May 1887: London
May in London was a heady affair, filled with the arrivals of the ladies of the elite and their daughters, their husbands detained on business or present in Parliament. Those who were to come out into society were closeted away until the date of the presentation at Court, but those who had been presented before now were able to partake in the pleasures London had to offer several weeks before their debutante sistren could even consider it. Thus May was about seeing and being seen before the influx of marriageable ingenues flooded the balls and receptions and dinners, and one place to do just that was the opera.
The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden threw open its doors to welcome the ton with the first English performance of Otello, the great composer Verdi's first opera in almost fifteen years. Evening dress was compulsory, the air thick with the wafting of perfumes and heat from the stage as ladies fanned themselves. In the boxes, the best of the best did more audience-watching than stage-watching, sharing soft tidbits among themselves about those they could see about them. Lady Constance Stanley had spent the better part of two weeks learning all she could about the unmarried ladies of London and, behind the cover of her fan, she was busily pointing out those whom her brother might like to focus his attentions on.
"The tall blonde across and down, in Box Three," she murmured softly. "Red velvet and onyx necklace" That is Lady Amelia Pennyworth. She's an heiress, and approaching twenty-two, she seems to believe herself a failure and a spinster. The brunette sat beside her is her cousin, Vivienne De Worth - do not touch her with a barge pole, she has broken three engagements and refused to return the rings."
Though Lawrence knew it was pointless to admit it, he was actually more interested in the opera than in his sister's gossip; but he knew she had worked hard to learn as much as she could about any possible prospects and that she had pinned all her hopes on him finding a suitably wealthy bride. He knew what was expected of him, and yet, it still irked him a little that he was being forced into finding a bride whose worth was based solely on her family's ability to provide a generous dowry. He knew beauty was only skin deep, but he hoped he wouldn't have to settle for what amounted to the ugly stepsisters. He glanced over at the women his sister was pointing out, but it was hard to tell from a mere glance whether they might make a good match. "And why is Lady Amelia not yet married?" he asked, his voice barely above that of a whisper so no one overheard.
"That is uncertain," Connie admitted softly. "Though I believe she is of a retiring nature, and set against the more vivacious members of her circle, it is likely she fades into obscurity." She was not ignoring the opera, exactly, but this art form had never been her favorite. She was trying to give her brother some idea of whom he might like to be introduced to at the ball they would attend after the performance; her own activity would be largely to gossip with friends and dance with acquaintances.
"That is not necessarily a bad thing," he remarked. A quiet, unassuming wife who would not try to poke her nose into matters of business but be content with running the household was exactly what he thought he needed. Adelaide had been such a wife, though she'd been so quiet it had been difficult at first getting to know her, especially in the way a husband should know a wife. It was still better than a brash, bossy wife who would try to take charge.
"True, but a manner that is too retiring is a manner that is often taken advantage of," his sister warned him. "And apparently her nose is not so beautiful when viewed directly." That could only have come from one of the dowagers; only the older women in society would have phrased it so delicately. The younger, given their friendly rivalry, were more likely to coin a cruel nickname. Connie tilted her head, watching her brother for a moment. "Are there no ladies here who catch your eye at all, Lawry?"
Well, that decided that. He couldn't have a wife with a deformed nose, could he, though he felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman. He let his gaze move on, taking in blonde here and a brunette there - all of them looking perfectly poised to catch the attention of an eligible male. There was one head among them, though, that was different from the rest - a single redhead amidst a sea of blondes and brunettes. "Who is that?" he asked, with a nod of his head toward the woman in question.
Constance blinked in surprise - she hadn't actually thought he would pick someone out to ask about. Now she looked, however, she could see why. "That is Miss Clare King," she told him, her smile hidden behind her fan. "The older lady with her must be her mother. As I understand, Miss King is also on the cusp of spinsterhood, though the gossip is a little more sympathetic. Her father is a title-hunter, and makes no attempt to disguise his ambitions."
Though he was too far away to tell, the redhead hardly looked old enough to qualify as a spinster, at least as far as he was concerned. "And how much is a title worth to him?" he asked curiously. He hated himself for asking, but it was something he had to consider.
"An obscene amount," she murmured in return. "Our very own Albert paid court to her in her first Season, two years ago, and her father offered him "30,000 to marry her before he was even certain of his own attachment. There is an ugly rumor that the amount has increased each time Mr. King has attempted such a thing. I feel pity for her, for she is not without charms. The ladies speak highly of her, despite her mother's low birth, but her father's behavior has made a wallflower of a rose."
"Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. The question was whether her father was merely eager to buy his daughter a title or to have her off his hands, and if that was the case, then why' "I do not recall Albert ever mentioning her," he mused aloud.
"Albert does not engage in gossip the way others of his age do," Connie pointed out quietly. "Indeed, he would not have told me had I not asked him directly. Yet others were not so discreet that first year, and so the lady's reputation is marred by the fashionable set's opinion of her parentage. She is the granddaughter of a minor baronet, but her mother is the daughter of a shopkeeper."
Lawry knew better than most what it was like to judged by the sins of one's predecessors, rather than one's own character, as was evidenced by his father's penchant for gambling and the subsequent loss of the family's fortune. "Will she be at the ball?" he asked, though he assumed that she would.
"I would assume so," Constance assured him, though she tilted a curious look toward her brother as she did so. She had not expected him to show such interest so soon in what she privately thought was a suitable young woman for what he needed. Money and manners was a desirable combination in his circumstance. "It is being held by her great-aunt, the Dowager Lady Greenville."
He murmured a thoughtful acknowledgement, his gaze lingering on the redhead, though she was just one of many eligible women who'd likely be in attendance at the ball and be clamoring for attention. He let his gaze drift onward to other pretty faces, but compared to the redhead, they all looked alike. "Can you arrange a meeting?" he asked, not wanting to get his sister's hopes up too high, just yet.
May in London was a heady affair, filled with the arrivals of the ladies of the elite and their daughters, their husbands detained on business or present in Parliament. Those who were to come out into society were closeted away until the date of the presentation at Court, but those who had been presented before now were able to partake in the pleasures London had to offer several weeks before their debutante sistren could even consider it. Thus May was about seeing and being seen before the influx of marriageable ingenues flooded the balls and receptions and dinners, and one place to do just that was the opera.
The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden threw open its doors to welcome the ton with the first English performance of Otello, the great composer Verdi's first opera in almost fifteen years. Evening dress was compulsory, the air thick with the wafting of perfumes and heat from the stage as ladies fanned themselves. In the boxes, the best of the best did more audience-watching than stage-watching, sharing soft tidbits among themselves about those they could see about them. Lady Constance Stanley had spent the better part of two weeks learning all she could about the unmarried ladies of London and, behind the cover of her fan, she was busily pointing out those whom her brother might like to focus his attentions on.
"The tall blonde across and down, in Box Three," she murmured softly. "Red velvet and onyx necklace" That is Lady Amelia Pennyworth. She's an heiress, and approaching twenty-two, she seems to believe herself a failure and a spinster. The brunette sat beside her is her cousin, Vivienne De Worth - do not touch her with a barge pole, she has broken three engagements and refused to return the rings."
Though Lawrence knew it was pointless to admit it, he was actually more interested in the opera than in his sister's gossip; but he knew she had worked hard to learn as much as she could about any possible prospects and that she had pinned all her hopes on him finding a suitably wealthy bride. He knew what was expected of him, and yet, it still irked him a little that he was being forced into finding a bride whose worth was based solely on her family's ability to provide a generous dowry. He knew beauty was only skin deep, but he hoped he wouldn't have to settle for what amounted to the ugly stepsisters. He glanced over at the women his sister was pointing out, but it was hard to tell from a mere glance whether they might make a good match. "And why is Lady Amelia not yet married?" he asked, his voice barely above that of a whisper so no one overheard.
"That is uncertain," Connie admitted softly. "Though I believe she is of a retiring nature, and set against the more vivacious members of her circle, it is likely she fades into obscurity." She was not ignoring the opera, exactly, but this art form had never been her favorite. She was trying to give her brother some idea of whom he might like to be introduced to at the ball they would attend after the performance; her own activity would be largely to gossip with friends and dance with acquaintances.
"That is not necessarily a bad thing," he remarked. A quiet, unassuming wife who would not try to poke her nose into matters of business but be content with running the household was exactly what he thought he needed. Adelaide had been such a wife, though she'd been so quiet it had been difficult at first getting to know her, especially in the way a husband should know a wife. It was still better than a brash, bossy wife who would try to take charge.
"True, but a manner that is too retiring is a manner that is often taken advantage of," his sister warned him. "And apparently her nose is not so beautiful when viewed directly." That could only have come from one of the dowagers; only the older women in society would have phrased it so delicately. The younger, given their friendly rivalry, were more likely to coin a cruel nickname. Connie tilted her head, watching her brother for a moment. "Are there no ladies here who catch your eye at all, Lawry?"
Well, that decided that. He couldn't have a wife with a deformed nose, could he, though he felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman. He let his gaze move on, taking in blonde here and a brunette there - all of them looking perfectly poised to catch the attention of an eligible male. There was one head among them, though, that was different from the rest - a single redhead amidst a sea of blondes and brunettes. "Who is that?" he asked, with a nod of his head toward the woman in question.
Constance blinked in surprise - she hadn't actually thought he would pick someone out to ask about. Now she looked, however, she could see why. "That is Miss Clare King," she told him, her smile hidden behind her fan. "The older lady with her must be her mother. As I understand, Miss King is also on the cusp of spinsterhood, though the gossip is a little more sympathetic. Her father is a title-hunter, and makes no attempt to disguise his ambitions."
Though he was too far away to tell, the redhead hardly looked old enough to qualify as a spinster, at least as far as he was concerned. "And how much is a title worth to him?" he asked curiously. He hated himself for asking, but it was something he had to consider.
"An obscene amount," she murmured in return. "Our very own Albert paid court to her in her first Season, two years ago, and her father offered him "30,000 to marry her before he was even certain of his own attachment. There is an ugly rumor that the amount has increased each time Mr. King has attempted such a thing. I feel pity for her, for she is not without charms. The ladies speak highly of her, despite her mother's low birth, but her father's behavior has made a wallflower of a rose."
"Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. The question was whether her father was merely eager to buy his daughter a title or to have her off his hands, and if that was the case, then why' "I do not recall Albert ever mentioning her," he mused aloud.
"Albert does not engage in gossip the way others of his age do," Connie pointed out quietly. "Indeed, he would not have told me had I not asked him directly. Yet others were not so discreet that first year, and so the lady's reputation is marred by the fashionable set's opinion of her parentage. She is the granddaughter of a minor baronet, but her mother is the daughter of a shopkeeper."
Lawry knew better than most what it was like to judged by the sins of one's predecessors, rather than one's own character, as was evidenced by his father's penchant for gambling and the subsequent loss of the family's fortune. "Will she be at the ball?" he asked, though he assumed that she would.
"I would assume so," Constance assured him, though she tilted a curious look toward her brother as she did so. She had not expected him to show such interest so soon in what she privately thought was a suitable young woman for what he needed. Money and manners was a desirable combination in his circumstance. "It is being held by her great-aunt, the Dowager Lady Greenville."
He murmured a thoughtful acknowledgement, his gaze lingering on the redhead, though she was just one of many eligible women who'd likely be in attendance at the ball and be clamoring for attention. He let his gaze drift onward to other pretty faces, but compared to the redhead, they all looked alike. "Can you arrange a meeting?" he asked, not wanting to get his sister's hopes up too high, just yet.