Free The Regency by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

at Morland Place for a few days. Then a clutch of coaches arrived one after the other, and for the next half-hour the great hall was filled with the noise and movement of arrival. The young women clustered together, light and pretty in their pale, delicate muslins, their heads, like flowers atop long stems, bound with beads or ribbons or tall plumes, nodding together as they chattered excitedly and admired each other's toilettes.
    The young men were strange and suddenly dignified in their evening-dress and on their best behaviour, remembering not to bellow with laughter or jostle each other as they normally did on meeting. They smirked and pulled down their upper lips, anxiously comparing their own calf muscles, hairstyle and neckcloth with those of their friends. One or two had shaved rather too enthusiastically; some found the constriction of their collars unfamiliar. Only Tom Keating and John Skelwith seemed perfectly at ease, the former having too good a conceit of himself, the latter being too mature and sensible to be nervous.
    The officers from Fulford arrived last, and at their entrance the chatter died down, as the young women eyed them admiringly and the young men bristled with resent ment. The red coats were so distinctive and becoming, and the officers themselves seemed so sophisticated, bringing with them the scent of a larger world, of brighter lights and more dashing music. The three originally invited were two young cornets, Brunton and Fenwick, who had the downy faces and charming manners of someone's favourite nephews, and a Lieutenant Finucane, who was tall and had red hair and a hint of Irish in his voice.
    They presented themselves most properly to James and Héloïse, and Finucane then brought forward the fourth officer, on whom all female eyes had been secretly fixed since they entered the great hall.
    ‘ May I present Lieutenant Fitzherbert Hawker, ma'am?' Finucane said. 'A friend and distant cousin of mine, who when he heard of my fortune in being invited here tonight, was ready to kidnap me, steal my invitation, and impersonate me, for the chance of clapping his eyes on you!’
    Hawker was tall — not as tall as Finucane, but better proportioned — with an elegant figure, and a head of dark wavy hair any woman would have envied. His lean, handsome features were lit by a pair of smiling blue eyes, and his clothes appeared to have been moulded on him. Héloïse did not quite like Finucane's nonsense, and Hawker appeared to perceive this, for as he bowed over her hand, he gave a charming, boyish smile and said, 'I must apologise for my friend, ma'am. His Irish blood makes him a little high-spirited sometimes, but he means no impertinence, I promise you.’
    He made his bow very respectfully to James and Edward, and accepted his introduction to Mathilde with just the right degree of polite friendliness to suit the informality of the occasion, and the fact that he was several years her senior. Hèloise was puzzled to guess exactly how old Hawker was. He seemed older in his manner than any of them except John - Skelwith, but his physiognomy suggested that he was no more than twenty-one or -two.
    ‘ Have you been long at Fulford, Mr Hawker?' she asked, hoping to calculate something from his answer.
    ‘Not long, ma'am; in fact, I came up from Brighton only a month ago. I was with the Sussex.'
    ‘ Brighton — oh, I have been to Brighton,' Mathilde exclaimed. 'I was there last summer.’
    Hawker bowed to her. 'I am only sorry I did not have the opportunity of making your acquaintance there,' he said, 'but I joined the Sussex only in October.'
    ‘ Brighton is a delightful place, isn't it?' Mathilde said enthusiastically.
    ‘ Very,' Hawker said, with a slight, conspiratorial smile at Héloïse. 'Did you attend any of the evening parties at the Pavilion?'
    ‘Yes, several.'
    ‘ And how did you like His Highness?' Hawker asked, and the tone of his voice was satirical enough even to alert Mathilde.
    ‘ He