The countess simpered and tapped him with her fan. “Laurence, you know exactly how to please.”
“Good evening, everyone,” came a voice from the top of the stairs. Laurence looked up, and Ada felt his hand tense in hers. She followed his gaze—and had to suppress an exclamation of mingled shock and admiration.
Charlotte’s suppressed smile showed she was well aware of the impression she had created. Her dress glittered with rubies and garnets, heavily weighted down with gold embroidery so it flowed around her, hugging her shape with shocking closeness, flowing over the navel, where a single ruby glittered. Bands of silver and gold encircled her arms, formed like serpents, and a plumed and jeweled turban that seemed stolen from a maharajah’s harem was wrapped around her golden hair.
She took her time descending the staircase. The silence was electric. Ada finally found her tongue. “You look wonderful,” she said with honesty. “It’s a triumph.”
Charlotte bowed her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Laurence said nothing. Everyone else murmured admiringly at how well she had captured the spirit of the Firebird.
“But where is Rose?” Lord Westlake frowned.
“She’s…still unwell.” Ada flushed and couldn’t meet his eye.
“Unwell!” the countess exclaimed. “For the last ball of the season? Is she at death’s door?”
“This is the second day, is it not? Has no one telephoned a doctor?” Lord Westlake looked around in concern. “The poor girl, she must be distraught at missing this.”
“She—I—” Ada stumbled. She knew she had to lie, and the lie had to be good. “I believe she’s feeling homesick,” she said softly. “It is the first time she has been away from Somerton, and the season is such a whirl.”
Lord Westlake did not look convinced, but to Ada’s relief the countess joined in. “She has been looking very down in the mouth for some weeks. It’s unsurprising, really. She isn’t used to all this excitement.”
“My dear…” said Lord Westlake warningly. The countess pressed her lips together primly. Lord Westlake turned back to Ada. “Well, I’m very sorry she should miss the fun. I know how she enjoys music. But if you really think she would rather stay here…”
Ada nodded. “I think she would, Papa. Céline will bring her everything she needs.”
“Very well. You know her best.” He turned to the door, and Sanders, who had been waiting for his nod, bowed and held it open so they could pass down the steps to the waiting motorcars.
London
Rose tiptoed down the side passage to the kitchen door. It was late—Alexander had insisted on driving to Hatton Garden and picking a package up from a jeweler before they came here.
“It won’t take a moment,” he had reassured her, as they pulled up before the small shop. Rose, hugged in her cloak, had watched anxiously as he disappeared inside, leaving the engine running. To let Céline down would be terrible, after she had promised to help her. Luckily Alexander had been as good as his word, hurrying back with a faded red morocco case that he handed to her before driving them back west.
Through the window of Milborough House she could see a light. A maid was mending by the light of a candle. Rose peered through the glass, then turned to Alexander, who was just behind her.
“It’s Céline!” Rose whispered. “My maid. That’s lucky.”
Rose tapped with the case at the kitchen window. Céline’s head was bowed as she stitched. Rose tapped again. At last Céline looked up. She saw Rose, and her eyes widened. The next instant she was scurrying to her feet and running to the door. Bolts shot back, chains jangled open, and Rose tumbled in, followed by Alexander.
“Did anyone see you?” was Céline’s first question, as she locked the door again behind Rose. Her second, directed to the duke, was frantic with anxiety. “How could you come here with her? Don’t you know what will happen if you are seen together? You will compromise her beyond redemption!”
“Céline!” Rose, scandalized by her outburst, turned apologetically to Alexander. But the duke seemed unconcerned at being addressed so freely by a servant.
“Please calm yourself. No one saw us. It was mercifully quiet. I expect everyone is at the ball—”
Céline’s eyes glinted tears. Rose put the case down on the kitchen table and clasped Céline’s hands in her own. “Céline, I forgot, I am so sorry. I know I promised you this chance to show off your work.”
“It does not matter, my lady,” she said, looking down.
“But it does. I can’t let you down like this, it isn’t fair.” She turned to the door. “We can still go to the ball.”
“Of course!” Alexander picked up an apple from the kitchen table and bit into it casually. “I’ll drive you.”
“You will do no such thing, my lord, unless you want to compromise my lady. We will take a hansom cab.” Céline paused, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, but the jewels—the set you ordered from Garrard. I had to send them back.”
“Can’t I wear my usual pearls?”
“It will ruin the vision.” Céline’s mouth turned down at the corners.
“Jewels?” Alexander swallowed a mouthful of apple. “You’re lacking jewels?”
“They were to be amethyst and silver and rose quartz.” Céline’s eyes brimmed with tears at the memory. “They would have brought out the color of my lady’s eyes admirably.”
“Well, there’s none of that in these, but would they be any good?” Alexander pointed to the red morocco case that Rose had almost forgotten. “I just had them cleaned in Hatton Garden. They’re rather old-fashioned, I suppose, but they make a good show.”
Céline and Rose looked at each other blankly. Céline picked up the case and undid the clasp. She lifted the lid and gasped. Light seemed to fill the kitchen. There was a stunned silence as both women gazed at the Huntleigh parure glittering like sunlight on the sea: a belt of diamonds like a garland of crystal roses, earrings in the shape of looped rings of flowers, and a tiara like a crown of light.
“I mean, if you can do anything with them,” Alexander tossed his apple core into the ashes of the kitchen fire. “Of course they may not suit your vision—”
Céline snapped the case shut. “My vision,” she said firmly, “shall be tailored to suit them. Come, my lady. Upstairs, and we can still be at Mrs. Verulam’s before midnight.”
“So many journalists!” Lord Westlake exclaimed, disapprovingly, as their car drew up outside Mrs. Verulam’s London residence. “I thought Mrs. Verulam had more taste.”
Ada looked out of the window of the motorcar at the milling women with notepads and men with cameras. “I think taste is formed by the magazines these days, Papa.”
They walked up the white marble steps toward the sound of the orchestra.
“It’s fairyland!” Ada heard the woman in front of her exclaim, and when she stepped through the great doors of the ballroom she saw at once why.
A grand staircase of polished wood swept down to the dance floor, which was already crowded. Above them canopies of duck-egg-blue silk mimicked a summer sky, stitched with pink silk flowers to echo cherry blossoms. Entire bolts of silk of the same blue draped the walls, and on them were stenciled Japanese cherry trees in full pink blossom. Rhinestones sprinkled everywhere made the canopies shimmer as if touched by frost, and the swaying, gently billowing drapes of silk gave the feeling that the couples on the floor were dancing in a cloud. Here and there on tables and sideboards, bonsai trees were placed, and electric light streaming from the crystal chandeliers gave everything a diamond brilliance.
Mrs. Verulam, in an Elizabethan dress complete with heavy padding and stiff with gold embroidery, with Emily by her side, pretty and witty as a china-white, red-lipped Pierrette, glided forward to greet them.
“Japanese,” the countess said, the corners of her mouth turning down as if she had tasted something undesirable. “How original. How very clever of you.”
“Thank you, dear Fiona,” Mrs. Verulam sa
id sweetly. She glanced past her to the next guest. “Lady Edwina, how delightful!”
Ada gazed entranced down at the dancers. She had thought nothing could make her smile under the circumstances, but as she watched the costumed dancers whirling here and there in perfect control and freedom, she felt the fog of worry lift slightly. It was impossible not to enjoy the sight of jaded society belles and beaus transformed into French shepherdesses and fairy princesses, maharajahs and knights in shining armor.
“It’s the perfect end to the season,” Laurence murmured just behind her.
She looked up at him quickly and they shared a smile. For a second Ada felt the ice around her heart melt, and she had a sudden glimpse of how it might be. The future, with Laurence, might not be a dreary slog of duty but a thing of harmony and pleasure. They had everything in common. She took his offered arm gladly, and together they descended the staircase.
Charlotte Templeton came to the end of her dance and stepped from the floor into an eager gaggle of suitors. But as she accepted names for her dance card, she smiled at the knowledge that Laurence, dancing nearby, was glancing at her over Ada’s shoulder.
He was fascinated, he couldn’t help himself. He never had been able to resist her. But she would win this game. Alexander Ross had been more than charming to her at the exhibition—two years in Paris had clearly rubbed off his corners. He was like a ripe fruit, ready for plucking. This evening she felt perfectly happy and quite ready to be friends with the whole world.
As she danced with a young lord she had known for two seasons, she followed the other couples with her gaze. One in particular stood out. Everyone had been talking about them—young Blanchford and Lady Helen Fairfax. She was strangely moved by the way they danced together, as if each were the other’s Narcissus, gazing into clear water and falling in love. Once she had believed in love like that. Once she and Laurence had danced like that together.…
“You are smiling,” said her partner gallantly.
“Oh—just remembering happy times,” she replied casually. But she kept watching the two young people. One’s first season, how long ago it seemed. How innocent she had been.
Stepping from the dance floor, she noticed that a small, modestly dressed lady was waiting for her attention. The lady stepped forward at Charlotte’s encouraging smile.
“Miss Templeton, may I congratulate you on your most becoming gown?”
“Why yes, you may,” Charlotte murmured, glancing down at the paper and pen. “Country Life?”
“Vogue. I’m sure our readers will be fascinated.…” The lady scribbled down notes as she glanced at Charlotte’s dress. “May I enquire whether the gorgeous beads on the sleeves are rhinestones?”
“Carnelians.” Charlotte was scanning the room as she spoke. Alexander had not yet arrived, she noted. Like him to be late.
“Is it true that you represent the Firebird, from Stravinsky’s ballet?”
“It is. I designed it myself.”
“Your brother, Sebastian Templeton, is not here?”
She frowned. “No.”
“Much concerned with his valet’s case, I am sure.”
“Excuse me,” Charlotte said sweetly but firmly. She stepped past the journalist and took the hand of Lord Winchcombe, who was waiting eagerly to lead her into the next foxtrot. Anything was better than spending the evening indulging journalists’ obsession with her peacock of a brother, when she had gone to so much trouble to get the attention on her alone.
“You look worried,” Laurence said as they danced. “I expect you are thinking about Lady Rose?”
Ada wanted to deny it, but it was the truth, and she knew her expression showed it.
“You are very considerate of her,” Laurence said gently. There was only warmth in his voice. “It cannot be easy to have a new sister, and one so…unaccustomed to our kind of life. But I am sure there is no need for concern, one does get exhausted this close to the end of the season. No doubt she needs rest and will be better as soon as you return to Somerton.”
Ada longed to rest her head on his chest as they turned together. Laurence was so good, and she had hidden so much from him already. She needed someone else to know, someone to share the burden, someone who could help. She knew Laurence would be a support; he had proved that with those awful men who had come after William.
“I must tell you,” she murmured. “Rose has done something most unwise, I don’t know who to confide in. I am frightened for her.”
His hands tightened on hers. “I hope this has nothing to do with the Duke of Huntleigh.”
Ada nodded, her face close to his chest. She blushed deeply, already wishing that she had not spoken. “She is with him, somewhere. Laurence, could he hurt her?”
“I have no doubt of it.” Anger laced his voice. “Huntleigh broke my sister’s heart. He has no shame, the cad.”
Ada looked up sharply. “He makes a habit of this then?”
“He is certainly not to be trusted where women are concerned.”
“I hate him!” Ada exclaimed, terror and anger mingling together. “Oh, how can he do this to Rose? He has no honor, no morals!”
“I am afraid not, but your sister must be quite mad to have gone with him.”
Ada flushed, ready to defend Rose. “She is so innocent. She may have been foolish, but she would never do anything really bad.”
“I believe you, but should this get out…” He trailed off.
Ada knew he was right.
“I am as angry as you are with Huntleigh, believe me,” he continued. “Lady Rose is soon to be my sister-in-law, and this would be a great disgrace for me too, if it were to be known.”
Ada was silent. She hated the humiliating note of contempt for Rose she heard in his voice, and yet how could she blame him? He was the perfect gentleman, that was what she admired about him, and Rose’s behavior must have shocked him. She was already regretting confiding in him. But they would soon be married, and then wouldn’t she have to tell him everything?
And just then, Ada saw the Duke of Huntleigh. She tensed, her fingers gripping Laurence’s wrist so tightly that he exclaimed in surprise and pain. The crowds had parted just a little, like curtains swaying open across a stage, and she had glimpsed his characteristic shadowed, reckless face. But where was Rose? The dancers swayed back again, and he was gone.
Ada stopped dancing and turned toward the crowd, following in the duke’s wake. Laurence, one hand still holding hers, the other around her waist, followed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I saw him.”
“Who? The duke?”
Ada knew she should not allow him to follow. There would be a scene if the two men met, she was sure. She twisted loose and turned away.
“I’m sorry!” she cast over her shoulder before she hurried off into the crowd, leaving Alexander behind.
Ada tried desperately to force a way through the crowd. It was like being caught in a thorn forest, but a forest where the trees were prickly with jewels and rhinestones. Ostrich fans tickled her nose, debutantes’ giggles rang out like the chattering calls of monkeys. It was as hot as a jungle; a jungle where Ada was soon lost. She stood on tiptoes and thought she saw his curly hair, but then a starched shirt front and a whiff of cigar and sandalwood blocked her way, and by the time she had escaped, she had lost him. She turned on the spot, the light splintering from jewels and sequins, dazzling and confusing her. But a sudden brightening of the room, as if a curtain had been twitched aside to let in a ray of light, made her turn to the grand staircase. At once she saw Rose.
Rose stood at the very top of the staircase. Ada’s first thought was that she looked like a waterfall caught in sunlight. Her dress was of ruched dark-silver chiffon, burnished like antique metal, falling almost to her silver slippers. It was clasped at one shoulder with a diamond brooch shaped like a garland of flowers. A diamond tiara, like a crescent moon, crowned her thick dark hair. Clasping her waist were more diamond
s, and it seemed as if all the light in the room came from her smile.
Laurence gazed after Ada in confusion and anger. He made a quick movement to go after her. Huntleigh deserved horsewhipping, Ada needed protection…and then he saw her: Charlotte, the vivid crimson of the dress against her white skin. She stood by the silken curtains, and as her eye caught his, she smiled, and stepped behind them. The silk swirled for an instant against her body, echoing her shape.
Laurence stood frozen for a second, and then he abruptly came to life, pushing through the crowd as he headed after Charlotte, toward the swaying silken draperies. He hated himself for what he was about to do. And yet, he knew, shouldering past dowagers and debutantes, that he could not resist it. Ada was beautiful. Ada was the perfect wife. But Charlotte…
He reached the draperies. The silk billowed, moved by the breeze. He moved along the edge of the dance floor, unnoticed by the crowds who talked and laughed above the music. The silk had been draped over the windows and the paintings and the statues that usually lined the room, and their shapes showed like ghosts when the sail of silk fell against them.
They had played this game the first season they had met. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had proposed then, when they were both wide-eyed and innocent—before he had met Ada.
A woman’s curving hip and breast formed under the material, then disappeared as the breeze stirred it again. When the silk fell against it again, Laurence brushed a hand over it. Cold marble, merely a statue. He moved on, walking softly, brushing a hand against every curve that appeared until he found one that was warm, and scaled with sequins.
He glanced left and right. Everyone was concerned with their own little gaggles of compliment and flattery and gossip and scandal. He turned and slipped behind the silk screen, and vanished from the ballroom as if from the world.
Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton) Page 18
