One Perfect Afternoon

One Perfect Afternoon

Jane Dawkins

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One Perfect Afternoon copyright © 2013 by Jane Dawkins. Electronic compilation / print edition copyright © 2015 by Whiz Bang LLC.

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By the same author

Letters from Pemberley:

A continuation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

More Letters from Pemberley

1814-1819

A further continuation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

Lulie

If You’re Ever in Key West…

One Perfect Afternoon

Copyright © 2004 Jane Dawkins

Prologue

London: February, 1815

Davina Woodburn sat in the window seat of her Aunt Leverton’s Mayfair drawing room, idly tracing her name in the misty condensation on the glass pane. Beneath her name she attempted a crude likeness of her beloved Eddie, whom she already missed beyond measure, though it had been just ten days since she left her home in Hampshire. Aunt Leverton’s house was situated in one of the new, modern squares being built in London by the likes of Mr. Nash and Mr. Wyatt—large, spacious houses on all four sides, each overlooking a central garden provided for the exclusive use of the square’s residents. Furnished with benches and narrow paths, and enclosed by a smart, wrought-iron fence and gate which admitted those fortunate enough to possess a key, the residents of Portermain Square were able to stroll in their own private oasis away from the bustle of London—especially refreshing during the Season.

Bored with her futile attempts at drawing on the window pane, Davina obliterated them with a couple of swishes of her palm and through the clear circle she had made, looked at the square’s garden with disdain. Pitiful, she thought, Eddie’s stable is bigger than that. It might very well be a pleasing sight in spring and summer (when everyone had left for the country, of course) but now, in the middle of February, it looks decidedly dreary. Like trying to put the countryside in a cage. A half-smile hovered momentarily. She was rather amused by that thought.

But this won’t do at all, she scolded herself. My Uncle and Aunt are very kind, and have brought me to town with the best of intentions, but the truth is I would far rather be at home with Papa. We are so comfortable there, our income is more than sufficient, why on earth should I waste my time, and my dear Aunt’s, spending whole weeks of the Season in London. Husband hunting! What do I want with a Husband? she asked herself crossly.

Indeed, she had asked her Father that very same question when he first announced his Sister’s invitation.

Davina, my dear, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you happily settled in life—

But, Papa, she interrupted, "I am happily settled, right here with you. I want for nothing. I yearn for nothing. My life is complete, I assure you. Besides, what about Eddie? Hunting season will be in full swing and you know he enjoys nothing better than a good ride to hounds. Nobody handles him as well as I, everybody knows that. He would be so disappointed."

Davina, please listen and don’t interrupt me, her Father said crossly—well, as crossly as he was ever able to be with his Daughter. Were your Mother still living, she would have seen to this part of your upbringing. I confess it freely, I was too wrapped up in my own grief to worry about the finer points of your education. I should have sent you away to school to learn the things a Lady of quality should know. By bringing in governesses, music and dancing masters, painting and language teachers, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t, Davina. I was being totally selfish. You see, my Dear… I simply couldn’t let you go. While you were here… so was your Mother… well, that’s how I saw it then.

Lord Woodburn turned towards the fire to compose himself. Davina, torn between rushing to her beloved Father to fling her arms around him, and bursting into tears herself, was stunned into silence. Presently, her Father, having recovered his composure, continued.

And so the years have slipped by, my Dear. You and I leading peaceful, happy lives, comfortable together in our companionship. My Sister’s letter of a fortnight since, writing of you growing up, getting out intoSociety and getting married, gave me such a shock, I examined the letter again thinking that perhaps she had misaddressed it. But no, it was addressed and intended for me alone. It made me look at you anew, Davina, which gave me an even greater shock, let me tell you. How had I not noticed that you were no longer the little Girl who loved horses and animals, who spent hours training her dogs, who sat up all night with Miss Priss when she delivered her kittens. When had that little Girl turned into a beautiful young Woman? How could I have missed it?

Papa, please, Davina begged. Do not distress yourself.. You have in no way failed me. I am still the same little Girl. Why, only yesterday I attended the Rector’s Esther—you know, Esther, his Springer spaniel. She’s been limping badly and could bear no weight on her hind paw. Poor Esther! Well, do you know—

No, Davina, I don’t, but you illustrate my point precisely. It is simply not fitting for Lady Davina Woodburn to be known as a wild, headstrong young Woman, who on horseback is the equal of any young blade, who has no equal as a judge of horse flesh, who is as comfortable attending the birth of a foal, cow or kitten as she is staunching the bleeding arm of an under-gardener, who, through his own laziness, overloads a wheelbarrow and as a consequence loses his balance and falls into some rose bushes—no, I won’t tell you how I heard about that one. You are 19-years-old my darling, almost 20, and as my Sister reminds me, far too beautiful to be stuck here in Hampshire when you should be shining in London Society among people of your own age.

Papa, please, you can’t be serious. I have no ambition to—how did you put it?—‘shine’ in London. London Society is full of pretty Girls in pretty frocks with heads full of the next party, the next ball, the latest fashions. I don’t belong there. I despise that sort of empty frivolity—you know I do. I shall feel like a caged animal there. I shall have nothing in common with them. Surely you must see what a silly notion the entire scheme is!

Then look upon it as a favour to your dear Aunt, if you prefer. Let us not forget her kindness to us after your Mother died. Indeed, I’m not sure how we should have got on at all but for her comfort and practical guidance. Penelope may be my youngest Sister, but she has the sense of a much older Woman. Don’t forget she is but twelve years older than you, with two young Children. She would have been perfectly justified in staying comfortably at home with her Husband and Family, but no, she came to be of what assistance she could and, well…frankly my Dear, she put us back together again, didn’t she?

Papa, she did, and I beg you not to think I am ungrateful. On the contrary, I have the greatest affection for my Aunt Leverton, and would gladly spend a quiet week or two in town with her and my Cousins. But the thought of having to go to card parties and theatre parties and balls and such fills me with absolute dread. Surely you must see that, Papa?

"Davina, I am quite resolved that you will spend these two or three months in London and there’s an end on it. I shall never forgive myself if I deny you this generous opportunity, and I shall never forgive you if you do not accept your Aunt’s invitation with the good graces it deserves. You should also know that I have made arrangements for you with my solicitor in London—you will recall Mr. Stone and his visits here after your Mother’s death? Through him, you will be provided with a generous allowance for new clothes, hats and the like. And sufficient pin money, of course. My Dear, you will be as smart and as fashionable as any young Lady in town—nay, smarter. What say you, Davina?"

Davina stood before her Father, still not believing her ears. How could he? Her mind raced. Two whole months in London, possibly three! How on earth would she survive? What about Eddie? And Blossom was due to calve again in just three or four weeks, which revived awful memories of that last time when poor Blossom had—

She was suddenly brought back to the present by her Father’s voice.

Very well then, my Dear, said her Father, consulting his pocket watch, taking her silence for acquiescence. Then I’ll be off. There’s a chestnut mare in Winchester that Slater thought might well be the very animal we’ve been looking for at the home farm.

Oh, Papa, then I should come too. Let me fetch my cloak. London disappeared in a flash and the prospect of examining a horse with her expert eye made life worth living again. With luck, her Father would be in better spirits on their way back home and she would be able to talk him out of this ridiculous London scheme the way she had talked him out of disagreeable (to her) ideas so many times before. She turned to leave.

Not this time, I am afraid, my Dear. Did I not mention that a dressmaker would be attending you this very afternoon?

His incredulous Daughter stared at him open-mouthed.

"Travelling clothes," he added by way of explanation, and taking advantage of the rare, speechless condition which had overtaken her, kissed her on the cheek and left the room, feeling rather pleased at how well it had all gone, considering…

Chapter 1

Davina still sat in the window seat where we first met her, feeling thoroughly dejected. It was beginning to get dark outside; though it was but half past three o’clock, winter evenings set in early, and she drew her shawl around her with an involuntary shiver. At that moment, she heard the bustle of somebody arriving at the house: the front door opening, cloaks and pattens being removed, umbrellas being shaken. It must be her Aunt Leverton returned from her afternoon engagement, she decided. A moment later, the drawing room door burst open amid a rustle of petticoats.

Well, there you are my Dear! Thank goodness I am home at last. It is just beginning to rain, and there is such a stiff wind whipping up—I wager, a minute longer and I’d have been swept up, clear off to Brighton!

Penelope Leverton sank into one of the large sofas and sighed. Her afternoon of good works had worn her out.

My dear Aunt, you are quite fatigued. May I ring for tea? asked Davina, kindly.

Indeed you may. How thoughtful you are, Davina. Just like your Mother, of course… But aren’t you cold? Look at the fire! Ask Benton to see to it, there’s a dear. No need to sit here uncomfortably. My dearest wish is that you should consider Portermain Square your home while you are with your Uncle and me.

It isn’t, and it never will be, no matter how many fireplaces are blazing, thought Davina, screaming silently. Aloud, and forcing a smile, she said, You are too kind, my dear Aunt. Indeed I was so occupied with writing to Papa that I hardly noticed the fire, but you are quite right.

She crossed the room to ring the bell, then sat next to her Aunt, feigning more interest than she felt as she asked, Now, do tell me about your afternoon, Aunt. I trust you had a pleasant time.

Thank you, Davina, most pleasant. Let me see… Lady Murrayfield was there—well of course she was, it was her house—and the Duchess of Coomberton with her two daughters, Lady Lydia and Lady Marcia. You may recall them, Dear, they were at the Longleys’ card party two nights ago. Confidentially, rather plain, but of course that hardly matters. With their fortunes, they could look like the rear ends of carthorses and still make excellent matches. A quick glance at Davina confirmed Lady Leverton’s suspicion that the equine metaphor was ill-chosen. She hurried on. "Oh, and Mrs. Pearson, and the Misses Bartlett and Mrs. Pearson’s Mother—a trifle deaf, unfortunately, which made for a rather noisy and lengthy meeting, since we all had to shout and repeat ourselves when she said, Speak up! only to be admonished, No need to shout, I’m not deaf! when we did. Very tiresome—one quite loses one’s thread, and even the simplest of statements somehow sounds offensive uttered at full cry. As we were waiting for the carriages, Mrs. Pearson whispered to me that her Mother’s attendance at our meetings would be very occasional. Very welcome news, I assure you."

Tea was brought, the fire made up, and the two women continued their conversation.

And was your meeting fruitful?

Oh, indeed yes. I wish you could have seen the bundles of clothing we’ve collected. I dare say those Children will be the best dressed foundlings in London!

Davina cringed inwardly, but kept her noncommittal smile perfectly intact.

Lady Murrayfield contributed by far the largest share, and let slip that the parishioners at St. Michael’s had been most generous. Of course, since the Murrayfields own the living, it is naturally to be expected that the parson would wish to make a good showing, and I shouldn’t wonder if he didn’t chivvy his parishioners to hand over their Sunday best to please her Ladyship!

Lady Leverton chuckled and took another biscuit.

Our next project is shoes for the poor. The Duchess says her cobbler will repair any that need it. Is that not a fine idea, Davina?

Upon hearing her name, Davina was roused from daydreaming about Eddie’s extra oats and decided to add a postscript to the letter just written to her Father, asking him to please remind Tommy the stable Boy about it, and, please, not to forget Eddie’s thick blanket on really cold nights.

Oh, indeed, indeed, Aunt, she said, hoping this response fitted the question, whatever it was, since she only recollected hearing ‘shoes’. Quickly, she tried to think of something else to say, just to sound interested.

So, how do the garments find their way to the foundlings, Aunt?

Hmm. Well, I’m not exactly sure... though now that I think about it, I believe one of Lady Murrayfield’s men takes them to the foundlings hospital, but perhaps it’s the Duchess of Coomberton’s man—no, no, it’s Lady Murrayfield’s man, I’m certain of it.

You mean you have never been there yourself, Aunt? Davina was astonished.

Been there myself! Good gracious, Davina, of course not!

Then, supposing that Davina was joking, she burst out laughing.

What a caution you are, Davina, I declare! I can just imagine how it would look if Lady Murrayfield, the Duchess and I were to sally forth to the East End—and to the foundlings hospital of all places!

Lady Leverton was vastly amused at this picture and resolved to remember to tell the fellow members of her charitable group at their next monthly meeting. While she enjoyed Davina’s unintentional joke, Davina mused on the confines of her Aunt’s small world. Perhaps if the Ladies of the Good Works Brigade (as Davina called them, privately) were to visit the poor and the sick themselves, they might gain not only a better understanding of the larger world around them, but also a better appreciation of their own good fortune, but she did not mention it. Her Aunt was a good-hearted soul; it was just that she had never been exposed to the way most of the world lived.

Davina, dear, said her Aunt, smiling at her Niece fondly, "what a small, innocent world you live in down in Hampshire! That you should think a Lady of quality might travel with impunity into the East End! How much you have to learn of the world! But don’t look so crestfallen, Davina, your innocence only adds to your many charms. By the way, Lady Rutherford tells me she is quite enchanted with you, and already imagines her Boys squabbling over you at her ball next Thursday—but, Davina, look at the time, I had no idea of it being so late! We are expected at the Hockberrys at seven, and you know how your Uncle hates to be late—and look at my hair! I shan’t be fit to be seen. Ring for Molly, dear, and tell her to attend me in my dressing room immediately—on second thoughts, tell her in half an hour. I must look in on the nursery and see what my little tyrants have been up to today." In another flurry and rustle of silk, Lady Leverton quitted the drawing room, leaving Davina still on the sofa, exhausted.

I had no idea that doing nothing could be so fatiguing, she thought. The prospect of an evening of idle chatter and cards tired her even more. I’d as soon stay right here with my book than have to wear a fancy, uncomfortable dress and