Chapter 24
Once a lady decides to take responsibility for her own life, she must not expect that every circumstance in which she finds herself will be conducive to happiness. The good news, however, is that she has, within her own will, the means to change her situation.
—from Mrs. Hester Birdwhistle’s Advice to Adventurous Ladies When They Find Themselves in the Slough of Despond
In the Lovell House parlor, Caroline pulled the diaphanous curtain aside and watched the carriage traffic rattling past. The Season was winding down. Several families on fashionable St. James Square were already abandoning London. They fled the approaching heat and insalubrious smells that would soon waft from the summertime Thames for the cool comfort of their country estates.
Only I seem to not be going anywhere.
“That doesn’t sound quite right.” Frederica was perched on one end of the settee, but now she leaned toward Horatia, who was seated on the other. She craned her neck, the better to peer at the pamphlet in her friend’s hands. “Are you sure you read it properly?”
“See for yourself.” Horatia followed each word with her finger. “It says here, ‘She has, within her own will, the means to change her situation.’ You’re the one who’s keen on Mrs. Birdwhistle’s philosophy, Caro. What do you make of that one?”
“Sorry.” Caroline let the curtain drop and rejoined her friends. “I wasn’t attending.”
Frederica whisked the pamphlet from Horatia’s hand and, in a schoolgirl monotone, reread the passage aloud. “It sounds as if Mrs. Birdwhistle believes we can change our circumstances by simply willing them to be different. That can’t be right, can it?”
“I don’t know. There’s a vaguely scriptural slant to the idea.” Horatia tapped her temple. “Only last Sunday, didn’t the vicar quote, ‘as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he?’”
“The operative word is man,” Caroline said flatly. In making proposals, as in so much else in life, men always had the final say. What a woman wished counted for nothing in the grand scheme of things. “A man may be able to alter his situation by sheer dint of will, but I see no evidence it would work for one of our gender. Do let’s talk about something else.”
Caroline crossed her arms, a clear signal the topic was closed.
“London is getting too warm for comfort, don’t you think?” Frederica fanned herself, falling back on the tried-and-true subject of the weather. “The Framptons have left for the country already. The Harewoods are leaving, too, but not until the girls give one final wind recital on Tuesday week.”
Horatia rolled her eyes. “Please God, my family will be going before then. If I never have to hear another ill-tuned oboe, it will be too soon. Honestly, Miss Harewood’s poor instrument sounds like a duck being sat upon half the time.”
“Then by those lights, the bassoon must be a gander.” Freddie giggled. “Oh, dear. Now I shan’t be able to squirm through their last recital without thinking about ducks and geese.”
“When is your family leaving, Caro?” Horatia asked.
“Father won’t go until the House of Lords calls for a recess.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to stay and swelter,” Horatia said. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all go to the country together?”
“For a house party you mean?” Caroline asked.
“What an excellent idea, Horatia. We’ve been together nearly every day here in Town. I shall miss being able to see both of you so often,” Frederica said. “But if we had a house party to look forward to, I might be able to bear the separation a bit easier.”
“Well, my family certainly can’t host one,” Horatia said grumpily. “Father says he spent far too much this Season and a little rusticating and simplicity will do us a world of good.”
Caroline knew it would do her father’s purse good at least. Horatia was still smarting over not finding a husband during the weeks her family had spent in London. “Perhaps if you economize in the country, he’ll allow more for your wardrobe next Season.”
“Perhaps,” Horatia said, brightening a bit. “At least I shan’t have to worry about Penelope Braithwaite showing up everywhere in the same gown I’m wearing.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” Frederica suddenly sat forward, balancing on the edge of her seat. “Did you hear? Lady Ackworth’s nosiness has finally resulted in something worthwhile.”
“Do tell,” Horatia said with a skeptical glance at Freddie. It was unusual for her to be the bearer of gossipy tidings. That was Horatia’s bailiwick.
“Lady Ackworth uncovered the mystery behind your identical dresses.” Frederica’s mouth drew up into a smug little bow. Clearly, beating Horatia to fresh gossip was a matter for quiet celebration.
Horatia’s frocks were hardly identical to Miss Braithwaite’s. They were more like pale copies, Caroline thought but didn’t say. It would have been an unnecessary slap. Horatia had suffered enough over Miss Braithwaite’s gowns. “What did Lady Ackworth discover?”
“Well, it seems Madame Fournier has not been designing her own gowns for some time. Miss Braithwaite’s frocks were made by her apprentice, Mary Woodyard,” Freddie said with glee. “She sewed them by night, after she finished her work for her mistress. Honestly, the girl must never have slept. In any case, Madame Fournier caught her at it, took the money she’d made on the side, and decided to use the patterns of Miss Braithwaite’s dresses for the ones she sold to Horatia.”
How Lady Ackworth had discovered this unusual bit of intelligence was a mystery. If she’d been a man, Caroline had no doubt the lady could have served as an agent for the Crown. But none of the girls doubted the veracity of the story. Whatever Lady Ackworth said, however cruel or cutting it might be, was invariably true.
“Once the matter came to light, did Madame Fournier give Miss Woodyard the sack?” Caroline asked.
“No, the poor girl has another year to serve on her apprenticeship, and Madame will not release her early. She’ll be working her fingers to nubbins for at least one more Season,” Frederica said with a sigh.
“It will serve Madame Fournier right if Miss Woodyard sets up shop right next to her once she’s free,” Horatia announced. “I’d certainly give her my custom.”
If you can afford her, Caroline thought, but she held her tongue. Lord Frampton’s ball had taught her to guard her lips more carefully, even when there wasn’t a string quartet around. Besides, Horatia couldn’t help that her father either didn’t have the money to spend or didn’t want to spend it in support of his daughter’s appearance on the marriage mart.
Again, men make all the rules, she fumed.
“I suspect a lot of people would support Miss Woodyard if she opens a shop,” Frederica went on. “No one likes a thief. And one could argue that Madame Fournier stole her apprentice’s creations. But I doubt Mary Woodyard will still be sewing once she’s finished her obligation to Madame Fournier.”
“Why is that?” Caroline asked.
“As it turns out, Miss Woodyard has been quietly helping a gaggle of street urchins, sewing up their ragged clothes, giving them extra food, things like that. Heaven only knows when the girl found the time!” Frederica explained. “In any case, Lady Ackworth and her clique have taken up Miss Woodyard’s cause and are raising funds to start a public school for homeless boys. They’ll be taught to read, write, and do sums, all while having a roof over their heads to boot. Once she finishes her apprenticeship, Mary Woodyard is to be their first headmistress.”
“Well, I never thought I’d say this, but huzzah for Lady Ackworth.” Caroline raised her teacup in salute to the ton’s nemesis. Her friends joined her.
“You know,” Horatia said, “I believe this proves Mrs. Birdwhistle correct.”
“How so?” Caroline asked.
“Mary Woodyard’s situation is certainly going to change.”
“Yes, but that’s Lady Ackworth’s doing,” Caroline pointed out. “Not because Miss Woodyard willed her life to be different.”
“Perhaps, but Lady Ackworth wouldn’t have discovered Miss Woodyard and her charity cause if she hadn’t first sleuthed out the situation about Miss Braithwaite’s dresses,” Horatia said. “Mary Woodyard willed her life to be different by taking matters into her own hands, first by helping those street boys and then by designing more beautiful gowns than her mistress could. Her will led her to take action, which led to a change in her circumstance.”
“I believe you’re right, Horatia,” Frederica said. “Mrs. Birdwhistle’s advice is once again proved correct.”
Could it be that simple? For all her claims of being an independent woman who sought out adventures, Caroline had been doing nothing but waiting. She hadn’t really acted on what she wanted. A devious but brilliant idea burst in her brain with such force, she nearly leapt to her feet.
“I’m sorry to be such a bad hostess,” she told her friends, “but I suddenly realize there’s something to which I must attend immediately.”
“Can we help?” Frederica asked.
“No. This is something I must do for myself.”
To her friends’ credit, they didn’t press her. As soon as Freddie and Horatia left, Caroline practically bounded up the stairs to her chamber.
Heart racing, she drew Lawrence’s letter to Teddy from its hiding place in her journal. She reread the simple note in which Lawrence first confessed that he loved her. She drew courage from it.
And strength of will.
Lawrence Sinclair loved her still. She was sure of it. Despite his denials, he wasn’t a weathercock sort of man, changing with the slightest puff of wind. He was steady. Dependable. He didn’t give his heart freely, but he’d given it to her.
She didn’t think he could unlove her that easily.
Now she only had to convince him of it.
Caroline pulled out a fresh sheet of foolscap and sharpened her quill. It would be tricky to recreate the unusual slant of Lawrence’s handwriting, but with a little practice, she was sure she could do it.
* * * *
A few nights later, Bredon announced at supper that he’d received a letter from his friend, Lawrence Sinclair.
“Apparently, he wishes us to come to Ware. With his uncle away on his honeymoon, Sinclair has decided to host a house party,” Teddy said with a shrug.
“Whom do you mean by us?” Lady Chatham asked, casting a curious glance at her firstborn son between spoonfuls of white soup.
“All of us,” Teddy said. “You and Father, me, Ben, Thomas, and Charles. Caroline, too. This is Sinclair’s way of repaying our hospitality while he was in London.”
Lady Chatham made a tsking noise. “That guest list seems a terribly one-sided party. All those gentlemen with only Caroline and me will make for awkward placement around the dinner table.”
Caroline was careful not to meet her mother’s gaze. She was sure her mother would see her guile if she did. But so much depended on this admittedly underhanded plan, Caroline clutched her napkin in a death grip under the table.
“Surprisingly enough, Lawrence has considered that problem,” Teddy said. “Sinclair wants us to bring Caro’s friends, Miss Tilbury and Miss Englewood, as well.”
“Well, that evens up the table somewhat.”
“Hmph,” was all Caroline’s father said.
“Did Mr. Sinclair say how his mother is?” her mother asked. “I was given to understand she’s quite ill.”
Oh, no. Caroline had forgotten all about Lawrence’s mother. How could I be so heartless? So selfish? I deserve to go to hell.
But she wanted more than anything to go to Ware Hall.
“Come to think on it, he didn’t mention her in his letter,” Teddy said. “Her health must have taken a turn for the better if he’s planning a house party.”
“Well, that’s a mercy, then, isn’t it? What do you think, dear?” Lady Chatham asked her husband. “Shall we accept?”
“I can’t be haring off to Cumberland as long as the House of Lords is in session,” Lord Chatham said. “Those blasted Whigs will—”
“Language, my lord,” Lady Chatham said, slanting her gaze toward Caroline, whose tender ears evidently needed protecting.
As if I haven’t heard Father say far worse about the Whigs.
Lord Chatham cleared his throat. “The Whigs would love to see every Tory leave London early so they can ram through their rebellious agenda. No, I must stay until the last gavel falls.”
“Then I shall stay as well,” Lady Chatham said with a sigh. Clearly, Caroline’s mother was ready to quit London for the summer.
“But that doesn’t mean we must remain,” Teddy pointed out.
“No, I suppose not,” their mother said. “Of course, Caroline will want to stay in London as long as possible. The Season isn’t quite finished, and the Harewood girls are giving their final recital in a few days.”
The boys groaned in unison.
“Mother, I’m satisfied the Season is over for me,” Caroline said.
“Are you sure, dear?”
The subtext was plain. This was Caroline’s third time casting her line into the marriage mart and the third time she’d be leaving Town without reeling in a husband. Despite her better than passable looks, impeccable breeding, and generous dowry, Caroline would be accounted hopelessly on the shelf.
“I’m sure, Mother.”
“If Caro goes, you must accompany her and the boys to Ware,” Lord Chatham told his wife.
“If you insist,” Lady Chatham said. “We’ll miss the Harewoods’ recital. I shall send our regrets.”
This was greeted by cheers all around. Teddy proposed a toast to a summer without wind instruments. Despite the general good mood round the table, Caroline’s mother sent her a sad smile.
Lady Chatham clearly feared Caroline would die an old maid. Caroline almost wanted to tell her not to worry. If Mrs. Birdwhistle was right, if a woman could change her circumstance by virtue of her will, Lady Chatham’s only daughter would never make a spinster.
“I’ve not been to Cumberland,” Caroline said, trying not to let the triumph she felt show. She’d never been fond of cards, but now she wondered if she ought not to try her hand at games of chance. Forging an invitation from Lawrence was a rash act, but it was the last card she had to play. She’d been lucky. Her boldness was paying off. Teddy was convinced the letter had come from his friend, so she saw no way the invitation could be traced back to her. The game with Lawrence Sinclair was still on. “Tell me, is the Lake District as lovely as everyone says?”