what she was saying was merely polite and the Marchioness continued,

  “There is a distinct resemblance to your mother in both of you and how very pretty you both are! I am sure you will have a most successful time now that you have come to London. Is your father here with you?”

  “No, ma’am, he is in Scotland,” Penelope replied “He sent us to London to stay with his sister. Lady Ledbury, but it is very very dull there and we did so hope you would remember Mama and be kind to us.”

  Alisa drew in her breath.

  She had never imagined for one moment that Penelope would be so outspoken or make a plea for help immediately on meeting the Marchioness.

  But a moment later she realised that Penelope, as usual, had been quick-witted enough to take advantage of an opportunity that might never come again.

  While the Marchioness was talking to them, no one else happened to be trying to attract her attention, so, as Penelope would have said herself in the colloquial manner that Alisa always deplored, she was ‘striking while the iron was hot’!

  “That, my dears,” the Marchioness exclaimed, “is something I am certainly ready to do!”

  “Mama always told us how kind you were to her when she was a girl,” Penelope went on, “and that is why my sister, Alisa, and I have brought you something that belonged to Mama, and which we hoped you would like to have.”

  “How very sweet of you!” the Marchioness purred.

  Alisa produced the present she was carrying, which they had wrapped in the soft paper in which their gowns from Mrs. Lulworth had been packed and had tied it up with a bow of blue ribbon.

  It certainly looked an attractive gift as she handed it to the Marchioness.

  “I am going to open this later, when I am not so busily engaged,” she said, “and then we can talk about your dear mother and I can tell you how lovely she was and how fond we were of each other.”

  She smiled.

  “But now I must introduce you to my friends. It happens we are having a small dinner party here tomorrow night for my daughter, Elizabeth. The young people will dance afterwards and you must certainly join us.”

  “Oh, thank you, ma’am!” Penelope cried. “Alisa and I were so afraid that we would never have the chance of dancing in London and it is something I would love more than anything else.”

  “I will see that you have plenty of opportunities to dance and to meet some charming young men,” the Marchioness promised.

  Then she took them round the room to present them to the other callers.

  They drove home in a Hackney carriage because Penelope said she was too exhausted to walk and also because it was getting too late for it to be proper for them to be on the streets alone.

  “I cannot believe that what is happening is true!” she exclaimed.

  “You were right and I was wrong,” Alisa admitted. “Her Ladyship is exactly the sort of friend Mama would have and I don’t believe one word of all the wicked things that have been said about her and the King.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Alisa thought there was a note in Penelope’s voice that did not ring true, but for her sister’s sake she was in fact too glad at what had happened to make any comment.

  It would have be
en impossible for either of them not to realise that the Marchioness’s manner towards them had impressed all her visitors.

  They were mostly friends of her own age, but a few had brought their husbands, who had looked, Alisa thought, at Penelope and herself in a way that she was quite certain would discourage their wives from inviting them to any parties they were giving.

  However, two or three ladies did say that they would ask the Marchioness for their address and promised to invite them to parties later in the Season and it was only the younger women, Alisa thought, whose eyes had been undisguisedly hostile and who had obviously no wish to further an acquaintance with two undoubted potential rivals.

  The mere fact that they were to dine at the Marchioness’s house on Thursday night was to send Penelope into a transport of delight, about which she talked all the way home.

  “We are launched, Alisa! Do you realise it? We are launched on the social scene! It’s the most exciting thing that has ever happened to us.”

  “It is all due to you, dearest,” Alisa replied “and I can only hope that our frail little boats will not sink.”

  “Why should they?” Penelope asked. “And we shall need more than one gown each.”

  “Oh, no!” Alisa cried. “We cannot afford any more!”

  “With Mrs. Lulworth already asking for more pots? You really are chicken-hearted, Alisa! Besides, supposing we do get into difficulties, we can pay our bills the moment we are married.”

  “Don’t go so fast, Penelope! We have only been invited to one dance and already you are talking of being married, and doubtless to a Duke!”

  “I was thinking of not less than a Prince!” Penelope retorted.

  They both laughed so much that it was impossible to continue the conversation.

  *

  Walking in the garden at the back of the Marchioness’s house, which was lit with Chinese lanterns hanging from the trees and tiny lights edging the paths, Alisa felt that she had stepped into a dream.

  It was difficult enough to believe that Penelope’s outrageous plan of launching them into Society would succeed, without finding that there really was a distinct similarity between their story and that of the Gunning sisters.

  Certainly the invitation card that had been delivered at Islington Square from the Marchioness the following morning surprised Lady Ledbury.

  Strangely, it silenced any protests she might have made about accepting it and the same morning there had been two other invitations from hostesses they could not remember being introduced to by the Marchioness and who may just have heard about them.

  “Once we are talked about, Penelope said, “everybody will want us.”

  “How do you know such things, dearest?” Alisa enquired.

  “I am still remembering the story of the Gunning sisters. The moment people began to talk about them, they were asked everywhere. Hostesses always like to have the latest lion in tow.”

  “Is that what we are now?” Alisa enquired.

  “I hope so,” Penelope said fervently, but even she was a little apprehensive on their way to the dinner party.

  “This is the really crucial test,” she said.

  “Of what?”

  “As to whether we are a sensation or not. After all, so far we have not been up against any competition, but tonight there will not only be girls of our own age but the fascinating, sophisticated beauties who are pursued relentlessly by the bucks of St. James’s, while their husbands are pursuing somebody else’s wife.”

  Alisa stiffened.

  “That is not the sort of thing, Penelope, that you should say!”

  “I am only saying it to you,” her sister answered. “If you will not listen, I shall have to find somebody else to talk to.”

  She was only teasing, but Alisa thought that one safeguard in respect to Penelope’s impetuosity was that they talked frankly with each other and she hoped, although she was not sure, that she curbed her sister’s tendency to act without thinking.

  She did not like to think of Penelope knowing about and inevitably talking about the improprieties committed by the King or anybody else.

  Yet she knew that it was impossible to stop people from gossiping about such things and, whatever she might or might not say, excesses certainly did take place.

  Then inevitably she thought of her own behaviour and shied away from the memory of the Earl like a young horse frightened by a leaf blowing across the road.

  The Marchioness’s impressive house looked very attractive at night, with the flaming torches which the linkmen had already lit, the red carpet laid outside the door and the carriages queuing up to drop off their occupants one by one.

  Alisa felt that perhaps they had been rather rude in not ensuring that their aunt was included in the invitation, but she was not quite certain how she should go about it, even if she had wished for Lady Ledbury to accompany them.

  When she had suggested to Penelope that it was impolite to leave her behind, her sister had exclaimed,

  “For goodness’ sake, Alisa, the last thing we want is Aunt Harriet looking like the skeleton at the feast and doubtless handing the King a tract on immorality,”

  Alisa laughed because she could not help it.

  Then she said in a low voice,

  “You do not think that the – King will be – there?”

  “No, of course not,” Penelope replied.

  But again there had been a note in her voice that had made Alisa feel apprehensive.

  As they entered the front door, there seemed to be a whole army of servants in smart gold-braided uniforms and wearing white breeches and powdered wigs.

  Having taken off their wraps, which matched their gowns and which Alisa was quite sure was another costly extra which would have to be paid for sooner or later, they proceeded up the stairs.

  The Marchioness, looking more Junoesque than ever and glittering with diamonds so that she appeared, Alisa thought, as if she were enveloped in the whole Milky Way, received them with a smile and kissed them on both cheeks.

  “Welcome, welcome, my dears!” she said effusively, nodding her head, on which there was a large white feather secured by a huge diamond brooch.

  “These are Lady Wynton’s daughters, my dear,” she added to the Marquis who was receiving beside her and, when he had shaken them by the hand, they were introduced to his daughter, for whom the dance was being given.

  At dinner Alisa found herself seated next to a middle-aged man, who paid her several compliments. Then, finding that she came from the country and was interested in horses, he embarked on a long, rather uninteresting discourse on the merits and successes of various racing stables.

  On her other side was a vacant-looking man who, from his appearance, she guessed to be a dandy. His cravat was so high and so tight that he obviously found it difficult to eat and to talk.

  She did her best, but she found him a bore and turned back to her racing friend with relief.

  She discovered that he was a widower and the father of a debutante who was, like Penelope, just seventeen, and this was only the second party she had been invited to in London.

  When she met the girl when dinner was over, Alisa felt sorry for her. She was obviously extremely shy and, with few pretensions to good looks, she would in fact have made a far more handsome horse!

  When dinner was finished and the ladies retired to leave the gentlemen to their port, they were with few exceptions very polite to Alisa and Penelope.

  Then other guests began to arrive and Alisa found that far from being a small party, as the Marchioness had described it, it appeared to be quite a large one.

  Downstairs there was a ballroom decorated with wreaths of flowers, its windows opening onto the garden and a band whose music transported her into a dream world that she thought existed only in books.

  The gentlemen whom they had met at dinner seemed only too eager to dance with her and Penelope and she knew by the expression on her sister’s face how happy she was.

>   The garden was like a Fairyland, Alisa thought, as she walked in it with her partner, who was the older gentleman who had sat next to her at dinner.

  But she knew that she must not go far from the lights of the house or be inveigled into sitting in the arbours which she could see arranged in the shadows amongst the flowering shrubs.

  ‘I should have warned Penelope to be on her guard,’ Alisa told herself.

  She could not help thinking that if the Earl had been prepared to kiss her in the library after luncheon, to be alone with a man with stars in the sky above them and music playing softly in the distance was an invitation to indiscretion.

  “I hope one day. Miss Wynton, her partner was saying, you will come and see some of my racehorses that I keep at Epsom. I am sure you would appreciate that they are outstanding.”

  “I am certain you are very successful,” Alisa said with a smile.

  “I hope to he even more so,” he answered, “and especially to win the Gold Cup at Ascot this year.”

  “Which of your horses are you entering?” Alisa asked. “If you will tell me his name, I will send up a very special prayer that he will win.”

  “It is very properly named Victorious and because I am certain that we shall meet a great deal before Ascot, I shall keep you to your promise.”

  “My father has told me that the Gold Cup at Ascot is one of the most coveted prizes that every owner longs to win,” Alisa said.

  “That is true enough,” her companion replied, but Victorious will have to beat a superb horse that has unfortunately pipped him at the post at several race meetings recently.”

  “And what is his name?” Alisa enquired.

  “Apollo. I am sure you must have heard of him, because he belongs to the Earl of Keswick.”

  “The Earl of – Keswick?”

  Alisa was not certain whether she had said the words aloud or in her mind.

  “He has certainly been very lucky with Apollo, so you see, Miss Wynton, I shall certainly need your prayers.”

  As they were talking, they had reached the end of the path lined with fairy lights and now they turned to walk back towards the house.