He stayed away from Westcott House, but he could not escape hearing about everything that was happening there, for his stepmother, who had complained only a week or so ago of so many social obligations that she needed at least forty-eight hours in every day, had happily forgotten about most of them in her crusade to bring her newfound niece up to snuff. It was an impossible task, of course, she proclaimed every evening when she returned home for dinner, but it simply must be accomplished if the whole family was not to be shamed. But whatever was the queen going to think?
Madame Lavalle and her assistants were working night and day in the sewing room at Westcott House, it seemed, but her hands were severely tied, poor woman, by the fact that Anastasia flatly refused to have anything added to her new garments that would make them pretty and feminine and fashionable. When Madame had sneaked a very modest flounce onto the hem of an otherwise starkly plain ball gown, she had been made to remove it. Anastasia’s new maid had arrived—one of the orphans from Bath whom she treated more as a friend than as a lowly servant. The girl showed no inclination to take a firm line with her new mistress. Mrs. Gray, the genteel lady suggested by the duchess’s sister, had arrived as well to teach Anastasia about the ton and the rules of precedence and correct etiquette and how not to freeze with terror when faced with the queen and other related topics. But more often than not one found the woman in a huddle with Anastasia and Cousin Elizabeth, laughing about something or other all of them found amusing.
“But is Anna learning as well as enjoying herself?” Avery asked.
“I do believe she is,” his stepmother said with obvious reluctance after stopping to consider. “But that is hardly the point, is it, Avery? One would think she would take her education seriously. I could weep when I think of how my brother kept her incarcerated in that institution for so many years when she was the daughter of his lawful wife. And one cannot help having one’s doubts about the wisdom of allowing Cousin Elizabeth to be her companion. On the morning after we had all specifically instructed Anastasia to remain at home until she could look presentable and behave like a lady, Elizabeth took her shopping on Bond Street and Oxford Street. They attracted a great deal of notice as they emerged from numerous shops loaded with packages and looking as though they were enjoying themselves immensely.”
“I daresay they were,” Avery said, wondering idly if Anna had embarked upon the shopping expedition looking like the prim governess or the country milkmaid. He might have taken a saunter along Bond Street himself if he had known . . . No, he would not. There was a certain kiss that needed to be forgotten. It certainly would not do to encounter his fellow kisser anytime soon.
The dancing master had also arrived at Westcott House with his own accompanist, Avery’s stepmother reported one evening. Anastasia knew the steps of several country dances, but, oh dear, Mr. Robertson had discovered that she danced them with vigor and no idea at all of what she should do with her hands and her head as she danced. She did not know how to waltz and apparently had never even heard of the dance until a few days ago.
“She certainly must not attend any balls for a while,” the duchess added. “Perhaps not even this year. But by next year she will be twenty-six. I only wonder what sort of a husband we will be able to find for someone of such advanced years.”
“Probably the sort who fancies acquiring a vast fortune with his bride,” Avery said.
“I daresay you are right,” she agreed, brightening.
“And when are the waltz lessons to begin?” he asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Avery, you should just see the straw bonnet she purchased on Bond Street of all places. It is enough to make me weep, and the milliner ought to be ashamed of herself for stocking it. It is the plainest thing you could possibly imagine. Elizabeth bought a very pretty and fashionable hat at the same shop. One wonders if she even tried to exert some influence . . .”
But Avery had stopped listening. He really was, he thought, going to have to start dining at his club more often. He drew the limit at ladies’ bonnets as a topic of conversation. There was a ball this evening that Edwin Goddard had reminded him he wished to attend. The Honorable and delectable Miss Edwards had amassed a large court of admirers. A space on her very full dancing card could always mysteriously be found, however, whenever the Duke of Netherby hove into sight and sauntered by to ask for one, usually a waltz.
He dressed with meticulous care—but when did he not?—and made his appearance at the ball. He conversed amiably with his hostess for a few minutes, ambled along to join the crowd about Miss Edwards, conversed amiably with her for a minute or two while she flirted with her eyes and her fan, and the rest of her admirers fell back in almost open resentment, and then nodded amiably and moved on and out of the ballroom and right out of the house less than half an hour after he had entered it.
Nothing but bland amiability.