Chapter Three
As soon as Mrs. Rushworth had left, saying that her miss’s boxes and trunks had just been delivered and a maid would be with her directly to unpack her things, Valentine tossed her bonnet on to a chair and flung herself on the bed. She cupped her hands behind her neck and gazed at the ceiling, a sense of wild excitement rising in her. She was in London at last, and weeks and months of pleasure and novelty lay ahead.
Too restless to lie still, in no time at all she was back on her feet and over at the window, looking out on to the square, thinking how elegant it was with its lush green garden and railings, and how pleasant it must be in the garden when it wasn’t raining. For a moment she felt a pang of homesickness for the commodious house in Calcutta, where the gardens were so extraordinarily green and lush after the monsoon, then turned parched and bare as the hot season came. She had flourished in India, a country whose climate and dirt and disease took a heavy toll on the Europeans who visited or settled there. But she had been blessed with robust good health and had survived the ailments of childhood perfectly well. She also had the good fortune to have inherited her mother’s dark colouring, so she never developed the sallow complexion that afflicted so many women who spent any time under the Indian sun.
She liked the look of Lord Mountjoy; her father had always spoken of him with great admiration and affection. Since he had brought her up almost as if she were a son, Valentine had no illusions about what men could be like; her father had told her that in his day, Lord Mountjoy had been notorious for his amorous affairs. “But I hear that since he met and fell in love with Eliza Harvill, he is a changed man,” her father said. “She was an unlikely bride for him, since she doesn’t come from any of the great families into which he might be expected to have married. That may be the reason for the marriage’s success, for it truly must have been a match of affection. You will like him. He is a clever man and does not suffer fools gladly, but he has an energy and an intelligence that you will appreciate. He will take good care of you, or rather Lady Mountjoy will, for the main task of taking you into society will be hers. Of course, you are not exactly coming out, since you have already been attending dances and dinners here in India, but it will still be your first London season. And you must be careful how you go on. You have been allowed a degree of latitude here in India—perhaps I have been at fault in that—which will be frowned upon in the rather more formal society of London.”
“Oh, I intend to behave and enjoy myself immensely. I shall buy a great many new clothes and ruin you, and I am sure that I will make many friends.”
That was probably true, for she had a happy spirit, and her frank and open personality endeared her to like-minded people. But Welburn was shrewd enough and remembered enough of life in England to feel a slight apprehension that his daughter’s forthright ways and lively manners might not be altogether appreciated in England. However, he was not a man to worry over what he could do nothing about, and so he had said a fond farewell to Valentine and, with a sense of relief, settled back into his own slightly complicated life, able now to spend as much time as he wished in the company of a delightful Indian woman.
There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Rushworth came back in, accompanied by a maid carrying a jug of water. “I’m sure, miss, that you would wish to refresh yourself after your journey. This is Jenny, who will look after you for the time being.”
Jenny, a slight girl with big brown eyes, bobbed a curtsy and said she would be very happy to help unpack.
It was with some astonishment that she did so, for while there were many fine muslins and lengths of wonderful silks, Miss Welburn appeared to have few gowns.
Valentine saw her surprise and explained, “We are behind the times in India. I know when people come out from England they always exclaim at how old-fashioned and dowdy we are. So I thought it best to bring lengths of material that can be made up here. One of my first tasks will be to find myself a good dressmaker.”
Jenny, carefully taking out a length of heavy cream silk and sighing with admiration, said, “Lady Mountjoy has her gowns made by Cerise, so perhaps she will take you there.”
“And I will need hats and shoes and gloves and all kinds of things. I shan’t have to buy parasols, for I brought several of those; although I am sure that the sun never shines in England, so perhaps I will not need them.”
Jenny looked at her, saw from her dancing eyes that she was joking, and permitted herself a little giggle. Then she caught herself up and returned to the serious business of unpacking the boxes. She exclaimed with delight at the shifts and chemises, all made of the finest lawn and silk.
Later, Jenny told her fellow servants, who were fascinated by the new arrival, that Miss Valentine did have some beautiful things: lengths and lengths of material, enough for dozens of dresses.
One of the footmen said it was to be hoped that she would get herself rigged out in them as soon as possible. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her standing on the doorstep; such a fright she looked, with her hair all over the place.”
“She intends to have her hair cut in the latest style,” Jenny said primly. “That will make a big difference.”