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The first sight of the gardens was everything that could have been desired, for it was now full dark and the walkways and buildings so lit up with coloured lanterns that even Eloise could not help but be impressed. Crowds of people in gay mood thronged all the paths, but Will Fletcher offered an arm to her and another to his stepmother, while Mr Somerwell attended Rosie and Angie.
“We are short of gentlemen,” Mrs Fletcher said, as a rowdy group passed by, one of them ogling Rosie with a quizzing glass. “One feels a little… exposed.”
“We have a sufficient number to protect you, I hope,” Will said. “There, this part is a little less crowded.”
The shortage of gentlemen did not last long, for beside the Rotunda they were hailed by two acquaintances of Will Fletcher’s, whom he introduced as Mr Tibbitt and Mr Hattersley.
“Friends of mine from school,” he explained, although he did not seem particularly pleased to see them.
However, since the two attached themselves to the group, Mr Tibbett offering his arm to Mrs Fletcher and Mr Hattersley to Angie, they got on rather better after that. Eloise was not pleased to be the sole focus of Will Fletcher’s attentions, but his sturdy presence was a comfort in the great crowds milling here and there, and she had to admit that he was all affability.
For about an hour they walked about, listening to the music, watching the dancers and enjoying the spectacle, but eventually Mrs Fletcher tired and they made their way to their supper box. Having intended to be a much larger party, two adjoining supper boxes had been secured, but now, even with the addition of Mr Tibbitt and Mr Hattersley to their number, they fitted comfortably into just one.
Supper was brought, and they all settled to eating and drinking and general merriment, in which Mr Tibbitt and Mr Hattersley were the leading proponents. Their genial good humour, and willingness to prepare salad or slice cheese or pour wine for the ladies, made them a favourite with Mrs Fletcher, whose spirits were now quite restored.
The disadvantage of a box overlooking one of the main thoroughfares was that a number of acquaintances walked by and stopped to talk. Eloise recognized Lionel Iverson, and an elderly man was introduced as a Mr Crutchley. Both of these lingered until invited to join the Fletchers. The box was now becoming rather crowded.
“Shall we move to the box next door?” Will Fletcher said in Eloise’s ear. “All these people want to see Rosie, so we can escape the crush if you wish.”
She was amenable, so, together with Mr Tibbitt and Mr Hattersley, they decamped to the next box, ordered more supper and settled down again. The two young men, having less to occupy them now, became the focus of a large group of rather disreputable-looking ladies, but at least under cover of their laughter, it was possible to conduct a more private conversation.
“What is your opinion of Somerwell?” Mr Fletcher said quietly. “Pa has given him permission to court Rosie, but I do not know what to make of him.”
“I have heard nothing spoken against him,” Eloise said cautiously. “But then I do not know him.”
“Nor do we,” Mr Fletcher said. “He talked at length to Pa — explained his circumstances, detailed all his income and connections, and so forth — but we know nothing of him beyond that. Pa has sent a man to Wiltshire, where his estate is, to make discreet enquiries, but I cannot imagine he has misled us on the facts. It is his character that is the issue, and we are not sufficiently familiar with these society gentlemen to be able to judge. He is very elegant, but… I cannot be easy with him. Pa feels the same, and he has been in business long enough to be a good judge of a man. I should value your honest opinion, Miss Whittleton. Even though you do not know him well, you have mingled in such society and understand it far better than we do.”
“What does Mrs Fletcher say? She is more accustomed to society, I think.”
“She likes him well enough, but he has one great defect in her eyes — he has no title. She has such hopes of Rosie snaring a lord. But Pa will not mind so long as Rosie is happy with him. What do you think?”
It was flattering to be appealed to in that way, and his manner was unexpectedly humble. Such openness deserved an equally open answer. “I do not quite trust a man who pays such excessive attention to his attire as Mr Somerwell,” she said slowly. “His manner, too, is exaggerated, as if to draw attention to himself. And he pays outrageous compliments, and you know my opinion of such men, Mr Fletcher.”
“Only too well,” he said, with that sweet smile of his that made him so dangerously attractive. That and the very masculinity of him. An effete man like Mr Somerwell held no attraction for Eloise, but a broad-shouldered Corinthian like Mr Fletcher… that was a different matter. If he were only less shallow, she could believe her heart to be in some danger.
Just then a well-dressed group of six strolled past on the path in front of their box. One gentleman, with an exclamation, detached himself from the others and made his way towards their box with a smile.
“Mr Fletcher! How pleasant to see you again, and here with some of your family, I see.” He glanced towards the box next door, now all but invisible behind a throng of admirers. Mr Fletcher introduced him to Eloise as Lord Albury. After some polite exchanges, he added, “I must not interrupt your supper any longer, sir. I shall just pay my respects to Mrs Fletcher and your sisters. Good evening to you.”
He was a personable man, his manners pleasing without ostentation, his dress perfectly judged to declare him to be a gentleman of quality.
“Now there is a man I could trust,” she exclaimed, as soon as he passed out of hearing. “What is his rank?”
“He is a viscount, heir to the Earl of Faulkbourne,” Mr Fletcher said. “You trust him, do you? May I ask whence comes this assurance of his trustworthiness?”
“I cannot quite explain it,” she said, “but there is something in his manner, his air. My mother would have said he has address.”
He was thoughtful after that, and she imagined him comparing his own manner with that of Lord Albury. That was interesting, and she could not help admiring a man who hoped to improve himself. It spoke of a certain humility, at odds with the arrogant air he adopted. Was it possible that she was mistaken in him? He could be kind, too… no, this would never do. He was behaving in a way he thought would impress her, that was all. She must not be taken in by it.
There was one slightly unpleasant interlude. As the evening wore on, some of those in the gardens allowed the unusual atmosphere of Vauxhall to go to their heads. More than one group appeared to have imbibed too freely of the famous arrack punch, and even some ladies became uninhibited. One such approached their box.
“Well I never, Henry of Monmouth, as I live and breathe!” she cried to Mr Fletcher, leaning into the box and planting a kiss on each cheek. “Will you come and dance with me, my liege lord?”
“Not tonight,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “As you see, I already have a partner if I wish to dance.”
She looked at Eloise, and sniggered. “As you wish, Majesty. I shall just have to find myself another monarch willing to dance with me.”
And then she was gone, leaving Eloise uncomfortably certain of her connection to Mr Fletcher. Eloise said nothing, for it was not proper for her even to acknowledge the existence of such women. Mistresses were a matter for men alone, and Mr Fletcher’s natural embarrassment at being confronted with his own inamorata told its own story.
