by Sandra Heath
Linnet was looking forward to the drive in Hyde Park with Venetia, for they would have so much to talk about this morning. She’d elected to wear a cherry muslin gown and matching full-length pelisse, and when her hair was finished, a straw gypsy hat would be tied on with the ribbon she was idly rolling and unrolling in her hands. It was one of the ribbons she’d had made, white silk with a pattern of her namesake bird, and she’d spent several minutes selecting it from the dressing table stand.
She glanced at Mary in the mirror. The maid was busy twisting her long chestnut hair into a knot, and then stretching forward to select some pins from the dish on the dressing table. She was a small person, very neat and clean, with a wide-mouthed face and attractive brown eyes, and when she spoke her voice had an Irish brogue that told of her Dublin origins. She was in Linnet’s employ because her father had been Joseph Carlisle’s head groom at Radleigh, and her mother the housekeeper, and when they’d moved on to grander things, lured to the Duke of Devonshire’s employ at Chatsworth, Mary had elected to remain with Linnet, whom she loved very much.
Feeling Linnet’s glance upon her in the mirror, Mary paused in her work, smiling at her mistress. “It’s good to see you so happy again, Miss Linnet.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“It’s a fine thing that Mr. Gresham has done, bringing the roses to your poor cheeks after so long.” The maid hesitated, and then spoke a little boldly, “You are sure about him, aren’t you?”
Linnet was a little surprised. “Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?”
“Because of Lord Fane. I know he made you cry, but you loved him so very much, and…”
“That’s just it, Mary, I loved him.”
“And now you love Mr. Gresham as much?”
“Yes.” But Linnet looked away from the mirror. She loved Benedict, but it wasn’t the same, not even now that she’d accepted his proposal.
A few moments later the gypsy hat was in place, and the ribbon tied in a big, flouncy bow beneath her chin. Mary was just handing her her gloves, reticule, and parasol, for Venetia would call at any moment, when Great-Aunt Minton at last put in an appearance; and a very disapproving, condemnatory appearance it was, too.
The old lady came into the room without announcement. Her gray hair hung in plaits down her back, and her head was encased in a frilled night-bonnet that was somewhat crumpled. She wore a nightgown beneath a green brocade wrap, and she’d evidently come straight from her bed.
Linnet turned in surprise, for it wasn’t like her aunt to dispense with ceremony, nor was it like her to abruptly dismiss Mary, but this is precisely what she did.
“Leave us, girl,” she commanded, waving the startled maid away.
Mary hurriedly put down the comb and pins, and gathered her skirts to almost nun from the room.
Linnet rose slowly from the dressing table. “Whatever is it, Great-Aunt?” Had her unchaperoned return last night been detected?
“I’m very angry with you, my girl, very angry indeed. I do not appreciate hearing important news via the servants!”
“Oh.” Linnet realized then that it wasn’t her return alone with Benedict that was the cause of her aunt’s wrath, but that Mary must have told the other servants about the betrothal.
“Well? What have you to say for yourself, missy? Is it true that you’ve been coerced into accepting the execrable Mr. Gresham?”
Linnet drew herself up. “Benedict is not execrable, nor has he coerced me into anything.”
“But you have accepted him?”
“Yes.”
Her great-aunt exhaled heavily, going to sit in one of the fireside chairs. “That was very unwise of you, Linnet, very unwise indeed.”
“I don’t agree.”
“That much is patently obvious. I’m sorry, my dear, but I think he is a scoundrel, bent only upon acquiring your fortune.”
“You think wrongly.”
“Do I? Tell me, is it true that the betrothal and the wedding are to take place with indecent haste?”
“They are to take place quickly, but not with indecent haste,” said Linnet a little stiffly.
“Why? What possible need is there for such a rush?”
“We just wish to be together. Is that so very strange?”
Her great-aunt’s eyes were shrewd and bead-bright. “Would it be more correct to say that Mr. Gresham is the one to be anxious for an early celebration?”
Linnet lowered her eyes. “He does, but…”
“But nothing. I am still firmly of the opinion that he is pursuing you because his purse is uncomfortably thin. He may claim to have made his fortune in India, but I’m a little uneasy about his seemingly never-ending financial and legal problems. Since arriving in town he’s lived off his sister, and hasn’t made any move to find himself somewhere else to reside—unless, of course, his calculating eye is upon this house, which would indeed suit his pretensions to be one of London’s finest gentlemen. Believe me, Linnet, he’s seeking to emulate his sister, who made a very advantageous marriage, thus lifting herself considerably in society. The Greshams are nothing, merely inconsequential country squires, and I’m sure that pretty Mr. Benedict thinks that what is sauce for the Gresham goose, is most definitely sauce for the gander as well. Delay this betrothal, I beg of you. Give yourself time to think.”
“I’ve had time to think.”
“Ah yes, a year in Grasmere,” replied her great-aunt caustically.
“Yes.”
“During which period Mr. Gresham made a timely appearance.”
“Timely? Why do you say it like that? He merely accompanied Venetia when she pressed him. She doesn’t like traveling alone.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest you speak to Lady Hartley on the matter, for she told me that it was he who pressed to do the accompanying. Now why, I ask myself, would a gentleman go to such trouble merely to accompany his sister on a tedious visit to a friend he doesn’t know? Methinks the pounds, shillings, and pence of the situation were the be-all and end-all of his actions, and if you’ve any sense left, you’d admit that there’s at least a chance that I could be right.”
“You wrong him.”
“Delay the betrothal.”
“No. Forgive me, Great-Aunt, but I’ve given my word to Benedict that things will be done as quickly as possible, and I see no reason to renege on that promise. I love him, and I’m seeing him again tonight when he and Venetia escort me to the subscription ball at Almack’s.”
“Very well, since you will not be moved on the matter, there’s nothing I can do about it. I may be your elder and better, but I don’t have jurisdiction over your life. If I did, make no mistake that I’d forbid the match completely and under those circumstances, I’ve no doubt that the hard-pressed bridegroom-to-be would urge you to elope with him, anything to get his grasping hands upon your fortune as quickly as possible.”
Linnet didn’t reply, remembering uncomfortably that he had indeed seemed to favor an elopement; but it had only been in jest, not in seriousness.
Her great-aunt rose and went to the door, pausing there to look back at her. “Given my opinion of the prospective bridegroom, and my dislike for arranging social functions, I’m sure you will understand if I do not play a prominent part in the forthcoming ball, or, indeed, of the subsequent wedding. Besides, I have no doubt that Lady Hartley will leap at the chance. I will not embarrass you by making my displeasure public, it is my earnest hope that something will happen to prevent this betrothal from taking place, and if I should discover anything about Mr. Gresham that will convince you of the error of your ways, then I will most certainly face you with it.” She went out, leaving the door open behind her, so that Linnet could hear her steps fading away.
Linnet stared after her. She’d known that her great-aunt disliked Benedict and Venetia, but not that the dislike went quite so deep. She roused herself then, for she could hear Venetia’s barouche in t
he courtyard. With a heavy heart, she began to put on her gloves, and then took up her reticule and parasol before leaving the room. A little of the shine had been rubbed from her happiness, but she hoped that her great-aunt would come around.
None of the shine had been rubbed from Venetia’s happiness, however, for that lady was quite obviously overjoyed by the news. She hurried into the entrance hall, her bluebell silk gown bright in a shaft of sunlight. Her gray hat was set at a jaunty angle, and she was twirling her fringed pagoda parasol. She came to meet Linnet at the foot of the staircase, seizing her hand and almost laughing with pleasure.
“Oh, I’m so delighted! I’ve been longing for you and Benedict to marry, and now it’s going to happen! I’ve always thought of you as more my sister than just my friend, and soon you really will be!” She drew back, her eyes shining. “And Benedict said that I might be able to help with the arrangements. Is that true?”
Linnet smiled. “Yes. My great-aunt is quite prepared to leave it all up to you,” Oh, how prepared.
“Really? How absolutely wonderful! I’ve already got so many ideas for the ball and the wedding that I shall not know where to start!”
Linnet glanced back up the staircase, and then linked Venetia’s arm. “Let’s go, and we can drive around and around Hyde Park while you tell me about all these wondrous ideas.”
Venetia hadn’t missed the glance. “Is there a little more to your great-aunt’s willingness to let me do the arranging than you’ve said?”
“A little,” admitted Linnet reluctantly. “She disapproves of the match.”
“Well, she has made her opinion of Benedict a little plain, has she not?”
“Yes. Still, I’m sure she’ll come around in the end,” said Linnet, with more optimism than she really felt.
“Yes, of course she will,” soothed Venetia, and together they left the house to enter the waiting barouche, which had its hood down because of the sunshine. Venetia settled back, her parasol twirling again. “Why is your great-aunt so against poor Benedict? He’s been a positive angel.”
“I know he has.” Linnet didn’t want to tell the truth, for Venetia would be deeply offended if Great-Aunt Minton’s outright accusations about fortune-seeking were voiced.
“Why doesn’t she like him?” pressed Venetia.
“I think it’s simply a clash of personalities,” replied Linnet tactfully.
The barouche drove off across the courtyard, turning west into Charles Street, in the direction of Hyde Park. Reaching Park Lane, it turned north, entering the park through Grosvenor Gate, where a number of other carriages were arriving and leaving. There were riders, too, for it was very much the thing to show off one’s equestrian skills in London’s most fashionable area of open land, especially in the melee of Rotten Row, Inexperienced or indifferent riders made use of the Gloucester Riding House, just inside Grosvenor Gate, where expert tuition could be received in the handling of the spirited blood horses that were de rigueur in the superior circles of London society.
As the barouche passed through the gate, coming up to a smart pace across the park, the contretemps with Great-Aunt Minton faded a little, and Linnet prepared to enjoy the drive. She had little idea that before the circuit of the park was complete she would again encounter Nicholas, or that shortly after that, she would be forced to speak to the Bird of Paradise herself.
Chapter 9
Hyde Park was renowned for its trees, many of them laid out in fine avenues. There were oaks, chestnuts, and elms, and they cast leafy shadows over the ground where the beau monde sallied forth on display.
As the barouche bowled along south and then west in the wake of a landau containing four rather superior matrons, Venetia smiled at Linnet. “Benedict would have moved heaven and earth to come with us today, but I refused to countenance it. I told him we had a great deal to discuss, and that he’d be a definite hindrance. He was quite a sulky bear when he couldn’t have his way, but he was a little consoled when I reminded him that it wasn’t all that long until he’d see you tonight at Almack’s.”
“How hard-hearted you are.”
“I’m not hard-hearted, I’m practical. Men are absolutely useless when it comes to organizing social occasions; the only events to which they apply themselves with any success are horse races, hunts, prize fights, and wars.” Venetia gave a philosophical sigh. “They’re really exceeding tiresome creatures, but it’s our lot not to be able to go on without them.”
Linnet eyed her, deciding that this was an opening for the subject of Freddy Grainger to be raised. “You certainly seem to be able to go on without them at the moment,” she observed, “or, at least, you seem prepared to run that risk.”
Venetia stopped twirling the parasol. “You’re referring to Freddy, I suppose.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. I thought you were very unkind to him last night.”
“I don’t ask him to dance such excessive attendance on me,” replied Venetia a little testily.
“His conduct was hardly excessive, but I rather thought yours was. If you find him that abhorrent, you should let him know, and put an end to his hopes. I felt very sorry for him, for he really didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Venetia looked resentful for a moment, and Linnet thought she was going to take offense, but then a contrite expression entered the lovely hazel eyes. “I suppose I was a little harsh.”
“You were.”
“In fact, I was a downright chienne, was I not?”
“Well, now you come to mention it…” Linnet smiled.
Venetia sighed. “Oh, I know I was horrid, and I’m sorry. I wish I could make my mind up about him, but I just can’t. I really meant to accept him that night at Holland House, but…” Her voice died away.
“What really happened that night, Venetia?” prompted Linnet, anxious to find out in order to be able to help, if she could.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, come on! Something happened, otherwise you’d have given Freddy the answer he wanted. Instead, you virtually cut him, and made him utterly miserable.”
Venetia met her gaze. “Nothing happened, and if you think I’m still hiding an affair with Mr. Coleridge, you can put the notion from your head, for it simply isn’t so. I promise not to treat Freddy so badly in the future—indeed, I’ll do my utmost to behave properly. Will that do?”
Linnet thought there was an edge to the other’s voice, and knew there was still something that wasn’t being said, but she smiled. “Yes, it will do.”
“Good. Now, can we discuss something else? Like the betrothal ball, for instance? First, and most important of all, what are you going to wear?”
Linnet had to laugh. “That’s the most important item on your agenda?”
“My dear girl, the clothes one’s rivals wear are of the utmost consequence. You’ll be the belle of the ball, and rightly so, but I wish to shine just a little, too. So, what are you going to wear on the night?”
“I hadn’t even begun to think.”
“Then think.”
Linnet pursed her lips, mentally going through her considerable wardrobe. A year of exile in Grasmere had meant she hadn’t ordered any gowns for the new season, and since the ball was going to take place as quickly as possible, there wouldn’t be time to have one made now. She’d have to wear something she already possessed.
Venetia waited impatiently. “Have you got so many to choose from?”
“Stop bullying me,” protested Linnet, smiling suddenly as she remembered a gown she had never worn, and which was perfect for the occasion. “I believe I know the very thing,” she said tantalizingly.
“Yes? What?” Venetia sat forward intently.
“I don’t know that I should tell you.”
“You beast! How am I to manage if I don’t know how you’re going to turn out? Tell me, or I’ll throttle you!”
“Oh, all right. Just before I left London, Madame Leclerc made me a gray lace gown with a gray t
affeta petticoat.”
Venetia looked pinched. “A Leclerc? Plague take you, Linnet Carlisle. And I suppose you’ll wear your disgustingly beautiful rubies with it?”
“Yes.”
“I think I hate you. I’ll sink without trace.”
“You’ve never sunk without trace in your life,” replied Linnet dryly.
Venetia gave a sleek smile. “I do my modest best.”
“By the look in your eyes, you have the very thing to demolish me.”
“Well, I would not go so far as to say that, but I think I shall be able to hold my head up. Just.”
“The primrose silk you boasted about a few months ago?”
“Yes. Now, then, on to other matters. We must pick a date, and do so with great care, for there’s so much going on at the moment that we might clash awkwardly with something important. We don’t want to forfeit some of the more prestigious guests, do we? I’ve consulted my diary at great length, and it seems to me that two weeks Friday is ideal.”
“Isn’t that cutting it a little fine? Invitation cards have to be printed, and sent out…”
“I’ve thought of all that. It may be rather imminent, but it’s miraculously free. I heard a whisper last night that Lady Lydney will have to postpone her rout, which was scheduled for the same date, so we’ll be sure of an excellent attendance. I took the liberty of calling at Higgs’s, the printers in John Street, on my way to you this morning, and they can commence printing the cards straightaway. I told them we’d need at least four hundred and fifty.”
Linnet was startled. “Venetia, this is a mere betrothal ball, not a state occasion!”
“It’s not a mere betrothal ball, it’s the betrothal ball, and as far as I’m concerned it’s as important as any state occasion. I don’t want to have fewer than four hundred guests, for any less would be considered thin for a prominent social occasion, and since there are bound to be refusals, and absences, we’ll need extra invitation cards.”
