invited to a
garden party in the late afternoon and then on Saturday night, I am hosting a dinner for you at home. I have already sent out the invitations.’
‘Is there anything special I should know? I mean – regarding etiquette at all these events.’ It was beginning to sound rather daunting.
Cynthia’s laugh was infectious. ‘My dear, for a little country mouse, you are doing remarkably well. I am very proud of you. Don’t worry, I will be close at hand and keeping an
eye on you. But you do realize, don’t you,’ her expression sobered, ‘that your parents wish you to meet a suitable young man with a view to making a good marriage?’
‘Oh, but –’ Annabel began and then lapsed into silence. Gil was gone and she doubted he would come back. For whatever reason he had chosen not to say a proper
‘goodbye’ to her and for that she would never forgive him. He’d been a coward, unable to face her to end their romance, and, instead, had slunk away without a word. Annabel lifted
her head with a new determination to put him out of her mind. He was not worth her tears. Whilst she wasn’t yet ready to entertain thoughts of marriage, she told herself, a little fun and
flirtation during the Season wouldn’t hurt.
‘Tomorrow morning, we are invited to breakfast at Lady Pilkington’s; she lives close by. It will be a small, informal event and will introduce you nicely to what, my dear, is going
to be a whirl of parties, balls and functions, so mind you get a good night’s sleep whenever you can.’
Annabel was far too excited and when morning came, she felt she had hardly slept at all. But she had a strong constitution and no one would have guessed from the sparkle in her magnificent eyes
that she lacked sleep as Cynthia led her into the room and introduced her to their hostess. Annabel followed Cynthia closely and copied whatever her mentor did, helping herself to eggs and muffins.
There were several dishes laid out that Annabel didn’t recognize, but there was one she did; pigeon set in jelly. Her grandmother made a similar dish and for a moment an acute feeling of
homesickness overwhelmed her.
‘Don’t eat too much, my dear,’ Cynthia whispered. ‘We are due at Lady Mortimer’s for luncheon.’
A few men were present at breakfast, but older, whiskered gentlemen, who were obviously not on Cynthia’s list of possible suitors. Later, however, at the more formal luncheon timed for two
o’clock, there were younger gentlemen present.
‘Luncheons can be either a formal occasion – a sit-down meal served by their servants – or a buffet,’ Cynthia explained. ‘I think Lady Mortimer’s will be the
former. It usually is, but there still might not be many gentlemen present. They’re often engaged in business or other duties.’
And yet, on arriving for luncheon, Cynthia seemed to be looking around the room for someone and when she didn’t see whoever it was, she made a moue and murmured, ‘I trust he will be
at the ball tonight.’
‘Who?’ Annabel ventured to ask.
Cynthia waved her hand vaguely as if the absence of a particular man was of no consequence, ‘Oh, just one of the young men I want to introduce you to. It doesn’t matter.’
But Annabel had the distinct feeling that it mattered very much.
Eight
‘Annabel, may I present James Lyndon, the Earl of Fairfield?’
The young man standing before her was undeniably handsome with brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall and slim, his head held proudly, his back straight, and he looked splendid in his smart
uniform. He took the hand she extended to him and bowed over it. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Constantine. May I be permitted to claim a dance with you?’
After an afternoon of resting and a light dinner – just the two of them – Cynthia and Annabel had travelled to first one ball and then on to this one in a carriage, which had pulled
up outside the grand, four-storey house overlooking St James’s Park.
garden party in the late afternoon and then on Saturday night, I am hosting a dinner for you at home. I have already sent out the invitations.’
‘Is there anything special I should know? I mean – regarding etiquette at all these events.’ It was beginning to sound rather daunting.
Cynthia’s laugh was infectious. ‘My dear, for a little country mouse, you are doing remarkably well. I am very proud of you. Don’t worry, I will be close at hand and keeping an
eye on you. But you do realize, don’t you,’ her expression sobered, ‘that your parents wish you to meet a suitable young man with a view to making a good marriage?’
‘Oh, but –’ Annabel began and then lapsed into silence. Gil was gone and she doubted he would come back. For whatever reason he had chosen not to say a proper
‘goodbye’ to her and for that she would never forgive him. He’d been a coward, unable to face her to end their romance, and, instead, had slunk away without a word. Annabel lifted
her head with a new determination to put him out of her mind. He was not worth her tears. Whilst she wasn’t yet ready to entertain thoughts of marriage, she told herself, a little fun and
flirtation during the Season wouldn’t hurt.
‘Tomorrow morning, we are invited to breakfast at Lady Pilkington’s; she lives close by. It will be a small, informal event and will introduce you nicely to what, my dear, is going
to be a whirl of parties, balls and functions, so mind you get a good night’s sleep whenever you can.’
Annabel was far too excited and when morning came, she felt she had hardly slept at all. But she had a strong constitution and no one would have guessed from the sparkle in her magnificent eyes
that she lacked sleep as Cynthia led her into the room and introduced her to their hostess. Annabel followed Cynthia closely and copied whatever her mentor did, helping herself to eggs and muffins.
There were several dishes laid out that Annabel didn’t recognize, but there was one she did; pigeon set in jelly. Her grandmother made a similar dish and for a moment an acute feeling of
homesickness overwhelmed her.
‘Don’t eat too much, my dear,’ Cynthia whispered. ‘We are due at Lady Mortimer’s for luncheon.’
A few men were present at breakfast, but older, whiskered gentlemen, who were obviously not on Cynthia’s list of possible suitors. Later, however, at the more formal luncheon timed for two
o’clock, there were younger gentlemen present.
‘Luncheons can be either a formal occasion – a sit-down meal served by their servants – or a buffet,’ Cynthia explained. ‘I think Lady Mortimer’s will be the
former. It usually is, but there still might not be many gentlemen present. They’re often engaged in business or other duties.’
And yet, on arriving for luncheon, Cynthia seemed to be looking around the room for someone and when she didn’t see whoever it was, she made a moue and murmured, ‘I trust he will be
at the ball tonight.’
‘Who?’ Annabel ventured to ask.
Cynthia waved her hand vaguely as if the absence of a particular man was of no consequence, ‘Oh, just one of the young men I want to introduce you to. It doesn’t matter.’
But Annabel had the distinct feeling that it mattered very much.
Eight
‘Annabel, may I present James Lyndon, the Earl of Fairfield?’
The young man standing before her was undeniably handsome with brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall and slim, his head held proudly, his back straight, and he looked splendid in his smart
uniform. He took the hand she extended to him and bowed over it. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Constantine. May I be permitted to claim a dance with you?’
After an afternoon of resting and a light dinner – just the two of them – Cynthia and Annabel had travelled to first one ball and then on to this one in a carriage, which had pulled
up outside the grand, four-storey house overlooking St James’s Park.
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