A Desirable Husband

‘Then we shall have to agree to differ.’

Esme, who had been listening to the exchange with growing dismay, wished she had never mentioned the invitation. Lucy had been so proud of it when she showed it to her and it seemed a good way to counter all Rosemary’s boasting about how well-thought-of in society her husband was, how everyone envied her taste in her furnishings and the cleverness of her precious child, and now she had set the two men against each other.

‘Esme, let us retire to the drawing room and leave the men to continue their argument over the port,’ Rosemary said, rising from her chair.

‘I didn’t mean to cause dissent,’ Esme said as she followed her sister to the drawing room. ‘I had no idea—’

‘No, that’s the trouble with you, Esme, you tend to speak before you think. I beg you to curb it or you will upset the very people you should be pleasing.’

‘I am sorry, Rosie. I know you have put yourself at great inconvenience to bring me out and I am truly grateful. I will try very hard to be a credit to you.’

‘Then we will say no more. Men like to argue, especially strong-minded men like Rowan and Myles, but I don’t think it will lead to a serious falling out.’ She busied herself with the tea things while she spoke. ‘Now, let us talk of other things. We will go shopping tomorrow and see if we can get you kitted out ready for the season, though it will not get properly under way for a good two weeks. We shall have to amuse ourselves in the meantime.’

‘Oh, I am sure we can do that. We can go for walks and visit the sights and I should like to ride. Will that be possible?’

‘Perfectly possible. Hacks are easily hired.’ She handed Esme a cup of tea. ‘Do you know how long Myles is planning to stay in town?’

Myles, when he offered to escort Esme, had been invited to stay at Trent House while he was conducting his business, but at that time she had expected Lucy to be with him. She had no idea of the nature of his business, whether it was simply to attend the banquet or if it were something to do with his railway or engineering concerns.

‘I know he is anxious to return to Lucy and see how Harry is, so I think he cannot be planning to stay above a couple of days. Are you wishing you had not asked him?’

‘Good gracious, no! He is family and it would have looked most odd not to have invited him. I cannot think why he does not buy a town house; he could easily afford it.’

‘Lucy prefers to live in the country and says it would be a dreadful waste to keep a house and servants in town when she would hardly ever be in residence.’

The men joined them at that point and appeared to have overcome their hostility. They sat and drank tea and made light conversation, most of it of a social nature, carefully avoiding renewing the subject of the Exhibition and the Prince Consort’s banquet.

Rowan agreed that it was impossible for Esme to go out and about in Lucy’s cast-off clothes, which very nearly started Myles off on another argument, but he wisely held his peace. The carriage was put at Rosemary’s disposal for the next morning so that she could take her sister shopping and Rowan readily agreed to foot the bill for the new wardrobe.

When they dispersed to go to their beds, Esme contrived to walk a little way with Myles. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was not my idea to buy new clothes and I would not for the world have Lucy think ill of me.’

‘I am sure she would understand.’ He grinned. ‘And it will be grand to have a new wardrobe, won’t it?’

‘Yes, as long as I am not put into frills and flounces. I hate them.’

The shopping expedition was not a leisurely affair; Rosemary knew exactly what was wanted and was determined Esme should be a credit to her good taste. In every shop they entered the assistants hurried forward to serve her, though Esme would have liked a little more time to browse and view what was on offer, she was obliged to admit that Rosemary’s choice was excellent and flounces, frills and bows were kept to a minimum. ‘You have a very good figure,’ Rosemary told her. ‘Simple clothes will show it off to advantage.’ The material and pattern of the gown she would wear for her curtsy to the Queen took the longest to be decided upon and was to be made up by Madame Devereux, Rosemary’s own dressmaker. The bodice of the dress had to be low cut and the skirt very full with a long train. Accessories like slippers, fan, jewellery and feathers had to be chosen with care to conform to the rigid rules laid down by protocol.

By the middle of the afternoon, they were on their way back to Trent House with the carriage loaded down with purchases and more to be delivered in the coming days. Shopping with her mother in Leicester and Peterborough was never like this. There, it would be an all-day affair with her mother complaining of the lack of choice and the high prices and wondering aloud what her father would say when presented with the bill, though it never stopped her buying something she wanted. Rosemary had never once mentioned the price of anything.

They turned from Oxford Street, where Rosemary had purchased some lengths of ribbon, into the northern end of Park Lane. Esme glimpsed green grass through the trees and longed to go for a walk. At home in Luffenham she walked or rode everywhere and already she was missing her daily exercise. ‘Is that Hyde Park, Rosie?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it possible to walk home through it?’

‘Yes, perfectly possible.’

‘Then do let’s walk. Banny can take the coach home and put the shopping away.’

‘We have to go to Lady Aviemore’s to tea.’ Her ladyship was, according to Rosemary, a notable hostess and knew everyone of any importance and she could—if she took to Esme—be influential in introducing her to other young people, among whom might be a suitable husband. She would know the history behind every one of them. Who could safely be cultivated and who best to avoid. ‘Once you are out, she can help us get you seen and noticed,’ Rosemary had told her sister. ‘So it is important you make the right impression.’

‘That is hours away. Come on, Rosie, I want to explore.’

‘Very well.’ Rosemary asked the driver to stop and they left the coach and entered the park by Brook Gate and were soon strolling along one of the many walks towards the Serpentine.

In spite of the fact that London was, according to Rosemary, quite empty, they met several people she knew and they stopped to chat. Esme was presented to them and exchanged the usual pleasantries, but she was not particularly interested in what they had to say and her attention wandered to her surroundings. The park, once on the outskirts but now in the heart of London, was an oasis of green. There was a wide tree-lined carriageway and several paths for pedestrians and the famous Rotten Row where horsemen and women showed off their mounts. Her curiosity was aroused by a slim young man in a single-breasted green riding coat and biscuit-coloured riding breeches, who was very deliberately pacing the ground and making notes on a pad he was carrying. Every now and then he looked up at a group of elms that graced that corner of the park and appeared to be sizing them up and drawing them. She took a step closer to see what he was about.

He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes, she noted, were greenish brown and they were laughing, not at her, she was sure of that, but in a kind of amused empathy, as if he understood her curiosity and was not in the least put off by it. His hair, beneath a brown beaver hat, was a little darker than gold and curled into his neck. His hands, holding his notepad and pencil, were lean like the rest of him, the fingers tapered. An artist, she decided. He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it towards her. Her answering smile lit her face as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.

‘Esme, who is that?’ Rosemary had said goodbye to her friends and turned to see her sister apparently on nodding terms with a young man.

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?’

‘Esme, how could you?’

‘Could I what?’

‘Smile in that familiar way at a man to whom you have not been introduced.’

‘But he smiled first and—’

‘Then he cannot be a real gentleman. It is the lady’s prerogative to acknowledge a gentleman when she is out and until she does so, it behoves a gentleman to show no sign of recognition. You should have ignored him.’

‘Would that not have been impolite?’

‘Not at all. Now come away before he decides to approach us, for I should feel mortified to have to speak to him.’ She took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.

Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them, which made her giggle.

‘Esme!’ Rosemary reprimanded her. ‘I see I shall have to take you to task about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour. You do not smile at strange men. Goodness, it is asking for them to take liberties.’

‘What liberties?’ Esme asked. ‘Do you mean kissing me?’

‘Good heavens, I hope not. I mean speaking to you without an introduction.’

‘Oh, that.’ Esme was dismissive.

Rosemary’s reply to that was a decided sniff.

Felix watched them go, wanting to laugh aloud. The young lady, who was very lovely with her rosebud complexion and neat figure, was evidently being given a scolding, but it did not seem to be subduing her. He wondered who she was. Was she one of those young ladies who came to London for a Season with the express purpose of snaring a husband? It was early in the year for that and she seemed a little young to be tying herself down to marriage.

His mother might not agree; she had been urging him ever since he returned from France without Juliette to find himself a bride. ‘Someone young and malleable,’ she had said. ‘Then you can mould her to your way of doing things. Besides, a young bride is more likely to produce healthy offspring.’ He smiled to himself; this particular young lady did not look as if she were especially malleable, not that he would want a wife who dare not say boo to a goose. He pulled himself up short. How could the sight of a pretty girl make his thoughts suddenly turn to marriage. He wasn’t ready for that yet; time, the healer, had yet to do its work.

He was not a hermit by any means. To please his mother, he had attended tea parties and dances in the assembly rooms in his home town of Birmingham, taken tea with the matrons and danced with their daughters, making superficial conversation, even flirting a little, but, as his mother was quick to point out, that could hardly be called a serious pursuit of a bride. He supposed he would have to marry one day, but he never felt less like falling in love again and it would be unfair on any young lady to use her simply to beget an heir and have an elegant companion, if she were expecting a husband to love her. It would be better to choose someone more mature than the young miss with the friendly smile, someone worldly wise who wouldn’t expect declarations of eternal love, but would be content with wealth and position.

He smiled ruefully to himself; whatever had set his thoughts on marriage had better be stifled. If this idea of a great exhibition came about, he would be too busy to think of anything else. He looked down at the pad in his hand. There was a series of measurements and a rough sketch of the elm trees, which were going to be a stumbling block to any good design. The Exhibition building committee were working on a design but he thought it was ugly, and it took no account of the trees, assuming they would have to be felled. Even the committee was dissatisfied with it and an idea was being mooted for a competition to design the building and he thought he might enter it.

His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and his house in Bruton Street.

‘Rosie, could we not go and see the guests arriving for the banquet?’ Esme asked when they were on their way home in the carriage after Lady Aviemore’s tea party. Esme had expected the company to be mixed, but they had all been ladies, some young, some older, who spent the time between sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin sandwiches, in exchanging gossip, some of it shockingly malicious, but the outcome was several invitations to soirées and musical evenings and little dances.

‘It is too early in the year for balls,’ her ladyship had said. ‘But I intend to hold one as soon as the town begins to fill up. Lord Aviemore is on the committee dedicated to raising funds for the Exhibition and we thought a subscription ball would be just the thing. Very exclusive, of course. You will come, dear Lady Trent, won’t you, and bring your delightful sister?’

Rosemary declared she would be delighted, which surprised Esme, considering Rowan’s implacable opposition to the project, but a look from her sister stopped her making any comment.

‘Lord Aviemore is to attend tonight’s banquet,’ her ladyship continued. ‘It is being held to encourage the towns in the provinces to raise funds. After all, it is a countrywide endeavour, not just for the capital.’

‘I thought it was an international project involving the whole world,’ Esme put in.

Lady Aviemore looked sharply at her as if surprised to hear her daring to take part in the conversation. ‘Indeed it is,’ she said. ‘But it is the idea of our own dear Prince and it is this country which will organise and build it.’

‘I believe the banquet is to be a very grand affair,’ one of the other ladies put in. ‘I intend to go past the Mansion House on my way home to see the guests arrive.’

It was that which had prompted Esme’s question. Ever since she had returned from her walk in the park, she had felt unsettled, as if she were waiting for something extraordinary to happen, though she had no idea what it might be. The tea party had done nothing to dispel it. They had no engagement for the evening and, as both Rowan and Myles were to be out and they only had themselves to please, she could not see that a little diversion would do any harm. Myles was off to the banquet at the Mansion House and Rowan was going to have dinner with Lord Brougham, a former Lord Chancellor, who was one of the prominent figures working to scotch the idea of an exhibition. She smiled to herself in the darkening interior of the carriage, wondering if Myles and Rowan had encountered each other on their way out and, if they had, what they had said.

‘Whatever for?’ Rosemary demanded.

‘It will be such fun to see all the coaches and carriages arriving and the guests dressed in their finery. I should like to be able to tell Mama and Papa I had seen Prince Albert. Oh, do tell the coachman to take us that way.’

Esme could see she was tempted to see the spectacle herself, though she still hesitated. ‘What Rowan would say I cannot think.’

‘Why should he say anything? You do not have to tell him.’

‘Goodness, Esme, I would never deceive him or keep anything from him, and I sincerely hope that when you are married, you will be completely honest and open with your husband.’

‘I am sure he would not begrudge me a sight of the Queen’s consort arriving for a banquet.’ She did not add that if he did, she would have made a terrible mistake in her choice of husband. She was beginning to think this idea of deliberately setting out to find a husband was full of pitfalls and she must be on her guard. ‘Go on, Rosie, it won’t take long, will it? There is no one waiting for us at home.’

‘Oh, very well. I suppose it cannot do any harm.’ She used her fan to lean forward and tap the coachman on his back. ‘Croxon, take us round by the Mansion House.’

Without giving a flicker of reaction to this strange way of getting from Russell Square to Kensington, he obediently turned the carriage and headed down Kingsway to Aldwych, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, an area new to Esme. This was the financial heart of the City and was a mixture of imposing buildings and little alleyways and courts. They began to notice the crowds as they approached St Paul’s and from then it was difficult for the coach to proceed. ‘There’s nothing for it—but we shall have to get out and walk,’ Esme said when the carriage finally came to a stop, closed in by the hordes, and, before her astonished sister could stop her, had opened the door and jumped to the ground. Rosemary felt obliged to follow.

They pressed forward until they managed to find themselves a good position where they could see the guests arriving, with Rosemary grumbling all the way. ‘We’ll be trampled to death,’ she said, holding tight on to Esme’s arm.

‘Of course we won’t. You saw how everyone made way for us, they probably think we are guests.’

‘I don’t think there are any lady guests. They will all be men.’

‘Really? Then we shan’t see any sumptuous dresses.’

‘No, did you think we would?’

Esme did not answer because the police were forcing everyone back to make way for the cabs and carriages bringing the guests. There may not have been any ladies, but the men were got up like peacocks. There were foreign ambassadors in court dress, high-ranking military men in dress uniform, glittering with medals, mayors from provincial towns in red robes and regalia, bishops in their vestments, others in colourful livery, who Rosie told her were the Masters of the City Guilds, and there were men in plain evening dress, wearing honours on their breasts.

‘Oh, look, there’s Myles,’ Esme said, pointing. ‘Doesn’t he look grand?’

Myles was wearing a double-breasted black evening coat, narrow black trousers, a blue brocade waistcoat and a shiny top hat. He did not appear to see them as he walked into the building beside the Mayor of Leicester.

But someone else did notice them. The young man they had seen in the park was right behind Myles. His evening coat sported several decorations. His waistcoat was black with silver embroidery, which glittered as he moved. And he moved gracefully, Esme noticed, a sight which set her heart pumping. Oh, but he was handsome! He turned to follow Myles and caught sight of her animated face under a fetching blue bonnet and, smiling, stopped to doff his hat and give her a slight bow of recognition before disappearing inside.

‘The effrontery of the man!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘You should not have encouraged him to be familiar, Esme.’

‘I didn’t encourage him. I cannot help it if he chooses to tip his hat to me. I do not know why you are making such a fuss.’

‘It is the second time today. I begin to wonder if you do know him after all and that is why you wanted to come here.’

‘No, Rosie, I promise you I have never met him. It is pure coincidence.’

‘If you ever meet him again, I want you to cut him dead. I cannot have him think you wish to know him.’

Esme did not answer, though she could have told her sister she would not mind knowing him. He must be someone of importance if he had been invited to the banquet. Instead she turned back to the road in front of them as a crescendo of cheering signified that Prince Albert was arriving. Dressed, according to Rosemary, as an Elder Brother of Trinity House, he was met at the door by the Lord Mayor of London in full regalia, as soon as they had gone inside, the doors were closed.

‘There’s nothing more to see,’ Rosemary said. ‘We might as well find the carriage and go home.’

It was easier said than done; the crowd seemed reluctant to disperse and were still milling about talking of what they had seen and those guests they had recognised. Rosemary and Esme linked arms and pushed their way through. By the time they reached the carriage, Rosemary’s bonnet was awry and she was decidedly nervous, unlike Esme who did not realise the dangers inherent for two women walking about the city streets alone after dark, for night had fallen while they had been standing and it was now nearly seven o’clock.

‘Thank heaven for that,’ Rosemary said, when they had gained the safety of the carriage and she was able to set her hat straight. ‘Don’t ever inveigle me into doing anything like it again, Esme, for I declare I’m done in.’

‘Oh, but I shall have such a tale to tell Mama and Papa when I write.’

‘No, Esme, I beg you not to. They will think I do not know how to look after you and Papa will come and fetch you back and you will have no come-out. It will make me look an idiot to my friends and all those people who have invited you to their homes. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’

Esme agreed that she wouldn’t. After all, there was a handsome young man in town whom she seemed destined to run into and who was she to argue with destiny? She could not help wondering about him. He was very self-assured, perhaps a little conceited, but he had every right to be, considering how handsome he was. She wondered how many young ladies were falling over themselves to be noticed by him. If he was still around when the new débutantes were released on to the town, he would be seized upon by every hostess and hopeful mama and bombarded with invitations. Unless, of course, there was something unacceptable about him—a shady past, some scandal, or perhaps he was not as financially independent as he appeared. Oh, she did hope that was not the case.

Chapter Two

Felix followed the procession of guests down the corridor, lined with greenery, to the Egyptian Hall where the banquet was being held. In honour of the occasion, the columns round its walls were decorated with symbols to represent the different British counties and their products. At the head of the table were two figures representing peace and plenty and at the other Britannia holding a plan of the Exhibition, which could only have been the committee’s own plan, surrounded by four angels delivering invitations to all the countries in the world to send exhibits. ‘What do you think of that?’ he murmured to the man beside him, nodding at Britannia.

‘The statue?’

‘No, the plan of the building in her hand.’

‘I think we could do better.’

‘I am sure we can.’ He held out his hand. ‘Felix Pendlebury.’

‘How do you do?’ Myles took the hand and shook it. ‘Myles Moorcroft.’

‘Oh, I’ve heard of you. A railway entrepreneur, aren’t you?’

‘Among other things. I have heard your name somewhere, too. Lord Pendlebury, if I’m not mistaken. Something to do with the manufacture of glass.’

‘Among other things,’ he said, echoing Myles’s own words.

‘You intend to submit an exhibit?’

‘More than that—I’m going to have a go at designing the Exhibition hall. It needs to be light and airy, something to make people want to come to visit, not a mausoleum.’

Myles laughed. ‘Glass?’

‘Well, why not?’

‘No reason at all, if it can be made safe.’

‘I think it can. Glass is much tougher nowadays than it used to be.’

They stopped speaking as Prince Albert arrived and took his seat. ‘Have you met His Highness?’ Myles ventured.

‘Yes, we both belong to the Society of Arts, which is how I came to be involved with the idea of the Exhibition. What about you?’

‘I met him through the Society to Improve the Condition of the Working Classes. We are both passionate about that.’

‘Ah, now I place you. You’re the gentleman who calls himself a navvy. I heard tell of a wager about filling a truck with forty tons of earth in a day. Is it true? Did you do it?’