The Fugitive Heiress

by Amanda Scott

“To be weighed?” She regarded the Beau quizzically. “He must be joking you, Lady Margaret. Even I know Berry Brothers to be a grocers in St. James Street.”

  “Ah, but a prince of grocers, Miss Westering,” responded Brummell instantly. “George Berry provides a novelty by weighing us on his great coffee scales!”

  “Is this to be your latest fashion, George?” Dambroke inquired with his slow smile.

  “Already is. Petersham is a constant customer. Purchases his tea there, you know. Prinny goes, too, but Berry says he actually blushed last time he was weighed and hasn’t been back in a week.” Laughter bubbled up again, and Catheryn saw that Mr. Caston had entered the room. She excused herself to greet him and had time to introduce him to one or two others before Paulson announced dinner.

  At the table she found herself between Tom Varling’s father and Lord Thomas, with Edmund across the table between Lady Trevaris and Lady Prudence. Catheryn observed with amusement that, though he was polite to the older woman, his attention was more drawn to the younger. Her own was claimed immediately by Colby.

  “I declare, Miss Westering, you will break hearts tonight.”

  She had come to like him well enough to tease him and replied with a twinkle, “Not yours, certainly, my lord. My dowry keeps me quite beneath your notice, does it not?”

  “Dear me, I seem to have developed quite a reputation.”

  “Undeserved, sir?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I have cause now to wish it otherwise, however. It may well prove to be my undoing.”

  “Good heavens, my lord! Never tell me you have fallen in love!” She gazed at him expectantly, but his only response was a mournful smile. “You have! Who is she?”

  But this question he would not answer. Lady Chastity, on his other side, spoke to him a moment later, and he turned away. Regretfully, Catheryn directed her attention to Mr. Varling. She spoke several times more to Lord Thomas, but he adroitly parried any reference to their original topic; so, when Lady Dambroke indicated the time had come to leave the gentlemen to their port, Catheryn was no wiser than before. Dambroke knew his duty. The men soon joined the ladies, and their carriages were called to take them to the ball.

  Vehicles lined the street outside Lady Heathcote’s great house, and linkboys scurried to and fro in a desperate effort to clear the way for new arrivals. At last, it was their turn to step down onto the red carpet, and soon they were greeting their hostess, who showed no dismay whatever at the sight of Mr. Caston. Moments later, they entered the great ballroom itself, a dazzling chamber lit by candles from no fewer than twenty-six crystal chandeliers. With nearly everyone who was anyone present, it was indeed a crush, a great compliment to any hostess. Catheryn recognized Lord and Lady Jersey, Lords Petersham and Alvanley, the Prince and Princess Esterhazy, and Lady Caroline Lamb with her long-suffering husband, William. His rival, Lord Bryon, leaned negligently against the wall in a position described by his admirers as a poetic trance and by his critics—mostly male—as a damned rude affectation. Catheryn thought Bryon a romantic figure and had enjoyed his new poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, as much as anyone, but his airs and graces had begun to annoy her.

  Her hand was claimed for a country dance, and she soon forgot the poet and his lady as she threw herself into the spirit of the party. Nearly an hour had passed when the orchestra struck up the first waltz of the evening. Catheryn felt a thrill of excitement and hoped the earl, standing nearby, would ask her to dance. Though she thought his treatment of Teddy unnecessarily harsh, it was not her business to interfere; and after all, she had not danced with him since the first subscription ball at Almack’s. He was drawing an anecdote to its conclusion, however, and Mr. Caston was before him—if, indeed, Dambroke had even meant to claim her hand. She was surprised at Edmund but quickly perceived her error.

  “I have waited all evening for an opportunity to speak with you, Catheryn, but did not care to interpose while you might be dancing. However, you will not take exception to our conversing just now, for I know you do not wish to make a figure of yourself by engaging in anything so improper as the waltz.”

  She stared at him, annoyed. “Well, you are quite out, Edmund. I adore to waltz. And if this means you have denied me an opportunity for which I have been waiting an hour and more, I shall be more vexed with you than ever.”

  This inauspicious beginning affected him not a whit. He smiled in his superior way and guided her inexorably into a small, conveniently empty withdrawing room. “Don’t be infantile, Catheryn. I appreciate that you are taking this opportunity to make me aware of your displeasure, but it is superfluous, I assure you. To pretend to have so little elegance of mind that you would enjoy whirling about a ballroom clasped in the most saturnalian manner within a gentleman’s embrace is to carry the matter too far. Even you could never be so wanting in delicacy as to disport yourself in a style that would scandalize your friends and family beyond bearing. No, no, do not interrupt me. It would only serve to convince me that your sojourn in London has done little toward improving your manners. Besides, I have no wish to quarrel, especially upon so spurious a topic. I have something to say to you.”

  Short of raising her voice to a level that would be overheard in the ballroom—for naturally, Edmund had not been so lacking the respect due her good name as to shut the door—there was nothing Catheryn could do to stop him. She resigned herself to listen.

  “I cannot say that I relish the present situation, Cousin,” he continued, “however, I desire you to know that I am not entirely insensible of your sentiments. It is not unusual for a young female to yearn for gaiety and frivolity. Nor is it remarkable for her to rebel against the restraints, however benevolent, of her family. I cannot help deprecating your methods, whatever the motivation may have been; however, to pursue that issue would be to belabor it, I desired this conversation in order that I might offer my apology to you in the matter of your inheritance. I do not admit that either Father or I was in error, but neither did we intend offense or deception. It simply didn’t occur to us to explain. The fact that the inheritance has come to your notice now can make no difference, since my father will continue to administer the trust; however, if you persist in your decision to remain in town, I agree that funds must be placed at your disposal, and I shall speak to him. It is not right that you should continue to hang upon Lady Dambroke’s sleeve.”

  Not seeing any good reason for informing him that it was Dambroke’s sleeve rather than her ladyship’s, Catheryn only murmured gratefully that Edmund was very generous. His more rhetorical periods always had the effect of leaving her dazed and making her lose track of things she wanted to say. It dawned upon her now, however, that for once he had said nothing of marriage. “Do you still wish to marry me, Edmund?”

  “As to that, I believe I committed myself by stating my intent in Dambroke’s presence,” he said stiffly.

  “Well, you need not bother your head about that, for it doesn’t signify! I stated quite firmly at the same time that I would have no part of it.” She held out her hand. “Come, Edmund, surely you see that we should not suit.”

  He sighed, perhaps with relief. “Possibly you are right, my dear. I thought at one time … but I shall not press you further. Shall I partner you in the set now forming to make up for causing you to miss your waltz?” His eyes twinkled as though he were enjoying a good joke.

  “No, thank you. I am promised to Lord Molyneux.”

  “Lord Molyneux! Do you look to be the next Lady Sefton, then?” Edmund teased.

  She chuckled. “Not at all. His lordship only asked me out of politeness. Lady Tiffany’s card was full and I was standing beside her. A good many of my partners come to me in that manner. The only reason I had the waltz free is that, being in her first season, she does not engage in it.”

  “Whereas you, being such an old hand, engage in it often? Doing it much too brown, miss.”

  “Well, it may be my first London season, but my age precludes my figuring as a
debutante.” She saw that he still did not believe her, but she could discuss the matter no further without offending Lord Molyneux; therefore, it was with great satisfaction a bit later that she accepted Mr. Brummell’s invitation to join in the next waltz before going down to supper. Noting her cousin’s shocked expression as she was swung onto the floor, she was guilty of a distinct smirk. Brummell raised a haughty brow and demanded to know what was so amusing.

  She explained, adding, “I know Edmund would like nothing better than to scold me for indulging in such an impropriety. I only hope you don’t find an opportunity for giving him one of your famous set-downs, sir. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “Miss Westering, I protest! My set-downs are famous only because I never waste them on bumpkins who don’t understand them.”

  She would have defended her cousin, but she had no wish to cross swords with the acknowledged master of repartee and allowed him, therefore, to change the subject. When the waltz ended, he guided her toward the supper room. Others had preceded them, and they could hear the rumble of conversation mixed with the light strains of a string quartet before they actually entered the room. Catheryn was shaking her head in amusement at something Brummell had said. “I must tell you that … good God, sir! What on earth!”

  A piercing shriek followed by screams of feminine horror brought the musicians to a discordant halt, while all around the room people craned their necks to see what had occurred. Miss Westering could see nothing but heads and shoulders. She turned in dismay to the Beau. “What is it, sir? Can you see?”

  “No, but it—whatever it is—is up here. Come with me.” He shouldered their way through the stunned gathering toward the buffet tables. Others began to fall back and suddenly Catheryn found herself at the front of the mob. “It’s only one of Caro Lamb’s distempered freaks,” said Brummell in a bored tone, but Catheryn found the scene appalling. Lady Caroline, supported on either side by two gentlemen, seemed to be spattered with blood. The two men were likewise bedaubed with the stuff. “What happened here?” the Beau inquired of a wide-eyed damsel attempting to push her way through the onlookers.

  “It’s Lady Caroline! They were just having supper, sir, Lord Bryon and her ladyship. Suddenly, they were quarreling, and the next thing we knew, Lady Caroline stabbed herself with a knife from the table. I’ve got her blood on my dress!” She was nearly hysterical, so the Beau cleared a path for her, then turned back to Catheryn.

  “Caro has no manners.” Catheryn was as amazed by his attitude as by the incident itself. Chaos reigned around them, and Mr. Brummell was only bored. But then, her own shock began to give way to indignation when she realized Lady Caroline was not mortally wounded.

  “What on earth possessed her?” she asked him.

  “The key word is ‘possessed,’ I think,” he answered casually. “The chief witness is over yonder.”

  Following his gaze, she perceived Bryon, his eyes wide with shock. Catheryn thought he looked disgusted and said so.

  “Who isn’t?” Brummell shrugged. “He might have been horrified if she’d tried it on in private. Can only be disgusted by a public display that makes him look ridiculous.”

  Catheryn observed that, while several persons displayed signs of shock or dismay, including one stout dowager who was indulging herself in a fit of vapors, most of those who crowded around seemed to agree with the Beau.

  “Such a trial for the Melbournes,” said one.

  “How dare that stupid girl embarrass Lady Heathcote so!”

  “’Tis a pity she didn’t succeed if she had to make such a cake of herself at all,” commented another.

  “The lad’ll have a new poem out of this, mark my words!”

  “Poor William Lamb! As if he weren’t having trouble enough in the Commons.”

  “Why couldn’t she have waited until after supper, for God’s sake?” was the disgruntled reply of one gentleman to a wife who said that, if Caro was up to her tricks again, they might as well go home. Catheryn heard a chuckle behind her and then a familiar voice.

  “So this is the haut ton, is it? Are you certain you won’t come home to Somerset, Cousin?”

  “Oh, Edmund!”

  “Never mind. His lordship has called for the carriage. I am to escort you ladies home at once.”

  “Of course.” She excused herself to Mr. Brummell and followed Edmund. Others with similar intentions were rapidly gathering in the antechamber, but they found the countess and Tiffany easily enough. Outside, they discovered that Dambroke’s quick action had caused their carriage to be one of the first brought around. He was waiting beside it.

  “Richard, isn’t it dreadful!” cried the countess. “That wretched girl will be the death of them yet!”

  “Quite so, Mama. I don’t know if I can help here or not, but I mean to find out. I shall be home later.” He packed them into the carriage and strode back toward the house.

  Lady Dambroke whiled away their return journey with her opinion of the episode. It was difficult to ascertain which of her emotions was uppermost, sympathy for Lady Heathcote or relief that Lady Caroline had not chosen to enact her scene at the forthcoming Dambroke ball.

  “For I sent invitations to all the Melbournes and they have accepted! But I daresay this scandal will at last force Melbourne to send her out of town for a while.”

  “I think the whole thing is absurd,” stated Tiffany flatly. “I wonder why Richard sent us home. Surely, everyone won’t leave. They hadn’t even finished serving supper yet!”

  Catheryn smiled at Edmund and saw that he, too, remembered the voice in the crowd expounding upon the same subject, but the countess was astonished. “Tiffany, how can you say such a thing! When you know how the least hint of Cheltenham drama oversets me. I could not have eaten a morsel. You cannot have wished to remain!”

  “No, for I found the party had become a trifle insipid before Caro livened it up. I only wondered.”

  Lady Dambroke stared at her daughter. Miss Westering, on the other hand, having seen that Captain Varling did not choose to try his leg on the dance floor and had excused himself to his hostess at an early hour, had no difficulty interpreting her cousin’s remark. Tiffany had danced with James Lawrence, of course, but only once, refusing a second invitation. He had persisted and showed his frustration openly. Catheryn was beginning to think him a bit of a nuisance.

  They soon arrived in Grosvenor Square and Mr. Caston left them at the door, explaining that the coachman had orders to take him to his hotel before returning with the carriage for Dambroke. Both Lady Dambroke and Tiffany decided to retire at once, so Catheryn bade them good night and went to her own room. Mary soon answered her summons, curiosity plain on her face, but Catheryn gave no explanation for their early return.

  Changing to an old stuff gown instead of her night dress, she announced that, since they had missed supper, she had a mind to raid the pantry. The maid offered to bring a tray, but Miss Westering explained glibly that she preferred to see for herself what delicacies might be available. She could think of no reason that would not sound odd, however, to keep Mary from going along to show where things were kept.

  Downstairs in the great kitchen, the maid’s eyes began to widen as two shiny apples followed thick slabs of buttered bread, juicy slices of roast beef, two chicken legs, and a generous wedge of Chantilly cake onto a tray. “Gracious me, miss, but you’ll never manage to eat all that!”

  “Oh, I’ve a prodigious appetite. Is there any milk?”

  “Milk, miss?” Catheryn affirmed it and, shaking her head, Mary disappeared with her candle into the dark reaches of the kitchen, soon returning with a small earthenware jug and a blue mug painted with yellow roses. She placed these articles on the tray. “Will that be all, miss?”

  Catheryn grinned at the incredulous tone. “I daresay you think me a sad glutton, Mary. Here, I’ll take the tray.”

  “That you’ll not! ’Twouldn’t be proper, and I must go up to the maids’ quarters anyway, Miss Ca
theryn,” she continued firmly. “It won’t take but a moment to take this tray up to your chamber on my way.” Having forgotten that Mary would have to return to the upper part of the house, Catheryn gave in gracefully and thanked , her for her trouble.

  X

  WHEN THE MAID HAD gone, Catheryn counted slowly to fifty. Then she quietly opened her door and peeped up and down the long corridor. All was clear. Picking up the tray, she slipped out and pulled the door to with her foot, then tiptoed past Tiffany’s room and on up to the nursery floor.

  She hoped to discover the room she wanted without disturbing Mr. Ashley, who had the old nursery suite once occupied by Nanny Craig. Luckily, the door to the schoolroom was ajar. The next must be the room she sought. Balancing the tray carefully, she tapped on the door. A rather gruff but wide-awake voice bade her enter. She pushed the door wide.

  “Hallo, Teddy. I thought you might be hungry.”

  The boy was sprawled on his stomach across the bed and, except for his jacket, still wore the clothes he had come home in. A stub of candle burned on the night-stand, its flickering light making no attempt to enter the deep corners of the room. When he realized who it was, Teddy turned over and sat up, grimacing slightly as he did so. “Miss Westering! I knew you were a great gun.” He stood and moved to take the tray. “A feast! I tell you, my ribs have been gnawing at my backbone. But won’t Richard be angry?”

  “He isn’t home so it doesn’t signify. This place is like a tomb. Have you any more candles?”

  “No, only the one.”

  “Then we’ll make do. I’ll put the jug here on the nightstand, and we’ll share the mug. Mary wouldn’t have understood my wanting two—or might have understood too well. I fear she already believes me an unnatural trencherwoman.”

  Teddy laughed. “Oh, Miss Westering, what a complete hand you are!”

  “I think I must be,” she grinned, “for I have contrived this very neatly, have I not? Set that tray on the bed,” she added, pouring milk into the blue mug. “That way you may recline on your side in the manner of a Roman emperor while you eat. You will not want a chair.”