by Locke, Laura
Chapter 11
“I hope we can take the coach,” Cornelia said from where she sat at the dressing-table, brushing her hair. “I am nervous of the cabs here.”
“I think the cabs are safe, Cornelia,” Pauline murmured, reaching into her trunk to find her best shawl. She shook it out, eying it critically. It was pale blue, lacy and light. Would it match the gown she was planning on wearing? She sighed.
“Master ordered the carriage out,” the maid said from where she heated curling-irons in the fireplace.
“Oh, perfect.”
Pauline nodded, not wanting to upset Cornelia, who evidently found everything wonderful. She had blossomed in the day, chattering about everything and all the sights and how exquisite London was, and even Claudia had softened somewhat at the end of that. Supplying them with a list of things to see, she had become almost genial. It was quite something to see, Pauline thought. At least it showed she could move past the frosty silence in which she mostly spent her time.
“Did you bring gloves, Cornelia?” Pauline asked, turning to face her cousin. She had brought her own elbow-length gloves, but wasn't sure whether she should wear her white dress – which was more fashionable – or the pale yellow, which she liked. The yellow would match better with shorter gloves. It had elbow-length sleeves.
“I did,” Cornelia nodded, curls bobbing. Half her head was done, and Pauline bit back a smile.
“Well, I think I'll wear the yellow gown, then,” Pauline decided. “If you wouldn't mind lending me a pair of gloves?”
“Of course, cousin!” Cornelia nodded. “Take both of them. I mean, both pairs. Both gloves is rather necessary.”
They both laughed as Cornelia blushed. Even the maid laughed.
Pauline laid out her things carefully, waiting for the maid to finish Cornelia's hair so she could help her with her dressing later. She felt a tension grip her and sighed, knowing she was not going to enjoy the evening as much as she should. Not unless she could relax.
I wish I could be more at ease.
She sighed. Ever since they arrived the previous evening, she had been on edge. The memory of Cornelius in the drawing-room she blanked from her mind carefully. She was not going to think about that. If she pretended it never happened, it had not.
“Oh! That's pretty!” Cornelia said, turning round. The maid sighed, still curling the last part of her hair. She meant the dress Pauline had taken from the trunk, evidently, as she was looking at where it lay on the nightstand, Pauline's other things on top of it.
“You look lovely, Cornelia,” she observed.
Cornelia was wearing pink, her favorite color. Her red hair was fluffed out in ringlets, caught back from her brow in white ribands. She looked, Pauline thought fondly, like a china doll, all big eyes and soft skin and curls.
“Do you think so? Oh, thanks, cousin!” she breathed. “I'm so nervous! This is my first London ball after all! I don't know what to do! All the fine ladies...I hope I can manage.”
Pauline sighed. “Cornelia, you sparkle. Do as you always do. You'll be fine.”
“Thank you, cousin,” Cornelia beamed. “Oh, I do hope there'll be nice people attending.”
Pauline smiled absently as she dressed, listening to Cornelia's chatter in the background. The maid was clearly used to helping young ladies ready for balls – she must have practice from Claudia – for she was expert at dressing and hair and fastening ties and clasps and buckles.
Within twenty minutes, they were both ready, standing at the top of the stairs.
Claudia drifted from another room, wearing a shade of peach that brought out the pale fire of her hair. She looked elegant, Pauline thought. Her face was striking rather than beautiful, and she looked chiseled and polished and poised.
“You look lovely,” she said warmly to Claudia. The girl looked up at her, rank surprise on her face.
“Thank you, Pauline,” she said shyly. Pauline closed her eyes.
It seems like the first compliment the poor girl ever had! That brother is a real brute. I hope he learns something while we are here.
Cornelia joined them, and they descended the stairs. Cornelius was waiting for them, dressed in a fine velvet suit in pale tan. His hair shone and his velvet shone and his eyes were wide. They opened further, then narrowed appreciatively as they fell on Pauline. She tensed.
In her pale yellow gown with its high waist and soft, floating skirts, the neckline low and pointed, she felt suddenly exposed. She looked at her short white gloves and wished, suddenly, she had worn the white.
It is more demure.
She shivered, and felt relief as he bowed low and then turned to Cornelia.
“What an array of lovelies!” he exclaimed. His sister tensed. Pauline looked into the hallway. Cornelia just looked confused.
“Is the coach ready?” Claudia said.
“It is. It is! Come...we will go.” He waved Cornelia out of the front door ahead of him, bowing extravagantly, nodded to Claudia and then turned to Pauline.
“My lady.”
He bowed over her hand and Pauline tensed as he took it, thinking he might kiss it. Her skin shuddered.
He didn't, though – he straightened and waved her ahead.
“Onward, my lady.”
Then he followed the three of them, silent in contrast to Cornelia's sparkly laugh, to the dark wood carriage.
They all alighted. Cornelius was opposite Pauline and she ignored the fact that his knee pressed against hers, focusing on Cornelia and the scene beyond the windows.
The drive to the hall where the party would take place was not far, fortunately, and it seemed a few minutes before the coach stopped.
“We are here,” Cornelius announced grandly. He clambered out first, then held out a hand for Pauline. She took it and stepped out, then waited at the side of the coach for Cornelia and Claudia to join them.
“Let's go in.”
Cornelius went ahead of the two girls, Pauline at his side. She cast a glance over her shoulder to Cornelia, who looked back, frightened and unsure. Beside her, Claudia was straight-backed, smooth-faced.
She lets nothing show, that one, Pauline thought worriedly.
The last earl had died quite suddenly, leaving Cornelius heir to the earldom and his sister's care. The poor girl had probably become so stiff then. Cornelius, Pauline was starting to realize, had little love for anyone. Claudia's life, subject to his bullying ways, must have been intolerable.
No wonder she thinks she has to be perfect. She thinks that's the only route to being loved. Cornelius, she was sure, would never have shown her real affection; only proprietary pride in her achievements. Pauline shivered.
She felt a hand on her wrist, steering her to the side, and directed her thoughts away from miserable Claudia and back to the present.
“Ah, Lord Stanmore,” an older man said, bowing to Cornelius, who bowed in return.
“Lord Everett,” he acknowledged. Pauline, recognizing him as their host, waiting to greet them, curtseyed.
“My lord, may I present Lady Pauline.”
“Ah, yes, Cornelius. Enchanted.”
Pauline smiled at the man, greeted his wife, son and daughter, then drifted past the family Everett and into the hall.
Inside, she drew a breath. The place was lit to almost daylight, the thousand candles all arrayed in splendid chandeliers. Below them, the guests stood, talking in low voices. The scene was exquisite: gentlemen in dark suits, ladies in vermillion and crimson, or younger ladies in white and pink and pastel-shades. It was a scene of shimmering loveliness, a monument to what could be achieved with crystals, plaster and a thousand shades of silk and politesse.
“Oh..!”
Beside her, Pauline heard the indrawn breath as Cornelia entered. She looked at her cousin, watching with some pleasure as her eyes widened, taking in the scene. She felt proud, almost as if she had rendered it herself.
“It is lovely,” she acknowledged. They stood together a momen
t, captivated by the beauty.
“This is one of the foremost ballrooms in town,” Cornelius put in. Standing behind Pauline, even he sounded amazed.
“It is lovely,” Pauline said again.
“Shall we go down?” Claudia asked. Pauline nodded.
“We should.”
Walking carefully down a flight of two or three marble steps, she walked over porphyry floor and into the ballroom itself.
There, the warmth hit her like a wall. The delicate burr of conversation rose and fell, tinkling laughter light as perfume on the breeze. She looked around, feeling the beauty of the place soothe her.
“Oh, Pauline,” Cornelia breathed, eyes looking up at the high, high molded ceiling with its hanging crystal fountains, replete with sparkling candles. “How stunning.”
Pauline nodded. It was. It was a good word, for the impact of the place hit her like a strike. She breathed slowly, then heard stately music.
“The dances are starting soon,” Claudia said from beside her. “There the quartet warming up.” She indicated the musicians, standing at the side of the hall, their black suits a sombre contrast to the bright, sparkling guests who drifted around them.
“Dances!” Cornelia said, hands together. Pauline nodded.
“That's what we're here for,” she murmured, echoing Cornelia's own words a few weeks previously. Cornelia caught on and giggled.
“I do know that, cousin,” she said softly. “But I'm so shy.”
Pauline had to smile. “It'll get easier,” she promised. “We'll feel more at ease. By the end of the evening, you'll wonder why you ever felt ill-at-ease in such surroundings.”
“Your cousin is right,” Claudia said smoothly, surprising Pauline. It was the first time Claudia supported her in anything. It gave her hope. Perhaps she will dissuade her brother if I ask it of her.
“Should we go in?” Cornelia asked tremulously.
Pauline nodded, patting her cousin's shoulder reassuringly as they walked slowly on toward the refreshment table.
At the table, Pauline found Cornelius almost immediately at her side again.
“It's a capital place, yes?”
“Very lovely,” she said softly.
“I must introduce you to some of the fellows. This is Marborough,” he said, indicating a tall, gaunt-faced man with chestnut hair and a down-turned mouth, “and this is Clemens.”
Pauline curtseyed to the two men. Clemens – she had no idea of his first name or position at all – was a compact, pale-haired man with sparkly eyes. She instantly liked him. He was wearing a naval uniform, she noticed, surprised.
“My lady,” he said, looking at her with those big blue eyes. “I'm pleased to meet you. Grant. Lord Grant, I suppose.” He chuckled self-consciously.
“Enchanted, my lord,” Pauline said. She was pleased to meet him: in a hall of people who seemed a little unreal, he was solid, real and present. She liked him at once. He smiled.
“I think Cornelius wishes he was hunting,” he said, nodding in the direction of Cornelius, who had fallen into deep discussion with two other men, evidently interested in hunting.
“I suppose,” Pauline said mildly. She didn't want to commit to saying anything against Cornelius – after all, the man she addressed was his friend.
“Cornelius hates balls,” Lord Grant continued, mouth turned down in a half-smile. “I was surprised to see him, to be frank. He usually avoids them unless he is escorting Claudia. Or someone else,” he added with a broad grin in her direction. “You tempted him out.”
I wish I hadn't. “Thank you,” Pauline said.
He laughed. “Not at all.” He smiled up at her, eyes twinkling. “Not that I blame him, my lady – you'd tempt anyone out. Begging your pardon,” he added, “Remiss of me.”
“No offense taken.”
“Good!” He looked relieved. “My mouth runs away. Naval habit. We're always barking orders at each other, you see,” he laughed.
Pauline laughed too. “A demanding life!”
“It is, it is.” He paused. “I've not met you.”
“Well, you have now,” Pauline said candidly. He laughed.
“You're right, too! I meant to say, before.”
“Well, that's true too.” Pauline chuckled.
“I'm surprised, my lady. You are not often in London?”
“Almost every year,” Pauline said slowly. “We must have missed each other.”
“Indeed,” he nodded briskly. “I would remember you, my lady.” He bowed.
Pauline smiled. With his ready wit and robust compliments, she could hardly not. “I am sure I would remember you too,” she said gallantly.
“Only on account of my big mouth, my lady,” he said, bowing.
“No, not at all,” Pauline smiled.
“I can get you something to drink?” he proffered.
“A cordial would be welcome, yes.” Pauline nodded. She fanned herself absently, noting how hot it was. He turned to the refreshments table and returned a moment later with her drink. He bowed low and handed it to her. She smiled.
“Thank you, Lord Grant.”
He chuckled. “A pleasure.”
She sipped the cordial, letting the delicate taste of limes mixed with syrup bring her back to the present moment. She had been thinking of Valerian and how different it would be to attend wit him.
“You are in London often?” she asked. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he might know Valerian, or something of him. It was worth pursuing.
“Rarely nowadays, my lady,” he sighed. “My career keeps me at sea. Old Boney, and the lads, you know,” he sighed, raising his shoulders in a shrug. He meant Napoleon Bonaparte and the French, Pauline knew.
“I understand,” she nodded.
“I wish I did, my lady.” He grinned. “All this politics...it makes a simple soldier's life too complicated.”
Pauline smiled. “I imagine it does, Lord Grant.”
“I could wish the lot of them would just go home and stop bothering all of us – politicians, that is, my lady.” he chuckled. “We have too many of them without anything better to do than make war on each other...tiresome lot.”
Pauline laughed and he did too. He sighed.
“I should be careful.”
“Why?” Pauline questioned. “You mean the politicians..?” she looked about, wondering if someone had been offended.
“No, not them,” he smiled ruefully. “Yonder lord Tolford.”
“Cornelius?” Pauline frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You're his lady,” he sighed. “He's very possessive, is Cornelius. You probably know.”
“Perhaps...” Pauline said, trailing off.
“He's a jealous fellow, is Cornelius,” he said. “Surprised he introduced us.”
“It would have been awkward not to,” Pauline said, feeling herself frown. “Would he usually not have done?” she was shocked, despite herself.
“I once saw him spend the whole evening standing between a lady and the ballroom,” Lord Grant confided. “Wouldn't let anyone near her, he wouldn't. Jealous man.” He shook his head.
“That's odd,” Pauline noted.
“Odd!” Lord Grant chuckled. “It is...but then, I suppose we have our own oddities, don't we? Everyone does.” He sighed.
“I suppose,” Pauline said, guessing he wanted to be loyal to his friend. She looked around the hall, mind racing. If Cornelius was naturally such a jealous type, what had he thought when he saw her, and Valerian...
Her mind came to a crashing halt. Valerian! Of course! Perhaps he was deliberately blackening the man, to deter her.
“...and should go and find a place to sit...”
“My lord?” she said, recalling where she was. She turned to Lord Grant blankly.
“Oh, nothing, my lady,” he said, looking up at her with those alert blue eyes. “Just saying I should push off. Don't want to annoy,” he added, inclining his head in the direction of Cornelius.
�
�I should find my cousin,” Pauline countered. She glanced about, suddenly worried as to where Cornelia might have gone. She spotted her in a group of people, talking and laughing. She looked in her element. She knew Cornelia would be able to look after herself.
“I say farewell, then.” He bowed.
“It was nice to talk with you, Lord Grant.”
“And I with you. Oh, well. Mustn't arouse the old boy's ire,” he added, nodding in the direction of Cornelius. “Fare well, my lady.”
“Farewell, my lord.” She said.
When Lord Grant had gone, walking with his slightly-rolling swagger off across to the other side of the room, Pauline stood where she was a moment, thinking.
Cornelius..? she sighed. Has he really lied about Valerian? To manipulate me?
As yet, she had no way of knowing. But it was a thought that would not have occurred to her had she not just heard about his bitter jealousies. Drawing a deep breath into her lungs, she turned and headed across the room. To find Cornelia and dance. To try and forget about the discomfort and worry that preyed on her mind.
Chapter 12
“Come on, Pauline! We shall be late!”
Pauline sighed. She had a headache and was sitting in the parlor upstairs, sipping hot tea and trying to forget about the pain that stabbed into her temple. The party at Lady Hepston's. I nearly forgot.
“Coming, Cousin,” she called to her cousin. She put her tea aside. Smoothing her skirts, she went to the bedchamber.
“Oh, hurry, Prudence,” she said, the maid already hurrying as much as she could. “We'll be late!”
“Cornelia, we have enough time,” she soothed her cousin. The maid looked quite haggard. Pauline smiled.
“You think so?” Cornelia asked. She had already dressed for afternoon tea, her hair done, and was busy selecting her necklace out of the box of jewelery on the shelf before her.
“We have an hour, dear,” Pauline said, glancing at herself in the mirror. She was pale, she realized – probably due to the pain that was slowly taking over her head – and she considered touching her cheeks with rouge to bring the color out. She decided against it.
Pale and interesting, or just pallid. Putting Cornelius off is a full-time employment and anything I can do in that regard can help. Even the headache.
