Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 4

4

‘Oh, is this not delightful?’ Miss Kimpshott was so pleased with everything in the ballroom that Mrs Codd-Phelps was obliged to order her to cease ‘flagging her tail.’ Prudence blushed a little for her, but thankfully the music served to conceal her words from the general assembly.

Mrs Codd-Phelps, while sipping at wine, was edging her way towards the card room to see what the play was. Miss Kimpshott soon apprehended her cousin’s intentions and quashed them, saying, ‘You cannot leave me, Cousin Phyllis, I must be chaperoned. You know what the assembly rules are, for I told them to you, and I cannot be introduced to partners unless you have approved them.’

Mrs Codd-Phelps gave a little toss of her head which set the ostrich feather in her headdress bobbing, and replied, ‘Look about, Regina, there are barely five men in the whole room under fifty. If I were to refuse consent you would not dance at all. So long as they can assure me they are of good breeding, I have no objection to any of them.’

‘That is a gross exaggeration,’ countered Miss Kimpshott. ‘I can see a deal of men of dancing age, and what does their breeding signify, for I am only practising. You can go without cards for one evening, can you not? Do you want me to practise my dance steps and powers of attraction, or don’t you?’

‘And I must practise weeding out the mongrels from the thoroughbreds in readiness for London’s marriage mart,’ replied Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘But I don’t see why Miss Grace cannot act as your chaperone, for she is long past the age of a debutante.’

There was no time for Prudence to reply to this, for the master of ceremonies came up with a blushing youth, requesting the honour of introducing Mr Spigott as a partner for Miss Kimpshott for the first dance. Mrs Codd-Phelps interrogated Mr Spigott for a few minutes as to his rank and status, then granted permission. Miss Kimpshott graciously accepted Mr Spigott and took his arm and walked him away, suggesting sweetly that a glass of lemonade before they took their places would be very acceptable.

Prudence perceived that there might not be much dancing for her that night, for partners certainly were thin on the ground. Such wry thoughts were intruded upon by an anguished cry of ‘ Dash it !’ from behind her. She turned to see the young man who had been drawing Miss Kimpshott in the pump room. His tousled hair and languidly tied cravat were more tousled and half-done than before, as though he had arrived in a great hurry.

‘Dash that Will Spigott, he’s stolen a march on me!’

‘I beg your pardon?’ enquired Prudence, for he was so close to her ear that she felt the impertinence of it.

He seemed to see her for the first time, and started back, saying quickly, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, forgive me, I beg you, but I am above all men the most wretched!’

He certainly looked wretched as he gazed across the room .

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Prudence in her calm voice. ‘Is there anything that can be done to alleviate it?’

‘Nothing!’ groaned the young man. ‘All the toilsome night and this eternal day have I yearned, stretched as a tent rope in an Arabian desert, dreaming of a draught of cool water from a hidden well, and here I am, and there goes my draught, veiled in white and pink roses, to be supped by none other than that yokel Will Spigott. ’

Prudence, following the odd young man’s line of sight, saw Mr Spigott blushing and smiling at his fair partner in white muslin trimmed with pink silk roses as they disappeared into the tea room.

‘Are you acquainted with the lady?’ she enquired. ‘Mr Spigott’s partner.’

‘In my dreams and in my heart, I am intimately acquainted with her.’

Prudence began to think him a very strange young man, and probably one to be avoided, so she turned away from him to speak to Mrs Codd-Phelps, but that lady was engaged in speaking animatedly with a gentleman. Prudence caught the words true brindle , pure line going back to James the first , and concluded she was talking pedigrees.

‘I do sincerely beg your pardon, ma’am,’ said the voice of the young man, in a more rational tone. ‘You must think me a blockhead of the highest degree.’ He made a solemn bow, and seemed ready to speak more, but Mrs Codd-Phelps now noticed him, and said none-too-quietly, ‘Do you know this young pup, Miss Grace?’

Prudence had to acknowledge that she did not, for she had no notion of who he was.

‘You must follow the rules, young man,’ scolded Mrs Codd-Phelps, ‘and fetch the master.’ She moved to stand between Prudence and the gentleman, and he left them. Prudence thought that would be the end of the matter, but a few minutes later he returned with the master at his side. ‘May I have the pleasure of introducing Mr Shelbourne to Miss Grace?’ enquired the master.

‘ Mr Shelbourne,’ repeated Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘What is your lineage, sir?’

‘Lineage?’ Mr Shelbourne’s mobile features showed his surprise.

‘Your lineage ? Do you not understand the king’s English?’ She turned to the master. ‘Is this young man you wish to present to my protégée of good breeding? I ask, because I have seen this young man lurking.’

‘Lurking?’ protested Mr Shelbourne. ‘I do not lurk . I am not a lurker !’

‘Lurking by columns,’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps, fixing him with narrowed eyes.

‘What columns, pray?’ said the master.

‘Corinthian ones.’

‘At the pump room,’ supplied Prudence, not sure whether to laugh or remove herself from such a scene.

‘Gawking at my ward and scribbling ,’ was Mrs Codd-Phelps’ next accusation.

‘I don’t gawk , and I certainly do not scribble – I muse and I compose !’

‘I merely wish to know,’ continued Mrs Codd-Phelps to the master, ‘if this young man can be vouched for as fit for my young ladies, or if he is to be avoided as a lurker and a gawker.’

Prudence was amazed that Mr Shelbourne did not turn on his heel and march away from this humiliation. The master of ceremonies recovered from his astonishment to reply that Mr Shelbourne was as sound a young man as any present, and of as good lineage as could be wished for, being the ward of a highly respected gentleman of a significant estate in the county .

Mrs Codd-Phelps was gratified to hear the words significant estate. Her countenance softened. ‘Where is it you live, sir?’ she demanded.

Mr Shelbourne, lifted his chin in a gesture of defiance. ‘In a cottage, ma’am.’

‘A cottage ?’

‘My dear madam,’ said the master, resuming charge of the conversation that had unaccountably slipped away from him. ‘I would not introduce any young man as a dance partner if I did not vouch for his being a gentleman.’

Mrs Codd-Phelps sniffed, considered the youth for some moments more, then gave a slight bow of assent that sent her feather quivering.

Mr Shelbourne was thus presented to Prudence. He did not actually ask her to dance, but Mrs Codd-Phelps shooed them away to take their places in the cotillion that was just beginning, and so Prudence found that she was to dance after all.

‘I am sorry that you were subjected to that,’ said Prudence sincerely, when they were out of earshot of Mrs Codd-Phelps.

‘Did ever Celaeno speak more fiercely?’ said Mr Shelbourne with a little shudder. ‘Or Medea with more spite? Scribbler indeed!’

‘It was unkind to take you to task in so public a manner,’ agreed Prudence. ‘And I was sorry for it. But I thought you acquitted yourself very well in the circumstances.’

‘I would bear any slander, any accusation for the sake of drawing a little nearer to that sweet light that blesses my dark-weary eyes.’ He looked longingly in the direction of Miss Kimpshott. ‘I shall call her my Helen. ’

For the second time that evening Prudence wondered if he were a sane man. ‘Mr Shelbourne,’ she said in a maternal tone, for she assessed him to be a little younger than herself, ‘You will give people an unfortunate impression of yourself if you speak in so exaggerated a romantical fashion.’

‘Exaggerated?’ Mr Shelbourne looked surprised. ‘But I assure you I am suppressing so much . You can have no notion how deeply I feel. I carry the burden of the heart of the bard, the weighty mantle of the soul of the poet. What I feel is a great, torrent, a mighty fall of waters a—’ Here he broke off to rummage for his notebook and scribble a few lines. ‘I beg pardon,’ he said, when he had done. He looked calmer as he put his book away, as though he had satiated an urge for the moment. ‘Images come like golden motes, and if I do not write them immediately, they dissolve away, like fireflies whose light is quenched by the arrival of dawn—’ He was reaching for his book again, but Prudence reminded him that the dance was beginning, so he relented, clenching his fist for a moment as though it was a battle to resist the urge to write.

Mr Shelbourne was a well-looking fellow, notwithstanding his alternating looks of abstraction and intensity, and he made a very graceful dance partner. Prudence observed that she was the object of envy of every young lady without a dance partner, or with a partner of more years or less grace in the dance than was desirable. But it was not flattering to have a partner whose attention was fixated on another lady other than herself. Prudence cared not for securing the attentions of this young, odd gentleman, but she felt she owed it to him to remind him of his manners. So after ten minutes of dancing opposite a silent man who gazed at Miss Kimpshott over her shoulder, she said in a sympathetic tone, ‘Is it a medical condition, Mr Shelbourne?’

He blinked, shifting his gaze to her. ‘Condition? ’

‘Typically, when dancing, one looks at one’s partner, but your line of vision lies directly over my right shoulder. Is it a medical condition? Do your eyes defer from the usual line of most persons?’

He blinked again, and then, somewhat to his credit, he blushed, saying, ‘I do beg your pardon, Miss…er…’

‘Miss Grace,’ she supplied helpfully.

The blush deepened. ‘Oh, I am the greatest knave in Christendom!’ he lamented. ‘Forgive me! I have no excuse, except that I am a man under the most grievous affliction of all!’

‘But not an optical affliction, I am glad to hear.’

’N-no,’ he said confusedly. ‘There is nothing amiss with my eyes, except – yes! The affliction is with my eyes!’

Prudence waited to meet him again in the line to hear him expound.

‘My eyes have now seen a new star in the darkness, like Herschel’s Uranus—’ Here he broke off and dragged from his pocket the book and a stump of pencil and scribbled furiously for a moment, causing the couple dancing next to them to bump into his stationary figure.

Prudence did not know whether to laugh or blush with shame, but he apologised profusely and promised to behave for the remainder of the dance. To his credit he did seem to exert himself to self-control by only glancing at Miss Kimpshott once every minute or so, and forcing a polite smile at his partner and minding his steps. Prudence was glad of this improvement, but she made a mental note never to dance with Mr Shelbourne again.

There was further vexation waiting for her when the dance was finished, for she found that Mrs Codd-Phelps was nowhere to be seen. Mr Shelbourne returned her to the spot where he had taken her up, but he could hardly abandon her to sit alone, so they looked about for her chaperone, but in vain. Mr Shelbourne’s courtesy was amply rewarded, however, for Miss Kimpshott was returned by Mr Spigott who blushed more than ever, gazing at Miss Kimpshott with lovestruck eyes. Mr Shelbourne glared at the spot on Mr Spigott’s arm where Miss Kimpshott’s gloved hand rested, and barely managed to growl a reply to Mr Spigott’s friendly greeting.

‘Where is Cousin Phyllis?’ wondered Miss Kimpshott, looking about, her face in a becoming soft glow from the exertion of dancing.

‘Perhaps she has gone to the tea room,’ said Prudence diplomatically, though she knew very well that the lady had not.

Miss Kimpshott looked towards the card room and was about to say something, but Prudence managed to catch her eye and give a tiny shake of the head to silence her on exposing her cousin’s neglect.

‘Ahem,’ said Mr Shelbourne, close to Prudence’s ear. He had not taken his eyes from Miss Kimpshott. ‘Would it be improper for me to be introduced?’ he said in a confidential tone. ‘Or must I find the master again?’

‘Yes it would be improper,’ said Mr Spigott, turning his body in a protective gesture towards his partner.

Mr Shelbourne scowled at him. ‘Don’t be a gudgeon, Will.’

‘Oh, let us not stand on ceremony,’ said Miss Kimpshott sweetly. She released Mr Spigott’s arm and put out a hand saying, ‘How do you do, sir?’

Mr Shelbourne glowed. Prudence feared he was going to snatch up and kiss the offered hand, so she stepped in to say hurriedly, ‘Miss Kimpshott, may I present my newest acquaintance, Mr Shelbourne. Mr Shelbourne, may I present my young friend Miss Kimpshott. ’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ said Miss Kimpshott, bestowing a smile upon her newest swain.

‘Your most obedient, unworthy, devoted servant, Miss Kimpshott,’ said Mr Shelbourne a little breathlessly, sounding out the syllables of her name as though savouring them. ‘ Dance with me .’

Miss Kimpshott, smiled charmingly as she accepted Mr Shelbourne and was borne away. Mr Spigott watched her leave with a sigh, then seemed to recall Prudence, and blushed, turning to her to say shyly, ‘Miss Grace, might I have the honour of the next dance?’

Prudence had no wish to stand about on her own, nor to sit among the chaperones and partner-less young ladies, none of whom she was acquainted with, so she accepted, still casting her eyes about the room for the sight of Mrs Codd-Phelps’ ostrich feather bobbing above the crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen.