The Bluestocking's Dilemma Read online

  “Just so, my dear countess. Well, we shall see what we can do to bring her more into fashion.” Sally’s eyes sparkled maliciously. “Come along, Therese. We must return to our seats before the play resumes.” And thus, having planted these seeds of conflict, she exited serenely leaving turmoil in her wake.

  Chapter 17

  As usual, Lady Jersey’s strategy had been highly successful. Without exception, each occupant of the box was left with certain reflections, some more unsettling than others. Lavinia was positively fuming. That the princess should so obviously snub her in favor of her scrubby little cousin was outside of enough, but to have that odious Sally Jersey gloating over it and flirting with Nicholas was beyond all bearing! She turned a dazzling smile on the marquess and picked up the thread of her flirtatious chatter, which had been so rudely interrupted.

  For her part, Caro was almost as upset as Lavinia. That Lavvy, for whom she had sacrificed her freedom and the delight she took daily from the freshness of the countryside around Waverly Court, should consider her such a liability to her standing in the ton when Caro accompanied her from one stultifying gathering to another was so infuriating that it was not to be thought of. For one brief moment, Caro had the most insane desire to grab her cousin’s slim white throat, shake her until her teeth rattled, and tell her precisely what she thought of her spoiled and selfish ways.

  Fortunately, before she could commit such an act of violence, Sir Evelyn Willoughby intervened. Well-accustomed to the ways of Sally Jersey, he saw what she was about and stepped in smoothly to pick up where she had left off. Smiling benignly, he continued as though there had not been an ominous silence after the ladies’ departure. “I can see you are a great favorite with the princess. Small wonder, for she rarely finds someone with enough wit to keep her amused for long. It is her esprit and intelligence which distinguish her from the rest of the members of the ton and attract so many admirers. Compared to all the exquisite but vapid women of fashion, she is a refreshing change and her charm is all the more potent because it is unique. You are very like her, you know.’’

  “I?” Caro gasped, thinking that there could be nothing further from the truth. That anyone who had just been stipulated an antidote could be compared in the same breath with one of Almack’s most brilliant patronesses seemed ludicrous in the extreme.

  “Why, you are every bit as clever as the princess and, as far as your person goes, you are far more lovely.” Casting a swift grateful smile at Sir Evelyn, Helena came stoutly to the defense of her protégée.

  “Indubitably. I am glad that you agree with me, Miss Gray. I can see I was not mistaken in thinking you a woman of great good sense.” Sir Evelyn bowed gracefully in her direction. “But, Lady Caroline, you do your sex a disservice by depriving the ton of your stimulating conversation. Why should those who devote their existences to their outward appearance succeed at the expense of those who put their energies into higher things? You will do society no good at all, you know, by burying yourself in the country and allowing such women to rule the ton.’’

  The flash in Caro’s eyes was indication enough that Sir Evelyn had struck a responsive chord. Good! He had thought her well and truly roused by Lavinia’s shabby treatment. All she needed now was the tiniest bit of encouragement.

  “I hadn’t quite thought of it that way,” she replied thoughtfully. She remained silent for some minutes, struck by the novelty of the idea. Then, giving herself a shake, she continued stoutly, “And I shan’t allow such a state of affairs to continue. It is not enough merely to read tracts about such things. One must put one’s beliefs into action. The only way to change the way of the world is to best it at its own game.” Her chin went up and the light of battle shone in her eyes, only to disappear an instant later. “But how shall I begin? I haven’t the least notion of how to go on. If it weren’t for the help of Susan, I should barely be presentable.” She waved an apologetic hand over her serviceable evening gown of white tulle over white satin. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it was appropriate but uninspired. Caro was conscious of the lack of éclat in her toilette, but heretofore, she had not thought much about it, nor had she particularly cared. Now, all of a sudden it seemed imperative that she stun the ton with her style. For after all, how was she to convince them of the superiority of her ideas if she could not convince them of the superiority of her taste—an interest that appeared to be a consuming one in the fashionable world. If that meant that she must look like someone out of La Belle Assemblée, then so be it.

  It was the entree Sir Evelyn had been waiting for. “Oh, as to that,” he dismissed her objection with a graceful wave of one white hand, “that is the merest nothing. Why I know the very person you must consult on these matters.”

  “You do?” Caro and Helena spoke as one.

  “But, of course. When one is a slave to the world of fashion as I, one knows these things.” He gave a deprecatory shrug, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t base my entire happiness on it, but I do derive considerable amusement from being au courant. I have a dear friend from ages ago, Violette, who for many years kept her family alive after their escape from France with her skill as a needlewoman. She is respectably married now to a merchant of great wealth and position so has no need to earn her way, which is unfortunate because she is possessed of a truly extraordinary talent. And while I am most delighted at her well-deserved good fortune, as a connoisseur, I am saddened that the world has lost a creative genius. She is truly an artist and, given the proper inspiration, I believe she could be persuaded to return to her craft. I shall see what I can do to convince her of the worthiness of the endeavor.”

  “You are too kind. Thank you. I should be most appreciative of your help, Sir Evelyn.” Caro smiled brilliantly at him. Scorn her cousin though she would for her coquettish ways, Caro was perfectly capable of flattery when it was employed in the promotion of a noble cause. Nor was Sir Evelyn proof against the gratitude he read in the big gray eyes, and he resolved to call on Violette Winwood the very next day.

  Thus it was that he spent the following morning in Henrietta Street employing every ounce of charm he possessed attempting to convince Mrs. Winwood that he was in such a desperate case of need only her particular skills could save him.

  “It is too bad of you, Evelyn,” the lady scolded him smilingly after he had carefully put forth the entire situation for her consideration, “when you know how busy I am with John and the children, to try to tempt me into such a thing. Your Lady Caroline sounds like a perfectly charming young person whose ideals I most earnestly support, but truly I cannot. Timothy, who is recovering from a fever, is dreadfully fretful. And Mary, my maid, has just had the most unfortunate fall and broken her leg. I truly would like to help you, but I fear I cannot.”

  Sir Evelyn sighed gently and played his trump card. “I understand, Violette, but it is the greatest shame to stand by and let Lavinia Mandeville have it all her way.”

  “Lavinia Mandeville? You never told me that Lady Caroline’s cousin is Lavinia Mandeville!” Violette was all attention now. She had not forgotten an evening many years ago when as a poor émigré desperate for the cultural stimulation she had once enjoyed, she had accompanied her kindhearted patroness, Lady Frances Knightley, to the opera. There, the beautiful Lavinia Mandeville, seeing one of her beaux take a kindly interest in the shy little French girl, had sniffed quite audibly and wondered out loud what the world was coming to if people in trade were to be seen absolutely everywhere.

  Her visitor repressed a victorious smile. “Yes, is it not sad? As far as the fashionable world is concerned, she is a mere babe compared to Lavinia and quite without resources. I had been hoping that with your help . . .” he allowed his voice to trail off a moment before continuing briskly, “but I quite see you are taken up with affairs here and I shan’t trouble you further.” He turned to pick up his walking stick.

  “No, stay awhile.” His hostess held out a restraining hand. “Let me ring for some refr
eshment and we shall see what can be done. After all, it is time that the Lavinias of the world be checked in their absolute sway over society.”

  It was nearly a good two hours later when Sir Evelyn quitted the slim elegant house on Henrietta Street and, a congratulatory smile on his face, directed his coachman to drive him to Grosvenor Square. There he found Caro and her companion, with a volume of Guy Mannering open before them on the table, deep in a discussion of the previous evening’s performance.

  The ladies were delighted to see him. “The very person! Do sit down. Helena and I were just talking about last night’s play and checking to see how faithfully Mr. Scott’s work was put before us. We have reached a small area of disagreement and, being absolutely convinced of the merits of our own arguments, are in want of a third party to offer a disinterested view,” Caro greeted him with flattering enthusiasm.

  Sir Evelyn bowed. “I should be delighted, as I am loath to think of any disharmony between two such lovely and spirited ladies. But first, I must put aside such lofty discussions in favor of more mundane but pressing affairs to inform you I am come from Violette Winwood’s with an invitation to take tea with her in Henrietta Street. She is intrigued by Lady Caroline’s dilemma and is most anxious to do what she can for her.”

  Caro thanked Sir Evelyn prettily enough for his efforts on her behalf, but she remained doubtful both as to anyone’s capacity to transform her into an enviable figure of fashion and as to the possibility that she might like such a person well enough to trust her to do so.

  Caro’s face, always vividly expressive, was a mirror of these thoughts and Sir Evelyn hastened to reassure her. “Violette is the dearest soul imaginable and had she not been forced to turn to dressmaking to support her mother and younger sisters, I feel sure she would have become an artist of some note, perhaps another Angelica Kauffman—with the proper training, of course. If I were not quite certain that you two would deal famously together, I should not have suggested such a thing in the first place, believe me, Lady Caroline.”

  Caro blushed at her transparency, disclaimed any such mistrust in Sir Evelyn’s judgment, and promised to accompany him to the Winwoods’ the next day.

  Any remaining misgivings were banished the instant she was ushered into Violette’s drawing room where everything, including the lady herself, was in restrained but exquisite taste. Everywhere she looked there were objects that not only delighted the eye, but also caught the interest of the beholder, making one wish to know more about the character of their owner. Unusual and beautiful Oriental porcelains were displayed on the delicately carved Adam fireplace. Small, deftly arranged bunches of hothouse flowers were unobtrusively placed to enliven the airy apartment with color and fragrance. Caro found its chief inhabitant to be as pleasing as the drawing room itself.

  Violette Winwood was a diminutive creature whose pleasant but unexceptional features were lent distinction by a pair of expressive brown eyes and a mouth about which a friendly smile always appeared to be hovering. Her dress of jaconet muslin was of an unusual canary color and, like the rest of her toilette, while it at first appeared unremarkable, once it had caught the observer’s eye, proved to be of original and elegant design quite unlike anything Caro had seen before. In spite of herself, she was intrigued.

  “I am so glad you have come.” A welcoming smile lit up their hostess’s face as she motioned her visitors to chairs on either side of the fireplace, where a cheerful flame took the slight chill off the air. “Sir Evelyn painted a portrait of you as such a woman of character that I was not altogether certain you would consent to call on me, but I am delighted to make the acquaintance of a reader of Mary Wollstonecraft. I am quite an admirer of her work and only sorry that economic necessity forced me to participate in a small way in the creation of the types of female she deplores. But, from what Sir Evelyn tells me of you, perhaps I can be of assistance in promoting the reputation of a woman who will serve as an example to our sex and then, in some way, I shall make amends.” And so, by degrees, Violette proceeded to put Caro at ease and discover more about her.

  There ensued a most agreeable afternoon spent discussing a variety of topics ranging from the agricultural practices of Mr. Jethro Tull to Mr. Owen’s plan for the relief of the manufacturing and laboring poor. For Violette, having had to earn her living from a young age, could not forget all those other unfortunates who were still in the same situation and likely to remain so for the rest of their lives.

  “I honor you greatly for your sentiments, Mrs. Winwood,” Caro assured her hostess earnestly as she bid her adieu. “And I cannot but acknowledge that I feel slightly ashamed at never having suffered such hardship and therefore never having experienced the conditions that I am endeavoring to correct. It must seem to you that on my part this is the greatest piece of impertinence.”

  Violette laughed gaily. “Never fear. Lady Caroline. It was an accident of birth that allowed you to study the philosophical, moral, and legal systems that will correct the ills of society that I have learned about through another equally capricious accident of birth. Suffice to say, all that matters is that we are persons of sensibility who wish to correct the injustices of the world. In that we are equals and we understand each other. I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, and I hope to prove just that by putting my skills at your service.”

  “Thank you so much for your offer. I have enjoyed myself excessively, but I can’t think how anyone, even someone as intelligent as you appear to be, can transform me into what I need to be.” Caro gratefully pressed the lady’s hand before allowing Sir Evelyn to escort her to the carriage.

  That experienced observer of mankind was thoroughly enjoying the sense of satisfaction that any social being must experience after having introduced two kindred spirits. Nor could he resist treating himself to a few congratulatory remarks. “I trust you found Mrs. Winwood to be congenial, Lady Caroline.”

  Caro turned to him with shining eyes and a happy smile that was a reward in itself. “Oh, yes, thank you, Sir Evelyn. I enjoyed myself immensely. What a delightful person she is, to be sure. But how can someone such as that possibly understand what I needs must acquire in order to win the acclaim of the ton?’’

  Her mentor smiled enigmatically. “Never fear. Violette is a woman of parts. She will have taken your measure and no doubt will create a wardrobe for you accordingly.’’

  “A wardrobe?” Caro exclaimed in surprise.

  “But, of course. Why else do you think I introduced you to her?”

  “But . . . but she didn’t take any measurements or push me and pull me and pin and chatter,” Caro protested.

  “Ah, but Violette does not need to, and therein lies her art. She looks at a person, absorbs her personality, and translates it into the appropriate garments. Have no fear. You will see. Of course, eventually she will have to subject you to the tedious business of final fittings, but for the moment she will concentrate on designing gowns that capture and express your own distinctive character.’’

  Chapter 18

  Though Sir Evelyn was obviously a man who devoted a considerable amount of his time to his tailor, Caro was skeptical at his lavish encomiums. She need not have worried, for where matters of taste were concerned, that exquisite peer could be relied upon absolutely not to exaggerate—far too much was at stake. Much to her surprise, Violette’s sketches were delivered early the next morning by a likely looking lad who refused to give them up even to the imposing Wig-more, insisting as he quaked in his boots before that august personage, “Miz Winwood told me as I wuz only to give ‘em to Lady Caroline herself, nobody else nor even if it was the Queen of England as asked for ‘em.”

  And he was amply rewarded by a grateful smile from the lady in question who, seeing him hungrily eyeing her breakfast muffins, instructed that he be taken to the kitchens for something to refresh him for the return journey. “Please convey my compliments to your mistress for choosing such a reliable messenger and extend my thanks to her for he
r efforts. May I know your name?”

  The lad, though momentarily stunned that one of the Quality should know he even possessed such a thing, much less inquire about it, replied forthrightly, “It’s Bill, mum. Bill Small.”

  Caro, fully aware of Wigmore’s horrified stare behind her and relishing his discomfiture, smiled again. “Well, thank you, Bill Small. Now run along and see what Cook can find you.” There, that should give the odious prig something to think about. She congratulated herself with smug satisfaction, knowing full well that the story would be repeated to interested audiences in both Grosvenor Square and Henrietta Street.

  “She will never command that respect of the lower classes that is so necessary to the consequence of a true lady,” Wigmore sniffed to the sympathetic housekeeper. “I am only glad I am employed by someone who knows what is owed to her rank and keeps a proper distance.”

  Meanwhile, Caro was examining Violette’s sketches in the privacy of her boudoir where she could be sure her cousin would never seek her out. Besides, she was eager to discover Susan’s opinions of Violette’s efforts. For her part, Caro was mightily impressed. Somehow, Sir Evelyn’s friend had managed to capture her taste for simplicity and comfort and her preference for garments that allowed one to move easily without forever worrying that one would stumble over a flounce or tear a delicate sleeve that was molded too tightly to the shape. There were sketches of a ball gown, carriage dress, and a walking dress—each more breathtaking than the last. Even Caro, who could not get very excited about such things, was enthusiastic over them while Susan was beside herself. “Oh, Ma’am, they’re beautiful—and so unusual too. You’ll be the first stare of fashion.”