I win again, thought Charlotte, as Laurence joined her. Her smile was pure victory, and the kiss she gave him had the arrogance of the conqueror about it. She had not misjudged him; he was as passionate as always. But then he pulled away.
“This is the end of it,” he whispered harshly. “I am going to marry Ada, and when I do, I won’t be unfaithful to her.”
“Of course you won’t, dear,” Charlotte laughed breathily.
“I mean it.”
“I’m sure you will suit each other perfectly.” She turned away from him and walked toward the window, knowing that the moonlight made her bare shoulders gleam like marble, and her swaying walk would cause the sequins to dazzle and glimmer across her hips.
“I know you don’t believe I love her.” He was following like a hypnotized rabbit, she noted as she turned to face him. “But I do. She’s different from you—she makes me a better person.”
“Oh, does she think you need improving?” Charlotte smiled.
Laurence scowled. “That’s not what I meant. She looks up to me, she admires me. She thinks of me as a hero.”
“But you’re not a hero, are you, Laurence?” Charlotte said. “You’re a politician.”
Laurence’s jaw clenched. Charlotte went on. “You don’t believe in female emancipation any more than I believe in unicorns. You see it as a means to win a seat, a reputation, power. Don’t mistake me—I wouldn’t have it any other way. A vote is just a piece of paper, but a coronet lasts forever.”
“She makes me believe in it,” Laurence said quietly. It was a tone Charlotte had never heard before, and it irritated her deeply. “I never knew how much I loved her until this season. She’s so pure, so faultless, so innocent, so—”
Charlotte raised her eyes to heaven. She followed him as he backed away, out of their hiding place. Yes, she had a plan, but it was too much to let him praise Ada’s innocence.
“You might not think her so innocent—” she began, and then hesitated as the curtain swung back behind her and she saw the ballroom. Laurence was not paying attention to her. No one was, in fact. Everyone was gazing in a single direction, toward the grand staircase, and all those who were whispering were whispering the same words.
Close by Charlotte a dowager leaned toward her friend. Behind the flutter of her fan Charlotte heard the extraordinary words: “Is that… Can it be… Can it possibly be…the Huntleigh parure?”
Charlotte was struck by a strange feeling of dread, as if some awful doom were coming toward her, something of which she had only ever glimpsed the wings in nightmares. She pushed past Laurence, walked forward, making her way through the whispering, glittering crowd…until she saw.
Rose, descending the staircase, all eyes upon her. Rose with the happiest smile Charlotte had ever seen on her face. Rose, in a silver tunic moving like dawn light on the sea, shamelessly simple, with all the light in the room clustering at her waist and throat and shoulders and in her hair. Rose, drawing gazes toward her like a magnet. Rose and the only words in the room: “Can that be… Is that really… Am I dreaming—or is she wearing the Huntleigh parure?”
Charlotte knew when she had won, and she knew when she had lost. Any chance she had ever had with the Duke of Huntleigh was gone.
Rose, her cheeks touched with a slight blush, made her way through the crowds. Everyone was staring. Very well, she thought, let them stare. Let Céline have her chance. She could see her father in the distance, with the countess. She walked toward them.
“Rose!” her father exclaimed as he saw her.
“I felt so much better that I thought I would come after all,” she said, trying not to blush as she sensed the countess staring at her.
“I’m delighted. It would have been a shame for you to miss this.” Lord Westlake smiled at her kindly. “What a beautiful dress. I am no expert, but even I can see you will not lack for dancing partners this evening.”
“Thank you, Father.” Rose smiled, feeling warm and proud.
“And it is,” he added in a lower voice, “a pleasure to see you doing yourself justice at last. I understand how difficult things have been for you. But you must always remember you are an Averley—and now, at last, you are holding your head high, as befits an Averley.”
“They are the most extraordinary diamonds,” the countess said, staring at her. “May I ask where you got them?”
“Garrard. The ones I ordered were not ready, so they sent these instead.” Rose was impressed by the ease with which she was able to lie.
“Really. They look like family pieces to me.”
Rose felt a hand on her arm and turned. Mrs. Verulam stood there, beaming nervously. Rose wondered why she was away from her post at the head of the stairs. Then she noticed the countess sinking into a deep curtsy, her father bowing, and quick as lightning realized that the woman standing beside Mrs. Verulam was Queen Alexandra.
Rose sank into a curtsy at once.
“Please, my dear, rise,” the queen said. Rose did so, her heart beating fast. Had the queen noticed that the jewels were not what she said they were? She was a connoisseur of jewels. But all she said, in a voice full of kindness, was, “I wish to congratulate you on your gown. It is most elegant and remarkable.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rose murmured.
“May I ask, who is your dressmaker?”
There was perfect hush as every woman in the room stopped breathing, the better to hear Rose’s reply. Queen Alexandra was still an arbiter of style, far more so than the king’s wife, the awkward Queen Mary. Rose could hardly stop herself beaming from ear to ear in a most unladylike way as she replied in a voice loud enough for all to hear: “I am most fortunate in my lady’s maid, Céline Duplessis, Your Majesty.”
“How charming. I do congratulate you both.” The queen smiled and moved away, Mrs. Verulam following behind her. Rose sank once again into a deep curtsy. Well, Céline, she thought, I have given you your chance, and I wish you luck.
As she stood, Rose saw her reward. Alexander walking toward her, smiling. She took his hand and let him lead her out onto the dance floor.
Céline smiled as she watched from behind the screen that separated the cloakroom from the ballroom. Lady Rose had finally found her feet, she thought. She had seen the potential at once, and as she had expected, it had just taken one dress—the right dress at the right moment—to place her in her rightful position, at the center of attention. Yes, with a little tending, Lady Rose would blossom and take her place as a leader of style and fashion.
Behind her, maids pinned up fallen hems and reattached corsages, tidied hair and sent their mistresses out again glowing as if new. Céline realized that a number of the ladies were whispering and glancing at her as their maids worked. Hiding her smile, she turned and went back to where Ada’s opera cloak hung. Stella, who was nearby, gave her a sour look.
“I hope you are enjoying your new position,” Céline said.
“Very well, thank you. I am delighted to have bettered myself,” Stella replied.
Céline heard the venom in her voice, and didn’t have to fake her smile. “I’m glad you are suited to it,” she replied demurely.
“Are you Lady Rose’s maid?” a ringing voice demanded. Céline looked round to see a formidable woman, ostrich plumes nodding from her bandeau, a wattle decorated with diamonds hanging below.
“Oui, madame.” Céline dropped her eyes modestly.
“Quite extraordinary what you have done with Lady Rose. I must compliment you.” She lowered her voice, to the volume of a muted foghorn. “How much are you paid, may I ask? I am sure not more than you are worth, but possibly less…?”
Céline mentally rolled her eyes. Frenchwomen were so much better at this kind of thing.
“I am very happy with my position, my lady. However…” Céline hesitated, seeing a group of ladies coming toward her in a determined floating mass of tulle, then continued as soon as they were within earshot.
“I shall be opening m
y own atelier very soon, on Hope Street.”
There were gasps. Lady Gertrude shouldered her way to the front of the crowd.
“Will you be selling the gown Lady Rose is wearing?” she demanded.
“The ‘Arrival’? I most certainly will, and several other of my own original designs.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then the crowd of ladies descended upon her in a shrill blizzard of excited questions. Céline, swelling inside with pride, worked to maintain her most modest and dutiful expression. She knew her career had truly begun, and tasted a sweetness that was all the more pleasant for the bitterness of Stella’s expression.
“I’m so hot.” Rose fanned herself as the dance came to an end. “Isn’t there anywhere cooler?”
“I’m sure we can find somewhere,” Alexander replied.
He drew her through the crowd, toward the silk curtains. As she passed through, they rippled and billowed against her skin. She saw a flash of red sequins on the ground. Behind, a shadowed alcove was lit by moonlight through a large window.
Rose went to the window, gazing out over the moonlit lawn edged by a dark line of trees. Alexander followed.
He was very close to her. She could smell his sweat, the sandalwood of his scent, the crisp linen of his shirt. They had been this close when he had kissed her before, and yet this felt different somehow. This was not Mont Pleasance. This was the real world.
I would want my wife to help me in this work, he had said. Had he meant it as a proposal? She felt his hands on her waist and turned around. The look in his eyes made her heart pound.
“This is the most perfect night,” she began, trying to somehow put her joy into words. “Thank you for…” Her voice died away as he lowered his face toward her. She felt her breath quicken, and closed her eyes. His lips brushed her cheek, then her neck—the lightest of touches, as if a butterfly’s wings were beating against her skin. He took her hands and drew her against his chest without speaking a word. They clung to each together in the moonlight, the strains of the distant orchestra floating around them.
It was only a moment, but it seemed to last an eternity. And in some way, she thought, remembering what he had said about memories haunting a room, it was an eternity. She knew she would never forget this moment. She remembered what he had said, the hinted proposal. For the first time she allowed herself to believe in it. He loves me, she thought as their hearts beat together, her head swimming with the wonderful delight of it all. He really does.
She lifted her head, waiting for his lips to touch hers, but instead he started, and stepped back. Rose instinctively turned to look behind her.
Ada was standing there, silhouetted against the curtains. From the shocked expression on her face, Rose knew she had seen them together.
“I am so sorry, am I intruding?” Ada addressed Alexander in an icy voice.
“Not at all,” he replied easily, releasing Rose’s waist.
Ada looked at Rose. Rose flinched at the expression in her eyes.
“I would like to speak to you, Rose, if it is convenient.”
Alexander bowed to them both and moved away. He looked back before he returned to the ballroom, and Rose had the comfort of seeing him smile at her. Then she was left alone with Ada. One look at Ada’s face told her that all was not well.
“I have been looking for you everywhere.” Ada’s forehead was creased with anxious irritation.
“I—I felt much better,” Rose began, “and I—”
“What were you thinking?” Ada interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Rose realized for the first time how distraught Ada was.
“You know very well. How could you go away with him, how could you do anything so insane!”
Rose flushed. “Céline told you then?”
“She had little choice when you did not come back. We were frightened for you! How can you arrive like this, so coldly, as if I had not been crying my eyes out with worry—”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—” Rose moved forward to take her arm, feeling suddenly guilty.
Ada stepped back. “I had to lie to—to everyone.”
“Everyone?” Rose caught the hesitation.
Ada blushed. “I told Laurence the truth.”
“How could you!” Rose felt as if she had been slapped. “I never, ever told your secrets!” she whispered, furiously.
“Rose, I was terrified! I had no idea where you were, and that man—I expect you don’t know he betrayed Emily Fintan.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“And you have his side of the story, of course.”
“I trust him.”
“Do you? Are you then engaged?”
Rose was breathless with surprise. “That is very blunt,” she managed at last.
“And that is not an answer. Are you ashamed to answer me?”
Rose met her gaze fiercely. “No, I have done nothing to be ashamed of.”
“That at least is a blessing. But has he proposed?” Ada’s voice was sharp with anxiety.
Rose took a deep breath and said carelessly, “If you must know, he has not. A man and a woman can be friends. And I am no fortune hunter.”
“Oh Rose, as if I said you were!” Ada exclaimed with exasperation. “But if you are not engaged, what do you mean by wearing that?” Her glance took in the diamonds. Rose looked down at them in surprise.
“Why should I not? He lent it to me. It’s only for one evening.”
“One evening where the whole of society will see, and will leap to the assumption that you are to be the next Duchess of Huntleigh! No other rumor is now flying around this room. No other words will be printed in the gossip pages of the magazines tomorrow!”
“Well, let them say what they want.”
“You say that because you don’t know what it is to be cast out of society. And when they find that you are not to marry him, you will be cast out, because your reputation will be destroyed!”
Rose was frightened now, but she was also angry. With Alexander, she had glimpsed a world where reputation’s brittle shell didn’t matter. Where you could be different, yet still valued and beloved. “No, I don’t know what it is to be cast out of society. You forget, I was not in it until a few months ago. And if this is what it is to be in it, I think I can very well do without.”
She turned and walked away, pushing aside the curtain and returning to the ballroom. But she knew in her heart, as the searching glances turned to follow her, that Ada was right. Everyone here expected her to marry the duke—everyone except herself, who knew that he had just had the perfect moment to propose, and hadn’t.
She looked for him as she went through the crowd. She caught a glimpse of golden-red hair, but it was a silken scarf thrown over a dowager’s shoulder; hurried toward a broad back, but it belonged to a stranger whose shirtfront stank of cigar smoke—and then she heard his voice. She was blocked from him by the backs of Lady Cynthia, Lady Gertrude, and Lady Emily.
“All the titled heiresses in the room at your disposal,” Lady Gertrude was saying. She was clearly trying to sound as if she were amused, but her voice was a little too shrill. “And you choose the illegitimate housemaid. So original, Alexander.”
“Oh, does gossip spread so fast these days?” Alexander sounded annoyed. Rose tried to step forward, but another group of young ladies moved in front of her blocking her way. Rose felt as if she were back at the beginning, back at the garden party in Milborough House, being squeezed out, cold-shouldered.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Emily said, her voice dripping poison. “He’s marrying her exactly because she is a housemaid. Isn’t that right, Alexander? I remember you saying to me a long time ago that you would only marry to spite your father.”
Rose felt as if she had been slapped.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Alexander chuckled humorlessly. “You seem very informed on my feelings—and very keen to marry me off.”
“Haven’t you propos
ed?” Lady Emily demanded, as Lady Cynthia and Lady Gertrude exchanged malicious, delighted glances.
Alexander gave her a polite, icy smile. “Reports of my marriage have been greatly exaggerated.”
He strode away through the crowd, leaving Rose standing, her face white with shock, tears forming in her eyes. Lady Gertrude turned, caught her eye, nudged Lady Cynthia. Rose didn’t wait to see the triumphant, sneering looks on their faces. She turned away and pushed through the crowd in the opposite direction away from him, blinded with tears of humiliation and anger.
Somerton
“And so,” the countess said with a small sigh, as she seated herself on Charlotte’s bed, “another season ended. As soon as this wedding is over, we must talk about what we are to do with you.”
Charlotte flushed. She met her mother’s eyes in the glass above the dressing table. The sun was setting over the woods and fields that surrounded Somerton Court. Its dull copper blaze, reflected in the mirror, turned the diamonds in her hair to rubies.
“I did my best,” she replied. Trust her mother to bring this up, the very first evening they arrived back at Somerton. She did not need reminding that her plan to snare Alexander had failed.
“And it was not good enough, was it?” The countess’s eyes were sharp as ice. “Three seasons, and no proposal.”
“Plenty of proposals, Mother.”
“None that you accepted. And none this season.” The countess leaned a little closer toward her. “If I didn’t have more faith in your good sense, I would say you were in love.”
Charlotte gave a slight laugh as she fastened the tiara in her hair. “I feel like a whelk, mother, and you’re the pin. But don’t worry, no matter how deep you dig, you’ll never find a heart.”
“Good,” said the countess. “Because you can’t afford one. You are getting old, and you no longer have the novelty of a debutante. Next season it will be harder than ever for you to attract proposals.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together, hard. She knew that nothing would annoy her mother more than silence.
Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton) Page 19
