Henry [EBOOK]

Chapter 1<br>
Denley House, Lancashire, England, 1794.<br>

“There’s always something special about the first ball of the season, don’t you think so, Grace?” Miriam Kendall, the daughter of the Baron of Mowbray said excitedly, looking out of the carriage window as it pulled up the long drive towards Denley House.<br>

Grace Villier was nervous. This was her first season – she knew nothing of what to expect, save for what Miriam – her closest friend – and her mother – the Countess of Dilbury – had told her. Miriam was only a year older than Grace. But the difference between them was marked. In all ways, Grace felt her friend to be superior. Her own first season had, by all accounts, passed effortlessly, and she had been feted across the ton as a belle of the ball. Grace was not convinced the same would be said of her. She was naturally shy and retiring – qualities her mother had despaired of.<br>

“A shy violet never gets the sun,” she had told Grace that very afternoon, chastising her for being less than enthusiastic as to the first ball of the season.<br>

It was, her mother had told her, every young lady’s dream to blossom in her first season and to attract the attentions of eligible young bachelors. But Grace’s dreams were rather more mundane – at least in her mother’s eyes. She enjoyed playing the pianoforte, reading books in her father’s library, and painting. But that had been her childhood, and change was coming – it was about to arrive, for the carriage was now pulling up outside Denley House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Bridbury, who were to host the first ball of the season that very evening.<br>

“I think… I feel rather unwell,” Grace replied, looking out of the carriage window at the stream of guests making their way up the wide steps into the house, where liveried footmen stood stiffly on either side of the large double doors.<br>

Miriam smiled at her.<br>

“You’ll be quite all right. That’s why I’m here, and I’m so glad your parents allowed you to ride with me. Look, they’re here now,” her friend replied, pointing out of the window.<br>

Grace could see her mother stepping imperiously from her father’s carriage, dressed in peacock blue with a plumage for a fascinator. Her mother had, by her own admission, been the most popular of debutantes and had received no less than a dozen marriage proposals. It was this legacy which made it all the harder for Grace to follow in her footsteps – how could she ever compete with that?<br>

“I wish they’d just let me get on with it. I can just imagine what it’s going to be like in there,” Grace said, as now the footman that had accompanied them jumped down from the buckboard and opened the carriage door.<br>

“Take a deep breath, you might even enjoy it,” Miriam said, and climbing out of the compartment, she beckoned Grace to follow.<br>

Grace knew she had no choice. It was a rite of passage. One which every young lady went through. Others would be making their first appearance amongst society that evening, and Grace looked around her to see several young women she knew, each smiling gaily and hurrying up the steps to join the throng – they did not look nervous in the slightest.<br>

“I’m not sure about that, but…” Grace began, just as a shrill voice interrupted her.<br>

“Come along, Grace. You’ll find yourself with the dregs if you don’t hurry. No one wants their dance card marked by the third son, or the offspring of a clergyman,” her mother said.<br>

Grace turned to find her mother and father arm in arm, looking at her pointedly. She was their only child – a source of some shame on the part of the earl, whose title would go to a distant cousin, rather than his own offspring. He raised his eyebrows pointedly as Grace’s mother tutted.<br>

“We’re just going in, Mother. I’m sure Miriam won’t let me be disappointed,” Grace replied.<br>

“I assure you, Lady Dilbury, I’ll make sure Grace’s dance card is marked by only the most eligible bachelors,” Miriam replied.<br>

The countess’ countenance softened. Grace had always believed her mother would have preferred Miriam as a daughter, and it seemed the baron’s daughter’s words now appeased her.<br>

“You’re such a dear, Miriam. Do give my regards to your parents. I must call on your mother in the coming weeks. We’ve just been so busy lately – a debutante doesn’t ready herself, does she?” Grace’s mother replied.<br>

Miriam smiled and agreed, before taking Grace firmly by the arm and leading her up the steps. They greeted several others as they went – or, rather, Miriam greeted them, and Grace smiled politely. She knew only a handful of people, and whilst an occasion such as this was meant to be a time of introduction, Grace would gladly have returned home.<br>

“I suppose this is the first step, isn’t it?” she whispered, as they presented their cards to the master of ceremonies.<br>

“That’s right. Once you’re inside, that hard bit’s over,” Miriam replied.<br>

They had entered through the large double doors into a marbled hallway with doors leading off on either side. A queue of elegantly dressed ladies and handsome young men had formed, awaiting their introductions, and there was much laughter and conversation as the names of the guests were called, and Grace’s and Miriam’s turn approached.<br>

“The Lady Grace Dilbury, debutante, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Dilbury, and the Lady Miriam Kendall, daughter of the Baron and Lady Mowbray,” the master of ceremonies announced.<br>

Grace and Miriam entered the ballroom, which was already full of people milling about in conversation and introductions before the dancing began. It was a grand room, marbled and hung with red satin banners. A wide staircase led up to a gallery above, where several of the guests stood watching the proceedings below. Grace looked around her with interest – it would have been a delightful place to be, had she not been so nervous.<br>

“Ah, Lady Grace, how glad we are to see you on your debut. I presume your mother is behind you?” a voice to Grace’s left said, and she turned to find a tall lady, wrapped in a silk shawl, smiling at her.<br>

It was her hostess, the Duchess of Bridbury, and now Grace fell into a deep curtsey, just as her mother had taught her.<br>

“She is, Lady Bridbury, and how grateful I am to you for your kind invitation,” Grace replied.<br>

The duchess smiled.<br>

“I’m sure you’ll meet some delightful people here this evening. You might find the son of the Earl of Pendle an interesting prospect. And there’s the Baron of Chester, too – he’s over there,” she replied, nodding in the direction of a rotund man, holding forth at the side of the room.<br>

Grace smiled and nodded, though inwardly she felt despairing. She had known what to expect, even as she had no experience of her own as to such occasions. Miriam had explained it to her – how the women would await the attentions of a man, who would ask her to dance. There would be a dalliance and conversations, perhaps an invitation to call on one another in the coming days. First impressions were what mattered, and Grace could hear her mother’s voice in her mind, reminding her of the necessity of appearance.<br>

“Thank you, Lady Bridbury. I’ll bear your suggestions in mind,” Grace replied.<br>

Their hostess now turned to greet the next arrivals, and Miriam rolled her eyes.<br>

“The Earl of Pendle’s son is nothing but a lecherous rake. He’s simply awful, and as for the Baron of Chester, he’s so rotund, you’d be marrying two men, not one,” she said.<br>

Grace laughed. <br>

“Then what are we to do?” she replied, for she knew her mother would not settle for anything less than three marks to her dance card – she had said as much during their preparations.<br>

“The first ball of the season sets the tone for what’s to come, Grace. If you’re not noticed now, you never will be,” her mother had told her.<br>

Grace wanted to please her mother. She had talked of nothing else but Grace’s debut for months. A new dress – in peach and mauve – had been purchased from a fashionable modiste in Lancaster, along with new shoes and shawl. Grace had attended dancing lessons and practiced walking and comportment. This was her mother’s moment, and Grace did not want to disappoint her.<br>

“We’ll choose our own gentlemen, the ones we want to notice us,” Miriam replied, with a pointed expression on her face.<br>

Grace smiled. She knew Miriam would not let her down. They had been friends for many years, and because she did not have a sister of her own, Grace had always looked up to Miriam as an example of what she should aspire to. Miriam’s own debut had passed without a hitch, and she had been feted by most every eligible young man in the district. She had several suitors, and it was to be a case of when, not if, she was to marry.<br>

“But what if the ones we choose aren’t interested in us?” Grace replied.<br>

Miriam gave her a sympathetic look and shook her head.<br>

“You’re the pretty, vivacious, delightful daughter of an earl. What’s not to like, Grace?” she replied.<br>

Grace laughed. She did not think of herself as pretty – her hair was not long enough, her cheek bones not high enough, her mouth was too small, her nose had a dimple in it she detested. As for being vivacious, she did not believe that about herself, either. She was shy and retiring. She did not put herself forward in conversation, nor, despite her mother’s insistence, did she make any effort to involve herself in society.<br>

“I don’t think I’m anything like that,” Grace replied, but Miriam was having none of it.<br>

“Come now, Grace. Don’t be a retiring violet. We’ll get some punch, and then we’ll see who might have noticed us,” Miriam said, taking Grace by the arm.<br>

They made their way through the throng of guests. Miriam seemed to know everyone, and whilst Grace was able to bask in her radiance, her friend’s popularity did nothing for her own attraction. She was second to Miriam in every way, and despite it being her debut, Grace would gladly have gone straight home without dancing a single step.<br>

“Look, there’s Harold Shanks,” Miriam said, pointing to a tall an in the red uniform of an officer of the militia.<br>

He was standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to another man who had his back to them. The musicians were tuning up their instruments, and the time for the dancing was about to begin.<br>

“But we’re not expected to dance the first dance, are we?” Grace exclaimed, looking around her at the other debutantes, all of whom appeared to have found partners for themselves.<br>

Again, Miriam looked at her sympathetically.<br>

“Oh, Grace…there’s nothing to be worried about. You’ve danced plenty of times before. We’ve practiced enough, haven’t we?” she replied.<br>

Grace smiled. They had practiced on numerous occasions, but humming themselves around her father’s drawing room and falling into fits of laughter as they stepped on one another’s toes was not the same as dancing with a gentleman at a ball on the evening of her debut. A stranger would not be so forgiving if his feet were stepped on, and if Grace forgot her steps. The room was warm, and she was feeling quite overwhelmed by it all.<br>

“I know…but…it’s not quite the same, is it? I know we’ve practiced, and you were very patient with me. But I can’t remember any of the steps. Besides, I don’t know who I’m going to dance with. Everyone’s already paired off,” Grace said, looking around her as couples, arm in arm, made their way into the throng of dancers already assembled.<br>

There was an air of expectation in the ballroom that evening. The first ball of the season was long anticipated. Grace’s mother had first mentioned it on a gloomy afternoon in January, and now, in the early summer flush of a June evening, it had arrived. They had talked of little else in the previous weeks, and it seemed everything – her whole life, even – had been building to this moment.<br>

“A debut is perhaps the most important moment in a young lady’s life – that, and her wedding day,” her mother had said, and now those words rang through Grace’s mind as she glanced around for a sight of her mother, who was bound to be watching her with disappointment.<br>

“Might I have this dance?” a voice to her right said, and Grace turned to find an elderly man with gray hair and whiskers smiling at her.<br>

“Oh…well, yes,” she replied, hardly thinking what she was saying. <br>

He had taken her quite by surprise, and now he offered her his arm, even as Miriam made a face behind his back.<br>

“My name’s Crawley, Reginald Crawley,” he said, as Grace took his arm and forced a smile onto her face.<br>

“Ah, I’m delighted, thank you. Grace Villier,” she stammered, wishing there was a way to extract herself from the awkwardness of what was about to become her first dance.<br>

“Ah, yes, I know your father a little. He told me he had a daughter about to make her debut. I’m charmed to be the first to take you into the throng,” he said.<br>

Grace had no choice but to smile and nod, as now he led her amongst the dancers. She thought about stepping on his toes deliberately to put him off. Other women – those on the arms of handsome young men – were looking at her with sympathetic disdain. Was she to be an object of pity from the beginning?<br>

“Are you in a similar business to my father?” Grace asked, remembering her mother’s insistence on her making polite conversation with those who should show an interest in her.<br>

“Not quite. I’m in sugar, mainly,” he said.<br>

Grace shuddered. She knew what those “in sugar” dealt in. The trade of slaves across the Atlantic was abhorrent to her, and she was only glad her father was amongst a minority that agreed. As well as his estate, her father’s business revolved around brandy imported from the continent, and those involved were paid a decent wage.<br>

“Oh…the plantations?” she asked, and he nodded.<br>

“That’s right. I’ve six plantations in the Caribbean, and very productive they are, too,” he replied, smiling at her.<br>

The music had begun, and he took her in his arms as they began to twirl in a waltz. Reginald himself was not a good dancer, and this allowed Grace to step on his toes without it appearing deliberate.<br>

“I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, as he winced.<br>

“Quite all right,” he stammered, grimacing as he spoke.<br>

Grace was relieved when the dance came to an end. The sight of it would appease her mother, even as she had no intention of repeating it again. She thanked Reginald, feigning breathlessness, and returning to Miriam, who was waiting for her at the edge of the dance floor.<br>

“Well, do you and Sir Reginald have much in common?” Miriam asked, and Grace rolled her eyes.<br>

“If they’re all like this, it’s going to be a long evening…” she replied with a sigh.<br>