Chapter Nine
The season got properly under way, the weather improved, and Valentine’s life was a round of dances and balls, picnics, routs, and expeditions to Richmond and Hampton Court, to Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens. She made friends mostly among the young women in their second or third season or the younger married women, for the newest and youngest debutantes, only recently emerged from the protection of their governesses, bored her. Her unusual upbringing, and the independence she had been granted by her father, had given her an ease in company and a confidence that was unusual among the young ladies making their debuts. It caused some murmurings, but she was accepted by the patronesses of Almack’s. And then there was the fortune, so what would not have been forgiven in some young miss of seventeen was regarded with tolerance in Valentine’s case.
Among the men, her friendships were more wary. She liked to flirt and felt her power over men, but always in her mind was the memory of that unhappy relationship with Richard Brindley. It had left her, if not physically bruised, not able easily to trust any man. For his part, Brindley retained an easy friendship with her, not appearing intent on making an effort to fix his interest with her again.
When Valentine taxed him with this, daring to speak quite bluntly, he said, “I had my chance, but you were too young then and I should not have pressed my suit. That is no reason why we should not remain friends; after all, I share your love of India. By the by, perhaps you have heard that the Everetts are returning from Calcutta. I daresay you will remember them.”
Valentine exclaimed with delight at this news; the Everetts had been good friends of hers and her father’s. “I had no idea, there was no mention of it when I left Calcutta. I hope nothing is amiss?”
“I believe that Mrs. Everett is expecting another child, and they feel that the Indian climate is not suitable for an infant. Moreover, Everett’s uncle died, so he has family matters to attend to. It may be that they will settle in England and not return to India.”
In the midst of this round of pleasures, Valentine saw little of Lord Marbeck, although when he was present at a soirée, he always came over to converse with her and ask how she did, and he usually stood up with her if they were at a ball. Her early dislike of him had quite vanished, and she felt she could come not only to like him, but to risk something deeper than that. So she was wary of him more than of any other man of her acquaintance. He aroused in her those feelings that had almost been her downfall with Captain Brindley, and that affair had taught her to keep a strong guard on her affections.
Lord Mountjoy spoke of Marbeck as a man busy with government affairs. He was active in politics and took his seat in the Lords for important debates, and although he took part in the season’s activities, there were many evenings when Valentine looked for him in vain. Lady Mountjoy had remarked upon it: “Like Mountjoy, he is much occupied with affairs of state, and therefore his time is not always his own.”
Valentine was annoyed with herself for being so pleased to see Marbeck arrive for a party Lady Mountjoy was giving at Mountjoy House. It was a select gathering, a few of their closest friends, and soon after he had made his appearance, Lord Marbeck was at her side. “I saw you riding in the park this morning; it isn’t customary for young ladies to ride out so early in the day.”
“You obviously do; I am sorry I did not see you.”
“I was just finishing my ride. I take my exercise early, as I have little time later in the day. And I prefer to ride then, when the park is not as crowded as it becomes at the more fashionable hour.”
“I was used to ride early in the morning in India, before the heat became oppressive. I find it delightful at that time of the day, with a mist still hanging over the park. However,” she added with a sigh, “I do long to gallop, for it shakes the fidgets out of me, but I know it is not at all the thing. And besides, galloping side-saddle is not the same—”
“Never tell me you rode astride in India?”
“Shocked, Lord Marbeck? I did indeed. My father brought me up very much as a son, and so when I was younger and we were upcountry and out of sight of censorious eyes, I often dressed in breeches and rode my pony astride. It was much more comfortable and sensible. Of course, it would not do back in Calcutta. There I had to ride out with my groom, all decorum.”
“Life must seem different for you here in London, but I believe you are enjoying the season?”
“Yes, I am. I find it a great delight. I love the parties, and there are so many interesting people.”
Marbeck raised his eyebrows. “I would not list interesting people among the delights of the London season. It seems to me that most people are dead bores.”
“You are perfectly right, but there is so much enjoyment to be had from observing people. One may see friendships formed and broken. Then there are mamas anxious to find husbands for their daughters, young ladies on the lookout for likely husbands, and young men careful not to pay too much attention where their intentions are not serious. It’s all a comédie humaine that must delight anyone possessed of a sense of humour.”
“I think you have a very good sense of humour, if I may say so, Miss Welburn.”