by Sandra Heath
“Yes, but four hundred…”
“We’re going to eclipse Lady Georgiana Cavendish’s wishy-washy do at Devonshire House, and they had three hundred and fifty.”
“Wishy-washy? I understood it was very lavish, and very successful.”
“In my opinion it was eminently forgettable, but it still seems to be this year’s yardstick.”
Linnet smiled a little. “All I can say is that I’m glad I don’t have aspirations to be one of London’s leading hostesses.”
“My dear, you’d never find the stamina, tenacity, or the sheer determination,” retorted Venetia. “I’m going to outshine Devonshire House, and that’s the end of it. The only thing they did well that night was to have Gunter’s to provide the supper, the rest of the business was atrocious. The floral decorations were meager and a hodgepodge of colors, and as to the music, well, it was a caterwauling cacophony to which it was impossible to dance.”
Linnet had to laugh. “They do say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
“Sarcasm? Darling, I thought I was being generous,” replied Venetia wickedly. “So, it has to be Gunter’s for the ball supper, but I have some very novel ideas for the floral decorations and the music. There’s a new German orchestra, Herr Heller’s Ensemble, and they’re really excellent. They haven’t been long in England, and I heard them when I was a guest at Althorp last month. They were playing something grim by Bach, as I recall, but I couldn’t help thinking how excellent they’d be at a ball, playing something more agreeable, like Mozart. If they played at your ball, I know they’d soon become the rage, and I would be credited with having discovered them.”
“Quite a feather in your hostess cap,” remarked Linnet.
“Oh, definitely,” purred Venetia, sleek with gloating anticipation. “Another feather is going to be my sheer brilliance with the floral decorations.”
“Your modesty amazes me,” murmured Linnet, grinning.
“One has to have the courage of one’s ambitions, my dear, and when you hear my ideas, you’ll know I’m justified in bragging. As I said, at Devonshire House they had a few of every flower under the sun, but I plan to have just red roses, thousands of them. The red rose is the emblem of the Gresham family, did you know?”
“No, I have to confess that I didn’t.”
“It’s rather like a four-petaled Tudor rose, but since I’m hardly likely to find the exact bloom, I’ll settle for any red roses. I want them to be garlanded everywhere, and to hang from ceiling baskets, but most of all I want them to form an immense column in the center of the ballroom floor. At the top of the column, soaring out like the spokes of a horizontal wheel, there are to be silver unicorns.”
“Carlisle unicorns? But the viscountcy of Carlisle has been extinct for…”
“What does that signify? The unicorn is still associated with you. To continue, then, at the stroke of midnight, when Benedict places the ring on your finger, the unicorns will fly down on ribbons, releasing a flock of linnets from a cage hidden inside the column. There, what do you think?” Venetia sat back, her eyes shining expectantly.
“It all sounds very dramatic.”
Venetia detected a note of reservation. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I like everything, except the business with the linnets. I hate seeing birds caged.”
Venetia was silent for a moment, then she smiled. “Well, think of it this way. The poor little things will have been caught and caged before we purchase them, but when they fly out into the ballroom, they will be gaining their freedom. We can have all the French windows open so that they can fly out into the garden, where the trees will all be hung with lanterns, and they can hide in the branches until daylight. How does that sound?”
“Persuasive.”
“Good. Do I have carte blanche to proceed with everything?”
“You do.”
“Excellent. Oh, I can hardly wait to begin. By the way, about the guest list…”
“Yes?”
“If you could give your side of it some thought, and then let me know? We can confer later this week.”
“All right.”
“There are bound to be some names we’ll wish to exclude.”
“One name, anyway,” replied Linnet.
“Nicholas?”
“Who else?”
“Well, I suppose that’s understandable.” Venetia smiled, twirling her parasol again. “Right, I think that’s the most we can discuss about the ball for the moment, so let’s move on to the wedding itself.”
Linnet was appalled. “One thing at a time, please. I really don’t want to discuss the wedding before the ball is over and done with.”
“Oh, but…”
“No! Let’s just enjoy the rest of the drive.”
“A drive is a drive, and it’s only Hyde Park,” protested Venetia.
“I happen to like Hyde Park, and this is the first time I’ve been here for more than a year.”
Venetia gave a heavy sigh. “All that lakeland air has affected you, and not beneficially. The sooner you become reaccustomed to the crush of stuffy drawing rooms, the better.” But she refrained from saying anything more about wedding arrangements, and the barouche bowled on around the park, turning to drive northward as it followed the wide track.
The Serpentine glittered to their right, and the walls of Kensington Palace rose to the left. The breeze stirred through the branches of a great oak tree as they passed, and the easy thud of hooves carried as a party of gentlemen rode across the drive ahead. Sunlight glinted on harness and carriage panels as the endless procession of elegant vehicles followed the time-honored route around the park, and everywhere there were riders, both male and female.
Ahead, on the shores of the Serpentine, there stood a little classical rotunda where one could sit in comfort to watch the water. A nurse was inside, with two small boys, one of whom was crying because his paper kite had become entangled in the overhanging branches of a nearby tree. There was nothing the nurse could do, for the kite was too high for her to reach, and the little boy was inconsolable, his sobs audible as the barouche approached.
The child’s distress hadn’t gone unnoticed, for one of the gentlemen who’d ridden by a moment before reined in and turned his mount, riding back toward the rotunda.
At first Linnet hardly noticed him, she was too intent upon the little boy, but then she glanced at the horseman. He rode a magnificent Arab horse, and was accompanied by two rust-colored greyhounds; it was Nicholas.
The barouche was slowing down, for there was a crush ahead, and came to a standstill right alongside the rotunda. Linnet watched as Nicholas stretched up in his stirrups to retrieve the kite. He looked immaculate, in a sage-green coat and cream kerseymere breeches. His face was in shadow from the brim of his top hat, and the breeze fluttered the loose folds of his unstarched neckcloth. There were golden spurs on the heels of his top boots, but they were purely decorative, for he had no need of such aids to improve his already superb horsemanship. He controlled the mettlesome horse with consummate ease, disentangling the kite and handing it down to the delighted child.
Venetia had noticed Nicholas as well. “Oh, dear, I do hope he doesn’t see us.”
But it was a vain hope, because he suddenly looked directly at the barouche. For a moment it seemed he would ride away without acknowledging them, but then he urged the horse toward them.
Linnet’s heart sank, but quickened its beats at the same time. Her mouth seemed suddenly dry, and she strove to appear entirely unconcerned as he reined in beside her.
“Good morning, Miss Carlisle. Lady Hartley.” He removed his hat.
Venetia inclined her head. “Lord Fane.”
Linnet met his eyes. “Good morning, sir.”
“I trust you enjoyed the theater last night?”
“I did indeed,” she replied smoothly. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed the play more.”
A faint smile touched his lips, and his gaze seemed to
see right through her. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Venetia sat forward suddenly. “There is something else you will no doubt be glad to hear, my lord. Miss Carlisle is soon to be betrothed to my brother. The news will be all over town after Almack’s tonight.”
His eyes hardened, the clear blue becoming chill as he continued to look at Linnet. “Indeed?” he murmured.
“Is it not excellent news?” declared Venetia, watching him closely.
“It’s news, and that’s about all I can say of it,” he replied, his gaze not wavering from Linnet’s face. “How reticent you were yesterday when I asked you a question on that very subject.”
Venetia seemed determined to press the point. “Aren’t you going to offer your congratulations, sir?”
His glance flickered toward her. “No, madam, I am not,” he said coldly, turning his impatient horse and urging it swiftly away.
Linnet swallowed, aware of how she was trembling, and Venetia turned to watch him as he rode swiftly to rejoin his companions, who’d waited some distance away. Her eyes were thoughtful. “How gracious he was,” she murmured.
Linnet didn’t deign to give him a backward glance, for fear that he’d turn and see. “You surely didn’t expect him to be otherwise, did you?”
“I was curious to see his reaction.”
“I trust it was worth the effort,” replied Linnet.
“Oh, it most certainly was.”
Linnet leaned out, to try to see what was holding up the line of carriages, and when she saw the reason, her heart sank yet again.
A rather showy white landau, its hoods down, had negotiated a very difficult turn right in the middle of the drive, forcing everyone else to stop until it had completed the maneuver. The team of two creams had ostrich plumes springing from their heads, like the performing horses at Astley’s Amphitheatre, and the coachman was clad in white livery, braided with gold. It was a vehicle that was very well known in London, for it belonged to Judith Jordan.
The Cyprian was seated inside on the sumptuous white velvet seat, and with her was her pet white poodle, wearing a jeweled collar. The theme of virginal white was a favorite with the Bird of Paradise, for she was well aware of how it infuriated the ladies and amused the gentlemen. It suited her, though, for with her cloud of golden curls, she looked quite angelic. Today she wore a full-length pelisse, with a very low neckline that revealed the flawlessness of her lovely throat and the alluring curve of her bosom. The impression given was that she didn’t have a gown on underneath, which was probably quite true. The only splash of other color she wore apart from white was the brilliant fuchsia-pink of the plumes that streamed from her cheeky little hat.
Linnet watched her as the white landau progressed closer. Whatever else one thought of London’s most notorious demi-mondaine, one had to concede that she had both beauty and style. Every eye was upon her as she drove by, and yet she glanced neither to the right or the left but sat facing the front, fondling the ears of the devoted poodle.
Venetia watched her rather sourly. “No doubt the creature imagines herself to look good,” she murmured, “when the truth is that she is ridiculous.”
“Is she? I vow that if I were such a famous demirep, I’d deck myself out like that,” replied Linnet astutely.
Venetia glanced at her in surprise, but then said nothing more because the Cyprian had observed the barouche and its occupants, and leaned forward to order her coachman to draw up alongside.
Still stroking the poodle, the Bird of Paradise gave Venetia a cursory glance, but then looked directly at Linnet. “Good morning, Miss Carlisle. I understand betrothal congratulations will soon be in order?”
Linnet was nonplussed, not only that the Cyprian had the audacity to address her, but also that she somehow knew about the betrothal.
Judith smiled faintly, but her eyes were as cold as they’d been at the theater the night before. “News travels, Miss Carlisle, and there is very little one can do about it.”
“Your interest in my affairs is flattering, Miss Jordan, but of no consequence at all to me.”
The carriages ahead were beginning to move again, and in a moment the barouche and landau would separate. The Cyprian’s dark-blue eyes remained chill. “I will bid you farewell for the moment, Miss Carlisle, but I haven’t done with you yet, believe me.” She nodded at her waiting coachman, who urged the team of creams on.
The carriages drew apart, and Linnet had to turn to look back at the retreating landau. She was both stunned and angry. Why was Judith Jordan so very interested in her? And how had she found out about the betrothal?
Chapter 10
The following morning, Linnet sat on her own at the breakfast table in the sun-filled conservatory. Exotic plants grew all around her, their leaves pressing against the glass, and the smell of citrus and damp earth hung in the air. The French windows stood open to the terrace at the rear of the house, and beyond the stone balustrade surrounding it she could see the lawns and trees of the garden, as well as the mews lane and the rear of the houses in adjacent Curzon Street. She could hear the servants attending to the lowering and polishing of the chandeliers in the ballroom next to the conservatory, and see them through the open doorway.
She sat back in her wrought iron chair, sipping a cup of coffee as she waited for her great-aunt. Her dark-red hair was brushed loose, and tied back with a pale-blue ribbon, and she wore a simple, long-sleeve white muslin gown. A blue cashmere shawl was draped over the back of the chair, and a journal rested unopened on her lap. Her thoughts were all of Benedict, and of how happy she’d been at Almack’s the night before. Every moment spent with him served to reinforce her certainty that he was right for her. There was such strength and reassurance in his company, and no one else could make her smile as he did. He was amusing, adoring, attentive, and considerate; what other quality could she possibly seek in order to be assured of happiness?
In the ballroom, Sommers was a little tetchy, for one of the chandeliers was refusing to lower to the floor. He raised his voice a little, sending two footmen scurrying to steady the immensely tall stepladder, at the top of which a third footman was endeavoring to free the chain from which the chandelier was suspended, and which should, under normal circumstances, have lowered quite freely. Linnet replaced her cup on the table, smiling a little as she watched the work in progress, then she opened the journal to glance through it for a moment or two until her great-aunt joined her.
Cadogan’s Exhibition of Arts was a monthly periodical dealing with furnishings and furniture, dress, carriages, and all the trappings of superior living, and it was Linnet’s favorite reading matter, offering hours of interesting browsing. As she turned one of the pages, her gaze fell upon a very inviting advertisement. It was by Messrs Harding, Howell & Company, of Schomberg House, Pall Mall, one of the most exclusive shops in London. Actually, it was many shops in one, with separate departments dealings with haberdashery, gloves, fans, millinery, perfume, objets d’art, furniture, and fabrics, and there was even a fine tea room on the second floor, with a magnificent view to the rear over St. James’s Park. The advertisement announced a new delivery of fine woolen cloth from the royal merino flock at Windsor, which was sold only at Schomberg House. Linnet had purchased the cloth before, and knew it to be excellent, and she immediately resolved to call there that very morning to examine the new delivery.
Her great-aunt came in at last, looking very cool and fresh in a mint-green lawn gown. Her powdered hair was pinned up beneath a starched white biggin, and there was a white shawl over her shoulders. “Good morning, Linnet,” she said crisply, moving to the side table set with the domed silver breakfast dishes.
“Good morning, Great-Aunt,” responded Linnet, placing the journal to one side and getting up to select her own breakfast. As she joined her great-aunt, she wondered what sort of reception she was going to have because of her continuing determination to be betrothed to Benedict.
The old lady selected a plate of eggs, ba
con, and tomatoes, and then went to sit down. Linnet contented herself with a poached egg and some toast, and then resumed her own place.
Her great-aunt eyed the poached egg. “One has to eat in order to keep body and soul together,” she observed.
“I’m not terribly hungry.”
“So it seems. May I inquire why?”
“I don’t have a particularly hearty appetite.”
“It seemed hearty enough at Ivystone House.” Great-Aunt Minton applied herself to a sausage, and then looked at her again. “Too many late nights will not do you any good. You’ve been back here for three days, and already you’ve spent more time out than in. I suppose I have Mr. Gresham to blame?”
Linnet was determined not to be drawn. “If I’d wished to return to my bed, I was quite at liberty to do so,” she replied truthfully.
“But you chose not to. May I remind you, my dear, that you’ve had a very difficult time of it for the last year, and that to immediately plunge into a whirl of socializing is hardly going to prove beneficial.”
“Two nights hardly constitute a whirl of socializing,” protested Linnet.
“Possibly. It’s how you mean to go on that concerns me.” Her great-aunt’s head turned as she heard the activity in the ballroom. Seeing the work on the chandeliers, she frowned at Linnet. “And it seems that you mean to go on as you please, in spite of my advice that you delay.”
Linnet put down her knife and fork. “Let us be frank with each other, Great-Aunt Minton. You don’t want me just to delay, you’re still determined to make me cancel it altogether.”
“You know my opinion of the gentleman concerned, and I doubt if I’ll ever have to eat humble pie on the subject. So, we’ll have to agree to disagree, for although I have no time at all for Mr. Gresham, I have all the time in the world for you, my dear.”
Linnet smiled, then. “I know.”
“I mean well, Linnet. You do know that, don’t you?”
