by Dorothy Mack
The evening went off better than Lord Altern had anticipated. The family members were already assembled in the great hall to receive their guests when he joined them. His eye was drawn immediately to young Cecily, clad in a demure but becoming white dress, her dark-lashed blue eyes aglow with excitement at her first grown-up party. He experienced a sudden clear appreciation of what a handicap it must be to have been born Emerald Hardwicke’s younger sister. In any other company, Cecily’s delicate prettiness would be sure to turn heads. The same could be said of Cleone Latham, though her appeal was that of a woman, not a girl. As she sat on a sofa talking composedly with Lady Henley, his eyes marked the purity of her profile and the elegance of her figure in a coffee-coloured gown trimmed with lace of a lighter shade before moving on to Emerald, breathtakingly beautiful tonight in a filmy green creation that matched her eyes.
He must be mad!
He bowed to the older ladies and Lord Brestwick but chose to speak first to Cecily. “May I say that you are looking exceptionally pretty tonight, Miss Cecily? No one would guess that you had been involved in an accident only yesterday.”
The young girl blushed and said shyly, “Thank you, sir. The credit really belongs to Cleo, who devised a hairstyle to cover the cut, which is already beginning to heal.”
He murmured an appropriate comment on the arrangement of glossy brown curls that had been allowed to fall from a top knot over the site of the wound in seemingly careless profusion, then he turned to Emerald with a perfectly sincere compliment on her appearance.
The party from the Grange and the Reverend and Mrs. Lovejoy arrived almost simultaneously. The Lovejoys were a couple approaching late middle age, enough alike to be taken for brother and sister. They were both tall, built on spare lines, slightly stooped, and ascetic-looking. The rector’s hair was a little whiter, his wife’s eyes a trifle bluer, and both had singularly sweet smiles and a diffident manner. This last characteristic became readily understandable when they were flanked by Sir William Ludlow, bluff and hearty as befitted his girth, and Lord Brestwick, never less than outspoken on any occasion. Lady Ludlow was not similarly affected by the somewhat daunting combination of her husband and host, however. Of moderate height and build, she had a soft voice that was quite deceiving, accompanying, as it did, a ladylike but decided manner. She could stop her garrulous husband in full spate with a quiet phrase and, to Lord Altern’s amusement, managed before the evening ended to hold her own in a discussion of recent Parliamentary happenings with her host.
The young people of the party were welcomed by Lord Altern more for their diversionary value than any intrinsic interest. Miss Adelaide Ludlow was a sweet-faced, rather pallid blonde with fewer curves than an adolescent boy. Nor did she compensate for the deficiencies of nature with a positive personality or enough vivacity to keep her from being completely overshadowed by the eye-catching Hardwicke females. Her brother, Mr. Bernard Ludlow, was a more attractive proposition, a man of moderate height with the compact muscular build of a natural athlete. He had dark-gold hair worn in the windswept style still in fashion, and a ruddy open countenance with good features and intelligent blue eyes. His friend, Mr. Rupert Chalmers, a slim dark young man with intense black eyes and swarthy skin, was very much the aspiring dandy, on the evidence of the colourful nature of his horizontally striped waistcoat and the extremely high shirt points peeking over a cravat of monstrous width and complicated design. Lord Altern judged them to be of a similar age, somewhere in the early twenties.
There were fourteen people present, many of whom were unknown to one another, so the next few minutes were entirely given over to introductions. Lord Altern, always a keen observer of his fellow creatures, found that he had underestimated the potentialities for drama among a set of ordinary persons. It was no surprise to see men struck in a heap by Miss Emerald Hardwick’s startling beauty; he had witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions in London. Some concealed it better than others, but so far, he had not counted a single male who remained indifferent. If the truth were told, he had experienced the same jolt himself. What’s more, it happened, though to a lesser degree, each time he saw her anew, even after an absence of minutes. It was almost as if one’s memory were capable of storing only a faded picture that was proved inadequate each time she reappeared in the flesh.
His interest, therefore, was piqued when he noted that the polite smile on Mr, Bernard Ludlow’s face when he made his bow to Miss Hardwicke was just that — a polite smile. Mr. Ludlow’s expression reflected a friendliness that was most likely intrinsic to his nature, but the earl could detect nothing more personal in the calm blue eyes. Mr. Chalmers immediately redressed the balance, however. His dark gaze had been fixed on Emerald from the initial moment of contact, and the fervency with which he declared his pleasure in the introduction was not to be mistaken. Certainly it was evident to Miss Adelaide Ludlow, whose colour receded as she dropped her eyes and took her underlip between her teeth. Lord Altern had concluded that Mr. Ludlow must be one of those sporting types who are basically immune to feminine appeal when that young man surprised him yet again.
It was Cecily’s turn to be presented. Mr. Ludlow bowed over her hand, but when he raised his eyes to hers, the pleasant smile on his lips stiffened and then melted slowly away. In trying to pin down the expression in his eyes, Lord Altern finally decided that awe, though inadequate, came closest to a fitting description. Cecily’s face mirrored the wonder in Bernard’s as she stood utterly still. Eventually her lips moved in response to his polite greeting, but no sound came forth. This mutual recognition was so obvious to Lord Altern that he was astounded when a lambent glance around the circle discerned no awareness on any face save one. His eyes met the startled glance of Miss Latham, and the look they exchanged questioned and answered the question in unison. She too looked quickly around, blinking at the obtuseness of the rest.
Admiration always acted like water on flowers with Emerald; she raised her head and grew more animated as Mr. Chalmers sought to keep her attention on himself. The others were disposing themselves about the room. The moment of revelation was over as those present dutifully set about making the kind of polite conversation that obtains in a room full of near strangers brought together for the purposes of socializing.
The dinner was excellent, simple by London standards perhaps, but marked by the superb quality of each individual dish and the beautiful presentation that distinguished Lord Brestwick’s table. Murmurs of appreciation for the salmon, which was cooked just to the point of perfection and served with a simple lemon-butter sauce, rose simultaneously from various guests. Lord Altern was placed too far from Miss Latham for any conversation, but he noted that she cast an unobtrusive eye on everything brought to the table by Oliphant and the two footmen trained to assist him.
He had escorted Mrs. Lovejoy in to dinner and found her a pleasant undemanding partner. Miss Adelaide Ludlow on his left could never be described as a brilliant conversationalist, but Lord Altern had not served as one of Wellington’s officers for three years without learning how to make himself agreeable to all kinds of women. He put his best efforts into entertaining Miss Ludlow, aware with a feeling of sympathy that Mr. Chalmers, on her other side, was bent on monopolizing Emerald, on his left. Since Sir William, Miss Hardwicke’s other partner, was content to divide his attention between his hostess and his dinner, this breach of etiquette on Mr. Chalmers’ part, abetted by Emerald, went unremarked, although Lord Altern saw Miss Latham regarding her cousin with a thoughtful expression at one point. He awarded high marks to Mr. Ludlow, who punctiliously shared his time between Miss Latham and Cecily against all natural inclination to engage the latter exclusively. It spoke well for his upbringing.
The rest of the evening proved an equally rich source of entertainment for a dedicated people-watcher like Lord Altern. Having more than done his duty by the insipid Miss Ludlow, he abandoned her to her own devices and chose instead to take a seat by Cecily’s side when the men joined
the ladies in the first-floor saloon. To his discredit, it must be recorded that he was not so oblivious to the likely repercussions of this action as his bland countenance suggested. For instance, despite his pretence of inattention, he had not missed Emerald’s beckoning smile or its rapid replacement by an expression of disbelief when he settled beside her sister. Nor was he unaware of Mr. Bernard Ludlow’s well-concealed dismay at being too late to secure the place nearest Cecily. He returned Miss Latham’s assessing stare with an innocent smile, knowing, as she did not, that there was worse to come.
In discussing plans for the evening earlier in the week, Lady Henley and Miss Latham had agreed that they would offer cards as an after-dinner activity for those of the older generation who might not care for music or round games. The Lovejoys were avid whist players, and Lady Henley thought the same was true of Sir William, so these three could be expected to accommodate their host in a pastime he relished. While apparently listening to Cecily’s gay chatter, Lord Altern watched Miss Latham and Lady Henley from under lazy lids when Lord Brestwick rubbed his hands together and proposed, “Now, how about a rubber or two of whist? The rector assures me Mrs. Lovejoy will oblige us, and Sir William spoke up for you, Lady Ludlow. Altern has indicated his interest, so you and Cleone will have to play too, Isabella.”
A look of consternation flew between the two ladies so honoured. Miss Latham, recovering quickly, suggested, “Perhaps Philip would care to play?” to her uncle.
“No, no, let the youngsters have their music,” Lord Brestwick replied. “Now, since we already have one game table set up, why don’t we have the Lovejoys and Ludlows begin without further ado, and Philip shall fetch another table and chairs for the rest of us.”
“I’ll go along with him,” volunteered Lord Altern helpfully as the older couples began to take their places at the existing game table. He was close enough to Miss Latham to hear her urgent aside to young Henley when he passed her on his way out of the room.
“Philip, I am counting on you.”
Jason disciplined a smile as Henley blinked at his cousin’s vehemence. “It’s all right, Cleo, I’ll find the table. Be right back.”
Cleone closed her eyes in momentary frustration, but they sprang open as Lord Altern said soothingly, “You worry too much. Everything will be fine.”
Miss Latham’s indignant gaze swept past him to alight on the group of young people, and she pressed her lips firmly together. Cecily and Bernard had their heads together, talking eagerly. In all probability, they had heard nothing beyond their own voices for the past five minutes. Emerald’s green eyes were glittering and the pout was much in evidence as she ignored for the moment Mr. Chalmers’ unremitting efforts to capture her attention. On her other side, Adelaide Ludlow sat looking dejectedly at her hands, forgotten by all.
Cleone clenched her teeth before relaxing her jaws. “Yes, of course,” she agreed woodenly. “We were not aware that you cherished a secret fondness for whist, sir.” The tones were neutral, but challenge shone out of deep brown eyes.
“How could you be?” he replied, yet more soothingly. “Perhaps I should explain that I did not volunteer until after Sir William described Lady Ludlow’s pleasure in the game.” He left her then to follow Henley in search of additional stage props.
Miss Latham’s organizational abilities were on a level with Wellington’s, he acknowledged generously when they returned with the furniture several minutes later. The younger set was gathered around the pianoforte, where Miss Ludlow sat awaiting their pleasure as they searched out music to sing in parts. Emerald had apparently forgotten her grievance, though she carefully avoided looking in Lord Altern’s direction, and Cecily and Mr. Ludlow were back in the fold. The first whist players were already engrossed in their game.
Lady Henley came hurrying up with extra cards to direct the placement of the second table at a comfortable distance from the other activity, and Cleone produced additional candles for better lighting. Lord Altern settled down to enjoy himself, but not quite everything was slated to fall his way that evening.
“What do you say, ma’am,” he addressed Cleone, “to taking on the more experienced players together?”
She smiled with sweet insincerity. “Do you know, I was just thinking it might be amusing to stage a battle of the sexes, women against men. What say you, Isabella?”
“Nonsense,” growled Lord Brestwick. “We’ll cut for partners in the usual fashion.”
The cut pitted the old earl and his niece against Lady Henley and Lord Altern, and it soon became abundantly clear that when Lord Brestwick played whist, he played whist exclusively. No extraneous remarks were tolerated at his table. After an hour of cutthroat play, Lord Altern found himself on the losing side by a wide margin.
“I’m thankful we were not playing for Oatlands stakes, sir,” he commented after announcing the score. “You and Miss Latham have swept all before you.”
Lord Brestwick, mellowed by his victory, chuckled. “You’ll be wise if you keep out of York’s set, my boy. The play at Oatlands is always deep. Well, that was most enjoyable, eh, Cleone? We’ll have to do it again before you leave, Altern.”
The elusive Miss Latham smiled serenely but made no reply.
In his own room later when all the guests had gone, Lord Altern pondered on just when he had started thinking of Miss Latham in that light. He had dismissed Gregson and was sitting in a wing chair with an unopened volume of poetry in his lap, his mind still too busy replaying his experiences at Bramble Hall to shift over to reading.
His first impression of Cleone Latham had been of an attractive young woman who looked a man straight in the eye without coyness or affectation. She had a pleasant frank manner, and their brief casual encounters on the first full day of his stay left him with a mild sense of anticipation for more of her company. It was a pleasant antidote to the flirtatious style her cousin had perfected in London this spring — not that he had any objection to an enjoyable flirtation under the right circumstances.
After discovering Miss Latham’s artistic ability, this sense of anticipation sharpened. Their short verbal skirmishing in the gallery had whetted his appetite for more of the same.
It took another day to realize that the undeclared purpose behind his visit was going to prevent him from enjoying even a modicum of Miss Latham’s company. Except at mealtimes, he had not so much as caught a glimpse of her today, and it seemed to be impossible to address two consecutive remarks to her in the communal atmosphere of the dining parlours before others intervened, claiming the attention of Miss Latham or himself. He had spent the morning on a walk to the village with Emerald and Cecily. It was certainly no penance to be out in the summer air observing the inhabitants of the picturesque houses made of the split flints that abounded in the area, and strolling through the countryside with agreeable companions. After a couple of hours of hiding in the green saloon with the London papers, he had rejoined the girls and young Henley in a ramble through the orchards until it was time to dress for their guests. Although Henley’s presence was welcome to offset what was rapidly becoming a surfeit of feminine companionship, the viscount seemed to have only half his mind on his surroundings at any time. That air of abstraction that had been present on the night of Jason’s arrival would overtake him at intervals, and one would have to address him repeatedly to reengage his attention.
For a moment he concentrated on Philip Hardwicke. Without a doubt something was troubling that lad, and so far there had been no explanation for the attempted holdup on the night he arrived. Some instinct told him Philip was at the bottom of that incident. He had not absented himself from the Hall for the last three nights, but Jason was not lulled into believing it a closed chapter. Miss Latham too was concerned about her male cousin. Her worried observance of him was discreet, but because he also was observing Philip closely, Lord Altern had become aware of it in the last few days. It was not his business to approach her about it, of course. That thought brought a sudden sour s
mile to his lips as he fingered the binding of the book in his lap. Approaching Miss Cleone Latham on any pretext whatever seemed to be a physical impossibility. He could look at her behind her invisible wall, but all approach was denied. He had actually sat beside her at a card table tonight for over an hour without being allowed to direct one sentence to her.
Jason tried to shake off this mood of exaggeration, telling himself he was becoming fanciful. It was his own guilty knowledge of his boredom with Emerald’s cloying and — he was convinced — affected sweetness that made him assume the existence of a conspiracy to push her into his arms while all approach to Cleone was barricaded. What else could he expect when he had jumped at Lady Henley’s invitation? It could be worse. So far they had not been left alone together, though he could have managed it had that been his wish. Emerald must know this too. After his behaviour tonight in not once seeking her out to exchange a private word, she would be bound to suspect that his eagerness had cooled.
He tried to consider the situation from her point of view. The girl could have taken her pick of a number of highly eligible suitors these past weeks and, if rumour spoke correctly, was all but set on accepting Covington when he had appeared on her horizon. He knew himself to be a richer prize and did not think he was being harsh on Emerald to attribute her subsequent refusal of Covington to this same knowledge. He was almost sure that she wasn’t in love with him, despite her soft glances. If she were, he supposed he would have to offer for her in all fairness, but surely that had been temper he had seen in her eyes, not pain, whenever his attention strayed. It was only natural that she should be feeling rather desperate by now. Her grandfather was not noted for his open-handedness, he gathered, and might be unwilling to underwrite another season for her. He sighed gustily. He was going to have to walk a tightrope these next few days if he were to come out of this affair with a whole skin.
