Her days were not taken up entirely with shopping, however. Agnes and Flavian took her to the Tower of London and to some art galleries. Ben and Samantha took her to Kew Gardens, which quite took her breath away, and then to Gunter’s for ices, having noted her remark that she had never tasted that particular delicacy. Hugo and Gwen took her to see St. Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey, to climb to the Whispering Gallery in the former and to read all the inscriptions in Poets’ Corner in the latter. Ralph and Chloe invited her with the duke and Agnes and Flavian to join them in their private box at the theater one evening, and Dora sat enthralled by a witty comedy of Oliver Goldsmith’s.
The Duke of Stanbrook did not neglect her. On the day the announcement of their betrothal appeared in the morning papers he took her driving in Hyde Park at what Dora soon understood to be the fashionable hour of the afternoon. Large numbers of the beau monde moved about one small oval area of the park, less intent upon taking the air and exercise, it seemed, than upon greeting one another and exchanging news and gossip. It was instantly apparent that the two of them were the day’s focus of attention. Dora was introduced to so many people that she felt rather as though her head must be spinning upon her shoulders by the time the duke’s carriage left the park.
“I doubt I will remember a single face or name,” she lamented. “And if I do, I will never recall which name goes with which face.”
“It is understandable that you are feeling quite overwhelmed,” he said, turning his head to look kindly upon her. “But one thing you will soon realize is that you will see the same people almost wherever you go. Soon you will begin to distinguish one person from another and even remember a few names. There is no need to be flustered until that happens. A smile and a regal nod will suffice for most people. And even if I am not always at your side, Agnes or Flavian will be or another of our friends.”
“A regal nod,” she said. “Does it differ from all other kinds of nods? I shall have to practice. I may have to indulge in the purchase of a bejeweled lorgnette.” His eyes were crinkled at the corners, she could see, though he did not laugh aloud. “I have enjoyed the afternoon.”
“Have you?” He turned his horses onto the busy street outside the park with consummate skill. “I have been afraid that you would regret not opting for a quieter wedding at Inglebrook.”
“Oh, no,” she said quite firmly. Despite moments of bewilderment, she had actually enjoyed every moment since arriving in London.
Her betrothed also organized a small party for a visit to Vauxhall Gardens one evening. It was somewhere Dora had long dreamed of going, and she was not disappointed. They approached the pleasure gardens by boat across the River Thames rather than by carriage over the new bridge, and the sight of the lights shivering across the water was quite enchanting. They listened to an orchestral recital, strolled along the wide avenues, illumined by colored lanterns strung from the trees that stretched on either side. They dined upon—among other delicacies—the wafer-thin slices of ham and succulent strawberries for which the Gardens were famous, and they watched a display of fireworks at midnight. Dora arrived home with the feeling that she had surely been robbed of breath all night. What a glorious wonderland Vauxhall was.
She felt as though she had grown backward a few years during the weeks since she had left Inglebrook. Even her looking glass lied to her and showed her a woman with the glow of youth apparently restored. She peered closely but . . . still not a single gray hair.
Sometimes she thought back to her days at Inglebrook and marveled that life could change so suddenly and so completely. Just one month ago—less—she had had no inkling that all this was in her future. Not that she wanted to stay in London indefinitely. She was longing to be married and to go to Penderris Hall, her new home. They were going to be happy, she and the duke, she dared to hope. There was going to be affection as well as friendship in their marriage. There surely already was.
The betrothal party the Duke of Stanbrook had promised while they were still in Gloucestershire was planned for two evenings before the wedding, and it was to be Dora’s formal debut into the world of the ton. She had been seen at a number of public places since arriving in London but had chosen not to attend any private party or ball until she was properly outfitted and felt up to the ordeal. It seemed appropriate that she meet the beau monde at Stanbrook House just before she wed the duke. A number of people had been invited, he had informed her, though it was not to be a ball. He had explained by way of apology that there had not been sufficient time to organize such a grand event to his satisfaction.
By the day of the party Dora was very glad that it was not a grand ball she was facing, for panic was setting in. She had been introduced to a number of members of the ton in various places over the past three weeks, it was true, but she had not yet been called upon to mingle with them in large numbers, to make social conversation with them for a number of hours, to be on display as she surely would be as the Duke of Stanbrook’s betrothed.
Panic was replaced by practicality and common sense, however, before she left for Stanbrook House. If her life had taken the course she had expected as a girl, by now she would be so accustomed to ton entertainments that she would approach a party like this evening’s without a qualm of nervousness. She was, after all, the daughter of a baronet, and this life into which she was at last being drawn was her birthright. She had been brought up to expect it. Besides, she was perfectly familiar with a number of tonight’s guests—her father and his wife; her brother, Oliver, and his wife, Louisa, who had arrived for the wedding and were staying at Arnott House; Aunt Millicent and Uncle Harold Shaw from Yorkshire; all six of the friends she had invited from Inglebrook and the one couple from Lancashire; and of course, the members of the Survivors’ Club and their spouses.