The Scandalous Life of a True Lady

by Barbara Metzger

  Claire and Gorham performed like professionals, or like a lord and a lady. They kept the proper distance apart, looked elegant together, and kept perfect time to the music.

  Danforth and Sandaree danced far apart. She knew the steps by now, but needed more guidance than he was giving. So she started to perform her own movements, to his disgust. He roughly grabbed her nearer to stop her from making an exhibit of herself again.

  Alice and Camden danced as close as her stomach allowed. They laughed, not paying attention to the tempo or the watchers.

  Sir Chauncey and Miss Baylor were erratic. She was graceful; he was disgracefully inebriated. The ballet dancer kept pulling her skirt aside so he did not step on the flounces. He kept staggering into other couples.

  Miss Hanson, in a different, drier, gown, and the banker would have done well, except he was too fat, too old, too obviously forced into an activity he disliked.

  Maura Doyle was too fast and enthusiastic. She and Caldwell performed more of a polka than a dignified waltz.

  Ruby and Lord Bowman had danced together for almost a year and could anticipate each other’s moves before they were made. They were handsome together, besides. He showed a flair for stylish clothes with padded shoulders, high shirt points, and a ruby in his cravat. She showed her legs.

  Neither Daisy nor her partner, Captain Entwhistle, appeared to advantage on a dance floor. She was too used to striding across fields; he was too used to keeping his balance on a heaving deck. They did seem to be enjoying themselves, however, unlike some of the other pairs.

  Mary Connors and her baronet danced well, except the actress was too dramatic in her movements. She was used to performing on the stage, with exaggerated motions to be seen from a distance. Up close she looked like a puppet on strings.

  Simone and Harry flowed together. He was a masterful dancer and an effortless leader. Simone thought that any female could look good in his arms, and feel good just being there. She laughed aloud, because she had worried, and because she was the one who got to dance with him. He smiled back, and they might have been dancing on the top of mountain, or underwater, for all either cared.

  The three finaling couples were Claire and Gorham, Ruby and Bowman, and Simone and Harry. Ruby and Bowman danced first.

  “I think we got the most votes,” Harry told Simone as they watched the other couple dip and turn.

  Simone was doing mathematic calculations. She was still too far behind Claire in point count. If Claire won the dancing contest, Simone’s chances of the grand prize were almost nil.

  “Don’t think about it,” Harry told her. “You can’t dance and fret at the same time. You’ll only look stiff.”

  “That’s silly. Miss Baylor looked graceful even with Sir Chauncey tromping on her feet.”

  “Not to me, she didn’t. Of course I was only looking at you.”

  “Were you? Really?”

  “Well, I did have to watch where we were going, so we could avoid Chappy and the chairs.”

  “Next time will be easier, with only us on the floor.” Which reminded her they’d be alone in front of over a hundred people. “Dear heavens, everyone will be watching us!”

  Harry stroked the new pucker between her eyes. “I told you, do not worry or you won’t dance as well. Think if all your muscles puckered up like this one.”

  His touch made more of them tighten, from her belly to her toes.

  “You are still too stiff. I should have plied you with wine.”

  “Then I might fall asleep.”

  “You wouldn’t if I kissed you.”

  “In front of all these people? Don’t you dare!”

  He laughed and kissed her hand, above the glove. Now she felt her bones turn to liquid and her blood grow warm, just as the orchestra started their waltz.

  They went round and round, smooth and flowing in wide circles. Her gown swirled and sparkled, and the rhinestones in her hair caught the chandelier’s light, so she could see sparks reflected in Harry’s blue eyes. She did not look at anything but him, until the spectators pushed closer to the roped off dance floor. She trusted Harry not to bump them into anyone, but what if the rope’s stanchions fell?

  “Smile, sweetheart.”

  “But I want to win, Harry.”

  “I know you do. But if you don’t, I have a surprise for you later.”

  She smiled, thinking of what it might be. She looked ahead, and tripped.

  Harry caught her immediately and swung her around to disguise the misstep as intentional. Then he tipped her back over his arm and kissed her lips before bringing her back upright in another spinning turn, faster and faster, for the climax of their performance.

  The applause stirred enough of a breeze to make the chandelier rock. Harry bowed and Simone curtsied to all four sides of the room.

  “I think we recovered nicely,” Harry said as they started off the dance floor. “We were better than Bowman and Ruby. And we got a louder ovation at the end.”

  “It was Fordyce. He’s in the crowd.”

  Now Harry almost stumbled. “The one who lived below you at the rooming house, who frightened you?”

  “Yes, him.”

  “Try to keep an eye on him. You can point him out to me as soon as everyone starts watching Claire and Gorham.”

  “Will he recognize me, do you think?”

  “Your mother wouldn’t recognize you, my dear. Miss Prunes and Prisms is long gone. Pretend you never saw him before if he does say anything.”

  Claire and Gorham took their places for their final-round waltz. They had danced together for twelve years. Like Claire’s billiards game, they were better with the practice and repetition. Like billiards, their waltzing followed the best angles, the proper posture, the surest touch with the cues. It was about as lively as a cue stick, though.

  “They’re going to win,” Simone said. The nearest spectators seemed to be in awe of the majestic couple.

  Harry was scanning the crowd for Fordyce, looking where Simone had seen him last. He cursed to himself that no one had found the information he requested about the man’s background. They were still working on it, the latest report had advised. Damn, if he were in London, in charge, he’d already have the man’s true name and motive.

  He looked back at the dance floor and had to agree that Gorham and Claire made a classic twosome. They’d win. Harry felt sorry for Simone, who wanted to win so badly. She deserved to, far more than Claire.

  Sir Chauncey must have thought so, too. When Claire and Gorham reached where he was standing, he started to fall into a drunken stupor, onto Miss Baylor. She shoved him away, right onto the dancing area, taking the ropes and stanchions down with him. Forced to avoid everything, Gorham quickly turned Claire again, but somehow Sir Chauncey’s foot caught the hem of Claire’s gown. She fell back, right on her derriere.

  This was not a polite London crowd that would have pretended nothing happened. This was a hundred or more libertines and their dollymops, women Claire had not invited to her house party because they were not good enough. They weren’t pretty enough, talented enough, or rich enough from their trade. They were just honest whores who didn’t try to put on the airs and graces of a lady.

  They laughed. Loudly. And they laughed more when Gorham tried to help Claire to her feet, but couldn’t lift her weight.

  Simone and Harry won. Gorham’s butler handed her the ten shiny guineas on a silver tray. In the midst of the congratulations and the gentlemen asking for a dance with Miss Royale, Simone asked Harry, “Does that mean I don’t get a surprise?”

  “It means we have to find Fordyce and find out why he’s here.”

  “I suppose he is here for the same reason everyone else is, to dance and drink, and possibly find a new mistress.”

  “I doubt it. I never trusted him.”

  “You know him?”

  “No, but Mr. Harris did. Your next dance is with Daniel, is that right?” When she nodded, he said, “Good. Tell him, circle t
he room, look for Fordyce. But do not approach the man. He might be dangerous.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “Because his name is not Fordyce.”

  Harry made sure Daniel arrived in time to fend off more would-be suitors for Simone’s favors. Noma Royale was suddenly the toast of the demi-monde, and everyone wanted to meet her.

  Harry went hunting. He also whispered into Sir Chauncey’s ear, the one Claire had not boxed when she got to her feet. Sir Chauncey staggered out the ballroom door.

  Simone had to describe Fordyce for Daniel, his deep-set eyes and loose jowls. Daniel kept turning her in the dance to look in all directions until she grew dizzy. “Perhaps we’d do better strolling about,” she suggested.

  They never spotted Fordyce. They did see Claire leave the room, holding a handkerchief to her head. She claimed an indisposition. Her disposition was in dire need of privacy to throw a tantrum of epic proportions.

  Daniel did not let anyone approach Simone. “My cousin’s particular friend,” he told the gentlemen, warning them off.

  “You do that very well,” Simone told him. “You would make a good brother. Or husband.”

  Which made Daniel hand her off to Sir Chauncey for his dance with more speed than politeness. Simone was not willing to sacrifice her gown to Chappy’s subterfuge, so again suggested a walk during their dance.

  He lurched and leaned on her, but gently. They made slow progress, the better to look for Fordyce. If Simone was looking for Harry more than for Fordyce, well, she couldn’t help it.

  *

  Harry found their quarry first. The oily-haired man who was supposed to be an investor was searching the room himself.

  “Lose your ladybird?” Harry asked. “Mine’s done a flit now that we’ve won.”

  “No, I— Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “Daresay you just saw me dance. Good show, eh? The name is Harmon. Harry Harmon.”

  Fordyce jumped back, before recovering enough to murmur something polite about the dance and his partner.

  “Can’t say I recall being introduced to you, Mr.…?”

  “Ford.” He noticed Harry’s grimace. “I say, you are not ill, are you?”

  “No. I need a drink, none of that insipid punch the dolphin’s spouting. Have you seen it?”

  “A profligate waste of good money, like everything else here.”

  “Quite right. I can see you are a serious gentleman, so please tell me what they are saying in London about some Frenchies trying to overthrow the government and bring the Corsican back. We don’t hear much. The woman involved was part of the contest, actually. That’s why I’m interested.”

  “Nothing. I know nothing about any of that.” Fordyce, or Ford, hurried off.

  Lies. Bitter, arsenic lies.

  Harry let him go, but followed at a distance, which was easy enough in the crowded rooms and corridors. He met Simone and Sir Chauncey on the way to the refreshments room.

  “Ah, my love, there you are,” Harry said, then lowered his voice. “And there he is up ahead. Chappy, you go first.”

  Sir Chauncey headed for the wine. Harry and Simone accepted more congratulations, more jealous stares and vulgar leers. Harry tucked her arm more firmly in his and led her to the tables of food. Claire had outdone herself, setting up a scene out of Neptune’s closet, with huge clamshells as serving dishes filled with lobster patties, oysters, eels in aspic. A mermaid carved in ice stood in the center of the table, surrounded by fruit and cheese cut in fish shapes. Even the wine glasses had fish tail stems.

  They watched Sir Chauncey lurch into Fordyce, then stagger away. Sir Chauncey now had the man’s purse; Fordyce now had wine spatters on his neckcloth.

  “He has a gun,” Chappy reported, after reeling back across the room with a full plate that dripped on everyone he passed.

  “And he’s talking to Miss Hanson’s banker,” Simone pointed out. “Do you think there is a connection?”

  Whitehall was still looking for the financial backer of Eloise Lecroix’s scheming. Who better than a man who ran his own bank? Harry knew the man’s name was Spenser and his wife was in Norfolk, but not much else. When Harry’d asked the gentlemen about rumors of sedition, the banker had replied that attempts to overthrow the government were bad for business. He didn’t want to talk about it. Both were true. Damn. If Harry hadn’t been so distracted by Simone and his frustrated sexual desires, he might have looked further.

  Spenser and Fordyce were walking through the French doors to the terrace. “Follow them, Noma, but at a distance. Say you are getting some air while I fill a plate for you. It’s too suspicious if Chappy or I bump into him again.”

  “What if he recognizes me?”

  “He won’t, and he won’t admit it if he does, not when he is using a different name himself. He’ll be as upset to see you as you are to see him.”

  Once outside, Simone pretended to breathe deeply. She kept looking toward the doors as if waiting for Harry, or another tryst. The two men ignored her, although they did walk a little further away. They kept arguing in Spanish, which immediately spelled guilt to Simone. Proper gentlemen holding a respectable conversation had no need to hide their words. Fordyce kept looking over his shoulder, so she turned her back on them.

  Harry joined her at the railing of the terrace with one plate, one fork, a meal for lovers to share. The two men separated, but Harry had people stationed in the garden to watch where they went. “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  “Fordyce wants his money now, worried that he won’t get paid with Eloise in jail. Spenser says he’ll get it when the job is done. They did mention el bastardo mejor. I’m sorry, but could that be you?”

  Harry couldn’t be sure, since there were scores of other officers, some born on the right side of the blanket, who were considered bastards. It did seem likely that Eloise would want to avenge her father’s death at the same time as wreaking havoc in the government. It was less likely that she and her cohorts could tie Harry Harmon to Major Harrison.

  He knew where Fordyce lived. The man would be arrested as soon as he returned to London, if Daniel brought the message.

  Daniel slammed his loaded plate down on the balustrade rail. “Not me. Not again. I ain’t going and that’s definite. I have my eye on a blonde who—”

  He went when Harry explained that more of his hand-picked intelligence officers were less than fifteen minutes away, in Griffin Woods, for just such emergencies. They had riders to carry messages, armed men to keep England safe.

  When Daniel returned, the party was louder. Daniel’s blonde was draped around the defrocked vicar like a clerical collar. Spenser was in the card room. His mistress, Miss Hanson, was sitting at the pianoforte in the music room, entertaining a baritone from the opera.

  “Where’s Fordyce?” Daniel asked Harry.

  “He looked into Gorham’s library, according to the footman guarding the safe. Then he asked if I had been here in Richmond the entire time.”

  “This damned plot is about you?”

  “The threads are connected perhaps.”

  “I say we bash his head in and be done with it.”

  “Not yet. Besides, a dead man won’t give answers. He’ll be followed wherever he goes. We have to deal with Spenser first.”

  “Don’t look at me. I won’t do it. I told you, I hated acting like a brute, shaking the truth out of prisoners. You get Rex to come interrogate the dirty dish.”

  Simone was looking from one to the other, wondering what they were talking about. “What does it matter who does the asking? He won’t admit he’s a traitor anyway.”

  Harry put another strawberry in her mouth, then wiped the drip of red from her lips. Daniel sighed and said he’d go.

  Daniel’s reputation for being one of the Army’s dreaded Inquisitors preceded him. Spenser refused to go apart with the much larger man. So Sir Chauncey spilled his wine glass in the banker’s lap. Sopping wet, he had to leave the ca
rd room.

  Daniel had him out in the garden almost before his feet touched the ground, where Harry had two soldiers in uniform waiting behind a wall of shrubs. He and Simone stayed on the terrace.

  “Shouldn’t you be helping?” she asked.

  “What, Harry Harmon dirty his hands with political intrigue? Never.”

  Daniel came back smiling. “The fellow pulled a knife on me.”

  Simone rushed out of Harry’s arms to turn Daniel’s face to the lantern light so she could see he was all right.

  He smiled at her concern, but gave her a look of disbelief for doubting his prowess. “It was a little knife.” He rubbed his knuckles. “Sorry about your questions, Harry. He won’t be answering any time soon. Weak jaw, don’t you know. The soldiers are taking him back to their camp.”

  “That’s fine as long as Fordyce doesn’t know he’s not getting paid for whatever he’s hired to do.”

  “Most likely to kill you,” Daniel said cheerfully.

  Simone gasped.

  Harry frowned at Daniel for frightening her. “He won’t get the chance, my dear. I’m here, remember. Thanks to you, everyone in London knows exactly where I am.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her.

  Daniel shook his head and wandered off. “Love. Bah! They better have some of those oysters left. And an opera dancer for dessert.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Many hours later, after showing the crowd that they were still there, and showing the gentlemen that they had no chance with Miss Royale, Harry finally led Simone up to their room.

  Dawn was almost breaking, but Simone still wanted to know the surprise.

  Harry was ready for sleep. “Now? But you won the dance contest.”