Brynnde, page 6
No matter. Brynnde had always been forthcoming with Molly. “I turned him down. Or, really, I told Papa I didn’t want to marry Mr. Dallweather.”
Molly nodded her approval as she began fastening the back of Brynnde’s orchid-colored gown. “Too right. He’s far too old for you. And his house probably smells of dog.”
Brynnde laughed aloud at Molly having pinned her exact thought. Then she inhaled deeply. “Papa says I will have to marry Mr. Dallweather if I don’t find anyone else.”
“Well then,” Molly said resolutely, “the sooner we get you to London the better.”
* * *
Brynnde had seldom been to the house in Berkeley Square; she had no reason to go, nor any desire to either. Tessa, on the other hand, often begged for trips to London, and was at the height of bliss at finally being there. Even as they walked through the door to the townhouse, Tessa was listing all the shops they would need to visit in order to complete her wardrobe.
Brynnde found her room and hid for as long as she could until Molly’s unpacking drove her out again. Not in London an hour and already Brynnde yearned for a quiet corner somewhere. There would be no escaping the bustle, the noise. Weeks of comings and goings stretched ahead of her, relentless, unless Tessa managed to secure an offer first thing.
Oh! But if she did, Brynnde would have no opportunity to find a suitor of her own! So she could not even hope for a quick end to the Season. She was well and truly stuck.
Brynnde ensconced herself in the library, a room she was certain neither Maman nor Tessa would enter. Nicolas might, but him Brynnde could tolerate. She stayed there in peace until forced to go change for dinner.
The meal was mostly Maman and Tessa chattering about where to go, and who to see, and which parties they’d already been invited to, and to which they should inveigle invitations. Nicolas made good-natured suggestions only to be scoffed at and told he clearly did not know… Whatever it was there was to know. Brynnde’s mind wandered until she heard the name Sommerford spoken.
“They’re coming this week,” Maman said, “and I do expect to renew our acquaintance.” She looked fondly at her youngest child. “They took quite a shine to you, didn’t they, Tessa dear?”
Over the handful of weeks since the house party at Aux Arbres, Maman and Tessa had reworked history to suit their desires. The initial petulance at a lack of interest from either Garrick or Graeme had become a story of how the two brothers were locked in a fight for Tessa’s hand. London, they were sure, would produce a winner.
Brynnde, meanwhile, wondered whether Garrick had succeeded in getting Thomas Dryer to town. After all Eleanor’s glowing words of undying affection, Brynnde was keen to meet the unparalleled Mr. Dryer herself.
“But clothes first, dear,” Maman reminded. “We cannot go out in our country frocks. Certainly not!” She looked at Brynnde for the first time. “Papa says you are to have new clothes, too, Brynnde. He’s right, of course. Can’t have you looking like a poor relation.”
Which is how Brynnde came to find herself standing in the midst of a dressmaker’s shop, surrounded by more fabrics and furbelows than she’d ever dreamed existed. The options extended far beyond those of Mrs. Caverley back home. And while Tessa more or less ordered one of everything, Brynnde attempted to keep her requests simple. “Maybe one like this,” she said, pointing to a pattern that had nice lines that Brynnde felt were ruined layers of lace and ruffles, “but without so much… stuff and nonsense on it?”
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” the dressmaker said, though Brynnde suspected she’d somehow offended the woman.
After buying what felt like half the shop, they took fabric samples to the milliner to order matching bonnets. Then it was on to shoes. Brynnde felt sure she would need new ones after just the one day of walking all over Bond Street.
Finally, they returned to the carriage. Tessa complained of having to wait for her new fripperies, but Maman told her it was better to see it done well than quickly.
“But what shall I wear until then?” Tessa wailed.
Maman patted Tessa’s hand. “We’ll make do. Our first party isn’t for another week yet, and Madame Odille promised to have at least a couple gowns ready by then.”
“I shall be ashamed to even go out in public,” Tessa insisted.
Brynnde could take no more. “You are in public,” she pointed out. “And in a perfectly nice gown that Mrs. Caverley worked hard to make for you.” It was a gorgeous butter yellow that set off Tessa’s golden curls, and her bonnet had a ribbon to match.
Tessa scowled, crossed her arms, and turned resolutely toward the window. Then she spun back around to look at their mother. “A week! All the best gentlemen will be engaged already!”
Brynnde stifled a laugh. Tessa’s faith in society’s efficiency knew no bounds. Everyone would pair off like animals going to the Ark. How orderly!
Then Brynnde sighed. If only it were so simple.
* * *
Two days later, Brynnde found herself set upon by her sister and mother as she sat in the library. She’d picked up a novel to read, and while it was not quite as good as going for a walk or a ride, Brynnde was sucked into the story of a young woman staying in a very strange house filled with shadows and unidentified noises. When the library door flew open, Brynnde jumped a mile where she sat.
“Brynnde, they’re here!” Tessa squealed without preamble. Maman came after her, saying, “Tessa, do be still! Your hair, you mustn’t—”
“Who is here?” Brynnde asked.
“The Sommerfords!” Tessa cried.
Brynnde was on her feet before realizing it. “All of them?”
“Just the ladies,” Maman reported. “But it is enough that they wish to maintain our connection.”
“Of course they do!” snapped Tessa. She tossed her curls, sending Maman into another dither. “But the men can’t come to call themselves,” Tessa reasoned, “so they have to send their mother and sisters. They probably want to know what other suitors I have.”
Brynnde smoothed down her skirt and ran a hand over her own hair. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she said dryly. In fact, Brynnde’s heart was leaping at the idea of seeing Julia and Eleanor; she hoped they would be able to talk quietly enough that she might learn whether Mr. Dryer was in town.
“It’s funny of you to take such an interest,” Julia remarked once she, Eleanor, and Brynnde were whispering together in a corner of the drawing room. Brynnde’s mother and sister kept casting glances at them, but Lady Darley looked upon the threesome with such a fond eye that Lady Averland dare not say anything against it.
“I’m sorry,” Brynnde said, immediately chastised. “It is, of course, none of my concern.”
“Oh, but it was your wonderful idea!” said Eleanor. “And only you could have convinced Garrick to help. If I’d asked, he’d have given me a lecture and that would be the end of it.”
“You have seen him?” Brynnde asked, her embarrassment forgotten.
“We just happened to cross paths with him on our morning walk,” said Julia. “Which reminds me, we wanted to invite you to come out with us tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then you’ll be able to see Thomas—Mr. Dryer—for yourself!” Eleanor said.
Brynnde took in Eleanor’s glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “I would love to. I am sure Maman won’t mind.” She glanced over her shoulder at her glowering mother and hoped it was true.
Lady Darley once again became the saving grace. As she stood to leave, she directly invited Brynnde and Tessa out on the morrow. “We’ll be taking out the barouche,” she said, and with a thoughtful eye added, “You girls are thin, you should all fit.”
Just before slipping away, Julia leaned in to Brynnde. “She’s only inviting Tessa because she has to.” Then with a beaming smile and in a flurry of auburn curls and lacy dress hems, they were gone.
7
Tessa darted in and out of her room, shouting to her maid, in yet another uproar over having nothing good enough to wear to Hyde Park. Brynnde and Molly merely exchanged glances in the looking glass as Molly finished buttoning Brynnde’s robin’s egg blue dress. Then she waited for Brynnde to put up her hair before handing over the matching bonnet. Brynnde sniffed at the flimsy thing. “It will hardly protect my face from the sun.”
“Maybe not, but it do look nice on you all the same,” said Molly as she tweaked a bow into place.
Brynnde hated bonnets, and was not fond of hats in general, no matter how nice they looked on her. She leveled a gaze at herself in the mirror and reminded herself this was all for the greater good. Better this than having to marry Mr. Dallweather. Bonnets were just another weapon of war.
So with campaign on her mind, Brynnde marched downstairs to meet Julia and Eleanor. “Mama is in the carriage,” Julia said breezily. “Once she is fixed, it is impossible to unstick her.”
They waited some minutes for Tessa, who eventually came flying down the stairs in pale pink and a surfeit of lace. Then they all scrambled aboard the barouche, Brynnde and Eleanor next to Lady Darley while Julia was left with Tessa. Julia made such a face at them when her mother wasn’t looking—an expression that comically reprimanded Brynnde and Eleanor for abandoning her to Tessa—that it was all Brynnde could do to keep from laughing aloud.
This is what is must be like to have friends, Brynnde thought suddenly. Or sisters you actually get along with. Though she was close in many ways to her father and brother, Brynnde was so different from her mother and sister as to have grown up lacking that bond particular to female friendships and relations. It was a novel feeling, and a pleasant one.
The barouche set off and before long had joined the throng in Hyde Park. Pedestrians strolled under constant danger of being trampled by those on horseback or in carriages. It was the most colorful, incoherent crowd Brynnde had ever seen.
Because there were so many people, progress was necessarily slow, but this allowed for prolonged conversation between carriages. Brynnde lost track of the names of everyone Lady Darley introduced them to. She felt her brain fugging, her eyes glazing over until a familiar voice cut through the incessant murmuring of the mob.
“Look, Mother, who I found!” Garrick Sommerford’s voice boomed, and suddenly he was beside the carriage, sitting astride a lovely blood bay. He noticed Brynnde at the moment she recognized him, raised his brows and tipped his hat. “And you’ve found someone yourself, I see.”
“Oh, Garrick, we told you last night at dinner—” Julia began.
“Did you? But look, here is our own Mr. Dryer all the way from Oakesgrove.” A shy-looking young man with hair somewhere between brown and red rode forward hesitantly on what Brynnde suspected was a hired horse. He looked impossibly young, but his brown eyes shone when they landed on Eleanor. As for Eleanor, she could not keep the blood out of her cheeks at the sight of him.
“Why, Mr. Dryer!” cried Lady Darley. “Whatever are you doing in London? Business, I’m sure,” she answered without giving him a chance to. “However all that works.” She waved a hand in seeming dismissal.
Garrick’s lips twisted in something like amusement. “Misses Archambault,” he said, “may I present Mr. Thomas Dryer.” Brynnde nodded to Mr. Dryer, but Tessa only stared, eyes narrowed in thought.
“I believe Mr. Dryer will be at the Tomington party next week,” Garrick went on gamely.
This caught Lady Darley’s attention. “Really? How do you know the Tomingtons, Mr. Dryer? Oh, business again,” she sighed. “It’s no use telling me about it.”
Julia’s eyes met Brynnde’s and they each had to bite their lips to keep from giggling. Poor Mr. Dryer had yet to tell anyone about anything! And no wonder; he had eyes only for Eleanor. Brynnde wondered whether he’d heard anything they’d said.
“Well then,” Garrick said with another tip of his hat. “We’ll be off.” He started to turn his horse only to be stopped by his mother.
“But where is Graeme?” Lady Darley asked abruptly.
“Haven’t a clue,” said Garrick, and Brynnde thought he grimaced but she couldn’t be certain.
The remainder of their outing became a blur of names and faces. Brynnde reminded herself she needed to take things seriously if she didn’t want to be stuck with Mr. Dallweather, but though there were any number of eligible men, and some of them were even handsome, she felt too overwhelmed to take note of anyone in particular.
Brynnde watched Julia and Tessa with interest, however. Each of them was extremely selective about her interactions with the gentlemen who stopped to chat with them. Oh, they were always polite but only sometimes warm. Brynnde wondered what made the difference and resolved to ask Julia when she had the chance. Eleanor, on the other hand, seemed out of sorts when called upon to acknowledge or respond to anyone. Her dreamy gaze continually turned in the direction Garrick and Mr. Dryer had gone.
The driver was turning the barouche toward Berkeley Square when Nicolas rode up. Brynnde couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her handsome brother, made all the more dashing by his new London clothes. Even better, he was completely unaware of the figure he cut. Unlike so many other men who swaggered and puffed, Nicolas did not have it in him to show off. He was only ever wholly himself.
As Nicolas complimented everyone, Brynnde noticed something else. Though Julia had given her attention to a number of young men that afternoon, she was practically riveted on Nicolas, her eyes fixed avidly on his face. A thought sparked in the back of Brynnde’s brain. She looked to Eleanor, who seemed not to have noticed, but then she wouldn’t have noticed if a bird landed to nest on her head at that point. All Eleanor’s thoughts were bent in only one direction.
So Brynnde looked to Lady Darley. That robust woman conversed quite gamely with Nicolas, her eyes sliding now and then toward her eldest daughter. It was the most engaged Brynnde had observed the matron to be, leaving Brynnde to wonder whether Lady Darley was promoting the match (meaning Julia was only being dutiful in paying such attention to Nicolas), or vice versa. Had Julia hit upon Nicolas and Lady Darley taken up her cause?
Brynnde eyed her brother speculatively. Did he know? Did he hold Julia in any particular esteem? Impossible to tell. Nicolas was equally polite and outgoing toward everyone.
Nicolas escorted the barouche back to Berkeley Square, and as soon as the Sommerfords were filled with promises to visit and away, Brynnde sprang on him. “What do you make of Julia Darley?” she asked as they made their way upstairs.
Her brother gave a light laugh. “Which one is she? I can’t tell them apart.”
Brynnde looked sharply at him in attempt to determine whether he was being truthful or trying to cover his feelings. “She’s the older one. The one who actually talks.”
“Oh,” said Nicolas, “yes, she’s actually quite sharp, isn’t she? Witty, I mean, but not in a mean way.”
It was, Brynnde reflected, the nicest thing she’d ever heard him say about any young lady outside of, “She’s very pretty.” Many girls were pretty, but few of those were also sharp and witty. It sounded promising.
Brynnde came at him from another direction. “What do you suppose her chances are this Season?”
Nicolas turned a startled face toward her as they stopped on the landing. “How should I know? Though if her brother…” He shook his head and pressed his lips together.
“Gar—I mean, Lord Burbridge?” Brynnde asked.
Her brother’s eyes narrowed at her. “You almost called him by his Christian name,” he accused. “But no. I meant The Honourable Graeme.” He made Graeme sound anything but honourable.
“I thought you liked Mr. Sommerford. The two of you were quite companionable at the house party.”
Nicolas grimaced in much the same way Brynnde fancied Garrick had done. She could see her brother shuttering himself, reining in his response. Whatever Graeme Sommerford was up to, Nicolas did not feel it was fit for her to hear about it. “I do like him,” Nicolas admitted. “He’s not altogether an idiot. But every man has his stupid moments,” he added.
“He’s done something stupid?” Brynnde asked.
But Nicolas was already turning away toward his room. “I smell like the stables. I need to get out of these clothes and into something for dinner.”
He left Brynnde staring after him, chewing her lip in consideration.
8
The following week came the Tomingtons’ party. “The cream of the Ton will be there,” Maman declared as they settled into the carriage. “Lady Tomington is extremely particular about her guest lists.”
Brynnde almost asked how, if that were the case, they’d ended up with an invitation then thought better of it. Maman clearly had no tolerance for jokes at the moment. Her expression was most severe as she looked at Tessa. “This is not an opportunity to be squandered.”
She must mean the house party, Brynnde thought. Both Tessa and Maman had been gravely disappointed that it had not ended with a proposal. And if Tessa could not accomplish it in a week’s time, how would she accomplish it in one night?
And what about you? Brynnde asked herself. She nearly laughed aloud, but managed to make it come out more like a cough. No, she did not expect to wrangle a proposal from anyone that night, but she knew she must at least begin catching eyes.
Maman’s shrewd countenance swung her way. “Not falling ill, are you?”
“No, Maman,” said Brynnde. “It’s only this London air.”
Maman sniffed. “We want to have a good report for your father when he arrives at the end of the month.” By which Brynnde assumed she meant a bouquet of serious, respectable suitors, if not an offer already in hand.
The carriage rolled to a stop and one of the Tomingtons’ hired men handed the ladies down and gestured them into the imposing mansion. “Who are the Tomingtons anyway?” Brynnde whispered to Tessa.
