Grandmama’s hope, alas, was not to be fulfilled. The next evening, at a dress ball in the Upper Rooms, Livia declined, with the utmost refinement, to dance with Mr. Adolphus Olivet, having made up her mind that she could not, would not, bear a full hour of every single sentence being cut off by that worthy gentleman.
Having seen him off with a polite smile, she looked around the crowded room and saw, sitting conspicuously by herself and with vacant chairs around her, a tall, brown-haired lady no longer young, appearing to be, perhaps, thirty-five or forty. She wore a plain gray chemise robe over white satin, a style some three or four years out of fashion, and her white satin slippers had about them the appearance of long use.
An image of herself at the Orrs’ ball, very much alone, flashed through Livia’s mind, and determinedly she made her way to the brown-haired lady. “May I join you?” she asked.
The lady smiled. “If you dare.” She was not pretty, but her hazel eyes were twinkling in a very appealing way.
“It’s you who must dare to sit next to me, I fear,” Livia said ruefully, settling herself on the adjacent chair. “I’m really a dreadful person. Or so I’m told.”
“Oh, I know all about you, Miss Stuart,” said the other lady, with calm friendliness. “There are very few secrets in Bath, you know. You are a young lady from the country about to make a brilliant match with a most eligible parti, the aloof and captivating Mr. Penhallow.”
“Yes, I am quite stepping out of my sphere,” responded Livia, with a frankness that surprised her. But there was something about the lady—an unusual charm which imperfectly concealed a fierce intelligence—that made Livia feel an immediate sense of camaraderie.
“Stepping out of your sphere? How so? You are a gentleman’s daughter, and he is a gentleman; therefore are you not equal?”
“Perhaps.”
“Not perhaps, but indeed it must be so. And for you—I am set on it!—there must be a happy conclusion.” She laughed, seeing Livia’s puzzled expression. “Do forgive me, my dear! My imagination, I fear, is very rapid, and jumps from fancy to fancy. I have not yet ascertained whether it’s a blessing or a curse. Oh, goodness, I’m bewildering you, I perceive. Let me allay your concerns at once as to my sanity, and inquire, as I should have already, as to your opinion of Bath.”
Livia smiled. “You seem to me to be one of the sanest people I’ve yet met here, ma’am! Are you new to town? I’ve not have the pleasure of meeting you before.”
“I’m merely passing through. Business took me to London, and my mother wished to visit former acquaintances and drink the waters prior to our return to East Hampshire.”
“She is unwell?”
Livia’s new friend gave a gentle, satirical laugh. “She fancies herself to be so. Tell me, do you care to read? Or do you not number that among your accomplishments?”
They proceeded to pass a very enjoyable half hour in conversation before Livia was drawn inexorably away by Lady Enchwood, who hustled her off to the tea-room, clucking all the way there.
“My dear Miss Stuart, I simply had to rescue you! I nearly had a spasm when I saw with whom you were sitting!”
It was then that Livia realized in dismay that she had failed to learn the name of her friend. She tried to turn back but her ladyship’s hold on her arm was unexpectedly strong for one whose ailments seemed to be so numerous and so daunting. “No, no, Miss Stuart, you must not, I do assure you! She is such a peculiar woman, and occupies quite the lowest fringes of the gentry! A mere country parson’s daughter, horribly poor, and on the shelf! Not at all the sort with whom you ought to converse! I do wonder at her coming to the ball—who on earth would dance with her? And for you to leave poor Mr. Olivet without a partner! The dear fellow is such a delightful conversationalist! Now here is Mrs. Penhallow! I am sure she feels just as I do!”
Sure enough, Livia was roundly chastised for having rejected Mr. Olivet. (And by the time she could escape the old lady and make her way back to the ballroom, her new friend had disappeared.) But it was just the beginning: on the days that followed, she was reprimanded for having been seen walking too fast, swinging her arms in a boisterous way, along Laura Place. For chatting, in a familiar manner, with a beggar outside the Edgar Buildings. (“He was an old soldier, ma’am,” Livia returned, her eyes flashing, “and very lame. I had nothing to give him but a few moments of my time.”) For laughing loudly with Captain Arbuthnot during the interval at a concert in the New Rooms:
“You give the appearance of being fast, Livia,” said Grandmama sharply. “I am told you were positively flirting with the captain.”