by Mary Nichols
‘I am sure you should not,’ Emma murmured, even though she was longing to know.
‘He told Sophie you were a distant relative, cousin of a cousin, or something like that, and he had promised your late father he would take care of you and he meant to do just that.’
‘He said that?’ Emma was astonished. ‘I cannot think why.’
‘To protect you, of course, and silence the gossips. But don’t you see? Even if he does see you and recognise you at the ball, he will not say anything, not if everyone thinks we are cousins.’
‘Twice removed,’ Emma said, with a wry smile.
‘Oh, that was because most people know our near relatives and anything closer would not have served. Now, are you going to come?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, but she had to admit she was sorely tempted. She would like nothing better than to throw off her role as chaperon and go as herself, to be part of the social scene, to be welcomed as a guest, even to make a grand entrance, to dance with Dominic. Oh, especially to dance with Dominic!
‘Then I shall plead unwell and not go myself.’
‘Lucy, that’s nonsense and you know it. You cannot stay away from your own ball.’
‘Oh, yes I can. You do not know how determined I can be, when I choose. Besides, I do not need a come-out, I know the man I wish to marry.’
‘You do?’ Emma was momentarily diverted from the discussion of whether she should go or not.
‘Captain O’Connor.’
‘Lucy, you have only met the man on two occasions and that very briefly.’
‘Four. You forget the theatre last night and I saw him at Hookham’s last week. You were so busy choosing your own books, you did not even see him.’
‘Which just proves what a hopeless chaperon I make.’
Lucy giggled. ‘Yes, you do, don’t you? Much better to be my cousin and my friend. Why, if you come to the ball, you may find a husband for yourself.’
‘I am nearly twenty-three, Lucy, well and truly on the shelf.’
‘Fustian! You will come and no more argument. The thing is, what shall you wear? I’ll have to ask Dominic for some more pin money to buy the material, but he won’t trouble himself about what I want it for.’
Emma thought he very well might; he had already scolded Lucy about her extravagance. ‘There’s no need to go to your brother,’ she said, deciding it was better to humour Lucy than have her beg from his lordship on her behalf. ‘I have an Indian sari.’
‘You have! Oh, show it to me, do.’
Nothing else would serve but they should go to Emma’s room at once and view the costume.
‘Oh, it is the most beautiful thing in the world,’ Lucy, exclaimed when Emma had pulled out her tin trunk and the material emerged from the tissue in which it was wrapped.
There were yards and yards of gossamer silk in a deep gold, green and blue, the colours merging and shimmering in the sunlight from the window, edged with bands of blue, green and black. Yet it was so fine it could be run through the hand like a slender thread. ‘How do you wear it? Do put it on and show me.’
Emma laughed and in no time had discarded her western clothes and put on the short-sleeved blouse and slim cambric petticoat which went under the garment. Then, in deft movements which were a mystery to Lucy, she laid it about her waist in pleats, tucked one end into her waist and draped the other end round her and back over her shoulder. She laughed at Lucy’s astonished expression. ‘Will it do?’
‘Do? Why, it is perfect. It makes you…Oh, I cannot put it into words. You are beautiful, exquisite, and I never realised it before. Oh, you will knock them all over. You must not think of staying away. I can’t wait to see Sophie’s face. And Dominic’s too.’
‘But I must be incognito,’ Emma said, throwing herself into the spirit of the fantasy, for fantasy it surely was. ‘I must have a new identity.’
‘We shall think of something,’ Lucy said, full of confidence. ‘I know! Captain O’Connor has been to India, he told me so. He met you out there. You are the daughter of a nabob, very rich, and able to indulge your taste for Indian dress. You came to England at his invitation.’
‘But I would only do that if I were going to marry him, surely?’
‘Well, we can say you are. It will divert everyone from connecting me with him.’
‘And how are you to contrive his invitation?’ Emma was smiling because she did not think, for one minute, that Lucy was serious.
‘Why, he is known to Sir Richard Godfrey, who was one of his party at the theatre last night, and Sir Richard is a friend of Dominic’s and a perfectly acceptable guest. They may come together.’
‘No, Lucy, that is the outside of enough. It is all very well to jest with me, but to talk of involving someone from outside is not to be thought of. Your brother would hear of it and the last thing I want to do is to anger him.’
‘He won’t find out and if he does, he will think it is all a glorious hoax. He was up to all sorts of pranks when he was a boy. Why, he pretended to be an Indian prince one day and presented himself at Almack’s with a blackened face and dressed in magnificent satin trousers and a huge turban. His coat was straight and long and wrapped round with a wide satin belt. He had one of those great curved swords stuck into it.
‘Lady Jersey was in such a taking about receiving him, fussing round, not knowing whether to curtsy or give him his right about because he was not in breeches, which is obligatory at Almack’s, you know.’
‘What happened?’ Emma asked, intrigued. That Dominic had a sense of fun she had never doubted. ‘Did she let him in?’
‘No, he gave himself away by laughing. Everyone took it well, when he said he had done it for a wager. Papa gave him a set-down the next day, but that was all. If he cuts up rough, I shall remind him of that.’
‘It’s not the same for an adventurous young man, is it?’
‘Why should the men have all the adventures?’ She paused and took Emma’s hand. ‘Dear, dear Emma, please do not fail me. I do so want you to be there and Captain O’Connor too. It is very important to me.’
‘And how am I to arrive? I can hardly come down from my room.’
‘No, silly. I shall contrive to introduce you to Lady Godfrey next time we go for a ride in the park. She is there most afternoons in a hideous yellow barouche. You shall come together as a foursome. It will be easy because Dominic will understand if Miss Woodhill does not wish to attend; after all, being a chaperon at a ball must be the most boring of occupations and there is not the least need with him being there with Sophie and her parents to keep an eye on me. As soon as we go to put on our costumes, you will slip out and meet Fergus who will take you to Lady Godfrey’s. That way you will arrive in their carriage.’
It was such an outlandish plan that Emma never thought for one minute that it would work. On the other hand, it made her shiver with excitement just thinking about it. The mysterious woman from India, the beauty who set all the tongues wagging, wondering where she had sprung from, making all the men dance attendance because there is nothing they like so much as an enigma, and it would make all the other ladies jealous. Oh, what a commotion she could cause!
And when she disappeared on the stroke of midnight, just like Cinderella, the conversation would buzz about who she was, where she had gone and they would set about finding her, but without success, for the Godfreys would not have been told the whole truth and who would expect to find her under their host’s own roof? It would quite take the wind out of Sophie Mountforest’s sails. The trouble was that fantasies rarely happen in real life and she was thankful that Lucy would never get the Godfreys to agree.
However, it seemed that Captain Fergus O’Connor was every bit as persuasive as Lucy when it came to having his own way. Sir Richard, a young man with a fine sense of mischief, fell readily into the plan when Fergus outlined it to him, and his wife, overcome by curiosity, consented to play the vital role of chaperon to the chaperon. It was all arranged one da
y when Emma stayed indoors nursing a severe headache and Lucy went to the library with no other escort but a footman, who was bidden to wait outside for her.
‘There!’ she said, after ascertaining that Emma’s headache was better and regaling her with her success. ‘Was it not clever of me?’
‘I would rather say it was mischievous, Lucy. I was not really serious about going, you know.’
‘But you must!’ Lucy wailed. ‘Oh, you will break my heart if you do not. I shall elope. You will be in even worse trouble if I do that.’
‘Lucy, you wouldn’t.’
‘Then just you wait and see.’
Emma was appalled. How, in heaven’s name, was she going to get out of it? Or should she simply give in? She was in so much trouble already, that she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. She laughed suddenly. She would go out with a bang, not a whimper.
Chapter Five
Emma had been caught up in the preparations for the ball, so the setting for it was no surprise to her. The large first floor drawing-room was converted into a ballroom. All the furniture except a few chairs was removed, the carpet was taken up and a small dais for the musicians was set up at one end. The floor was polished until it was as slippery as ice, the crystal chandeliers were taken down, washed and rehung, flowers by the barrowload had been imported and by the afternoon of the great day, were being arranged in enormous vases around the room.
The dining-room which was next door to it was rarely used except on grand occasions, there being a more intimate and convenient room on the ground floor which was normally used for dining en famille or when there were only a few guests. Tonight the immense dining table and both sideboards were groaning under the weight of food set upon them. Extra cooks had been called in to help in its preparation and there were additional waiters and footmen galore.
Lord Besthorpe supervised everything himself, dashing from the kitchens to the ballroom, overseeing the staff, stripping off his coat and helping to move the furniture himself. Nothing was too good or too much trouble for his dear sister and he knew that this ball, coming early in the Season, would set the standard for all that followed.
He met Emma coming out of the library, her mauve sarcenet dress covered with a large white apron and the auburn coils of her hair hidden under a starched cap. The gentleman were to leave their cloaks and hats in there and she had just fetched two oil lamps for cleaning, gentlemen being as vain as ladies and needing a good light to adjust their cravats. ‘My dear girl, there is no need for you to be doing that,’ he said, in surprise. ‘There are servants in plenty…’
She smiled. ‘Yes, but you have your sleeves rolled up and smuts on your nose, so why not me?’
‘Have I?’ He grinned, rubbing his nose. ‘I am enjoying myself.’
‘Then so am I. I want everything to be perfect for Miss Besthorpe. An evening to remember.’ To herself she added, ‘For me too, because I fancy it will be my last under this roof.’ The thought made tears spring to her eyes. She could not go through with this charade. She just could not.
‘Why, Miss Woodhill, what is the matter?’ He took the lamps from her hands, set them down on the floor and took her elbow to lead her back into the library. ‘Now tell me, what is troubling you?’
‘Nothing, my lord. Nothing at all.’
‘You are homesick and Miss Mountforest doesn’t help, does she?’
She looked up at him, startled. ‘Miss Mountforest?’ Her voice was a whisper of fear and he had to hold himself severely in check otherwise he would have taken her in his arms to comfort her. ‘I meant Sophie with her unkind remarks about India. Try to forgive her, she doesn’t understand…’
‘But you do?’
‘I certainly try.’ He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face so that she was obliged to look into his eyes. The threatening tears were being manfully withheld but the lovely green eyes were soft with moisture. ‘If I have said or done anything to upset you, I ask pardon.’
She blinked hard, hardly daring to meet his gaze. ‘You have done nothing, my lord.’
‘Then why the tears?’
‘There are no tears, my lord. I must have a smut from one of the lamps in my eye.’
‘Then let me see.’ He took his handkerchief from his pocket and gently inspected her eyes. ‘No smuts there.’
She blinked rapidly. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Oh, what a noddicock I have been! I should have known you would not take it for granted.’
‘Take what for granted, my lord?’
‘That you would be invited to the ball. You must have been thinking you had been left out…’
‘No, my lord, such a thing did not occur to me.’
‘Of course you must come. And not as a chaperon. Lucy does not need one tonight. Be our guest.’
Emma was startled. Just how much did he know of Lucy’s scheme? He was a deep one and saw more, understood more, than he seemed to and was calling her bluff. Or was he simply being his usual considerate self? How could she accept? How could she refuse? Oh, how she wished Lucy had never met Captain O’Connor. More than that she wished she had never come to this house, never seen the Marquis of Cavenham, then she would not have fallen so frantically, so foolishly, so hopelessly in love. She pulled herself away from him. ‘No, my lord, I thank you, but…’
‘You have nothing to wear? I am sure Lucy can find something, you are of a size.’
‘Oh, my lord, please do not be so kind to me. I do not deserve it.’
‘How so? Am I to learn of more faux pas?’ It was said with such gentleness, that she was undone. She made a vain attempt to stem her tears. Silently he gave her his handkerchief. ‘I cannot tell you,’ she said, mopping at her face. ‘I beg of you, let me take the lamps to the kitchen. The potboy is waiting to clean them.’
‘No.’ He would have to be stern, softness was not going to work. ‘You will sit there and you will not budge until you have told me all.’ He indicated a sofa which stood in the window alcove.
She sat down and looked up at him but her vision was blurred and she did not see the tenderness in his gaze. ‘What have you done?’ he went on. ‘Am I about to endure another visit from Lady Clarence?’
She attempted a smile. ‘Is she not coming to the ball?’
‘You know very well she is, since you helped to write the invitations. Now stop hedging and tell me everything. I need to know what I am going to be faced with.’
‘You will be faced with nothing, my lord, because I shall not go through with it.’
‘By that I perceive you mean your charade.’ He paused, waiting for her to go on, wanting her to confess her deception, to tell him why she had come to England pretending to be a lady’s maid, when anyone with half an eye could see by her bearing and manner she was nothing of the sort.
‘Yes, I told Lucy it would not work and it was wrong to hoax you…’
‘Lucy? What has she to do with this?’ He spoke sharply out of surprise, not anger, but she was too distressed to see that.
‘Oh, my lord, do not be angry with her. It started as a joke when I showed her my sari. I did not mean to let it go so far.’
He sat down beside her and found himself possessed of her hand, a warm brown hand, devoid of jewellery. ‘Go on.’
She took a deep breath and told him all about Lucy’s scheme to have her admitted to the ball, though she was careful not to mention Captain O’Connor’s part in it and all the while she was aware of her hand lying in his, like a trapped bird. ‘I was to creep out when you went to dress, my lord, and come back with Sir Richard Godfrey and his wife. They are bringing a friend with them who was to be my escort.’
He let go of her hand suddenly and leaned back in the seat, convulsed by laughter. ‘Oh, this has Lucy’s stamp on it and no mistake.’
‘My lord, no. It was my idea, I wanted to show off the sari. Please do not be angry with Lucy. I know I am an unmitigated failure as a mentor for your sister. I will leave at once.�
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‘You will do no such thing. You may not be the best chaperon in the world, but you are very good for Lucy. And I know you would always take care of her and I can trust you never to do anything to hurt her…’
Oh, it was becoming worse and worse. She had dug herself into a pit from which she could not escape. ‘Naturally, you may, my lord. I am very fond of your sister. Who would not be?’
‘Then you will attend the ball as our cousin, lately come to stay, but I forbid you to do it in the havey-cavey fashion you planned. I shall send a message to Sir Richard not to expect you.’
‘Oh, my lord!’
‘Now take those lamps to the kitchen and then go and find Lucy. Tell her I wish to see her.’
She scrambled to her feet. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘And please stop addressing me as “my lord” all the time. Cousins do not carry on like that; you will make everyone suspicious. I am Dominic.’
She fled before he could see the colour flaring in her face and while she still had enough strength in her legs to carry her.
Emma was still in Dominic’s mind when he set out for the Mountforest’s Park Lane house later in the day. In spite of her obvious duplicity, in spite of her refusal to tell him what was troubling her, he was convinced deception was not part of her nature and she must have been forced into it. But by what or whom? And why was Sophie so incensed over her? Did she know something he did not? He would ask her, but not today.
Today he was calling on her to give her the engagement ring and he did not want anything to distract her from that. He had intended to slip it on her finger just before they left for the theatre two weeks before, but she was in such a dreadful mood over Emma’s spirited defence of herself, he had decided to wait until a more propitious time, and concluded the ball would be an ideal occasion.
He had changed his mind because it was, as Emma had only today reminded him, Lucy’s come-out ball and he wanted everything to be perfect for her. He should not detract from that with his own affairs. If he gave Sophie the ring then, she would make a great to-do about it and poor Lucy would be put in the shade.
