Entering the drawing-room, she was taken aback to find Tony Fanshawe and Ferdie in attendance. As her elegant son strolled across the room to plant an affectionate kiss on her cheek her eyes openly quizzed him. He was as immaculate as ever, in a perfectly cut black coat that looked as if it had been moulded to his broad shoulders, skin-tight knee-breeches encasing his powerful thighs. Diamonds winked amid the snowy folds of his cravat.
‘Welcome to town, Mama! As always, you look quite ravishing.’
His eyes returned her regard with a bland and innocent air, which deceived her not at all. While Tony and Ferdie made their bows Mytton entered to announce dinner.
Throughout the meal Hazelmere, ably seconded by her nephew and Tony Fanshawe, kept her entertained, describing all that had occurred thus far in the Season, with two notable omissions. Amused by their strategy, she was even more entertained than they intended.
After the servants withdrew she seized the initiative. She fixed both her son and Fanshawe with a look that from long experience they knew meant that she intended to get to the bottom of whatever had excited her attention. ‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ she said, breaking into yet another of Ferdie’s anecdotes, ‘but what I really want to know is why none of you has yet seen fit to mention Hermione Merion’s granddaughters. From everything I hear, you have all been somewhat preoccupied with them, have you not?’
She found herself looking into her son’s hazel eyes as he gently explained, ‘But, Mama, you already know all about them, and more, from all the letters you’ve been sent. We didn’t want to bore you.’
With the ground cut so masterfully from under her feet, she could think of nothing to say. Instead she raised her glass in mock salute. ‘I trust they will be present tonight?’
‘Most assuredly. Ferdie is to escort them there.’
‘Then you must both promise to introduce them to me and I’ll promise to be silent on the subject all the way there.’
‘And back?’ asked Fanshawe, used to the Hazelmere conversations.
She laughed. ‘All right. And back.’
‘Under those conditions, I promise,’ answered Hazelmere with a grin.
‘And I,’ echoed Fanshawe.
‘Good heavens!’ ejaculated Ferdie, surprising them all. ‘I’ll have to dash or I’ll be late. Never do to keep them waiting!’
Amid laughter, he departed for the other side of Cavendish Square, urging them to make haste if they wanted to get to Richmond first.
ARRIVING ON THE doorstep of Merion House as the Merion carriage rounded the corner, Ferdie had the forethought to ask Mellow not to announce it until the Hazelmere carriage, already standing outside Hazelmere House and clearly visible across the square, had departed. Mellow, accepting the golden douceur Ferdie slipped him, understood perfectly.
Inside the drawing-room, Ferdie caught his breath at the visions of loveliness that met his eyes. Even he had started to wonder for how much longer the Darent sisters could dazzle in elegant gowns that were quite unique.
Dorothea, standing by the marble mantel, was a stunning picture in ivory satin, overlaid with lace around the neckline and in a broad sweep down one side of the skirt. The pearls at her throat shone warmly in the firelight, and her hair appeared burnished by the flames. The simplicity of the gown was breathtaking. Thinking of the effect this creation would have on Hazelmere in his present mood, Ferdie almost felt sorry for the Marquis.
Cecily was adorned in pure white, with trimming of aquamarine ribbon set with tiny seed-pearls criss-crossed over the bodice and looped around her skirt. Again the effect was unique and quite lovely.
Lady Merion, satisfied with the effect her granddaughters’ gowns had had on Ferdie, spoke up, telling him that they were now ready to depart.
Ferdie gulped and asked innocently, ‘Oh, has Mellow announced the carriage?’
‘No, Ferdie, he hasn’t,’ said Dorothea, suddenly suspicious.
‘I don’t know what’s keeping them, then,’ muttered her ladyship. ‘We called for the carriage long ago.’
‘Er—yes.’ Ferdie decided that Lady Merion was the safest of the three to address. ‘Just came from dinner at Hazelmere House. Lady Hazelmere was there, ma’am, and sent her regards. Said she’d see you at the ball.’
At this juncture, with Ferdie fervently searching for some topic to distract his three ladies, Mellow entered and solved the problem by announcing the carriage.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER AN UNEVENTFUL DRIVE, the Merion carriage joined the long queue of coaches lining up to disgorge their fair burdens on the torch-lit steps of Richmond House. There had been little conversation on the journey, and Ferdie had had time to ponder what lay between the Darent sisters and his friends.
He recalled the look in Dorothea’s eye that afternoon when he had hurried to catch up with them as they left the Park. He had been unable to interpret it at the time, imagining that the four of them had been together the whole time. But now, from what Marc and Tony themselves had said, it was clear that had not been the case. Ferdie’s mind boggled when he tried to imagine what exactly had happened between Dorothea and Marc. And this while the Misses Darent were, after a fashion, in his care! If such a thing ever got out, his carefully nurtured reputation as a trustworthy ladies’ companion would be ruined!
The carriage drew up and he helped his ladies to alight. Soon they were following the glittering line of arrivals up the grand staircase. At the top, they were greeted by the Duchess, and moved on into the ballroom as their names were proclaimed in stentorian accents by two massive footmen flanking the door.
Dorothea had only taken a few steps when she found Hazelmere at her elbow. Smiling up at him, she saw that his eyes were not laughing, but glinting at her in a way that made her heart stand still. All the other symptoms she now associated with his presence—breathlessness, confusion and a certain anticipation—immediately came to the fore. Then he smiled and the intense look dissolved into his usual warmly amused expression, dispelling her unease. His lips lightly brushed her gloved fingertips before he drew her hand through his arm.
‘Come with me, Miss Darent; there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
‘Oh? Who, pray tell?’
‘Me.’
She chuckled. She was drawn out of the mainstream of the arriving guests, a tactic that confused the small army of gentlemen waiting patiently to greet her further along the ballroom. Hazelmere led her towards a corner, into the camouflage of earlier arrivals. He moved automatically through the crowd, not seeing them, not hearing them. His mind was awhirl with a heady sensation he had never experienced before. Whatever it was, it was exciting and uncomfortable at the same time, and its cause was the unutterably lovely creature walking so calmly beside him. The sight of her, encased in ivory, had taken his breath away. Then she had smiled at him with such open affection that he had had to fight an impulse to kiss her in the middle of the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom.
The temptation to continue their ambling stroll into the adjoining rooms was strong. He knew Richmond House fairly well. He was sure he could find a deserted ante-room where Miss Darent and he could analyse his strange response to her presence in more depth. He sighed inwardly. Unfortunately such intimate discussions were not listed among the acceptable ways of wooing young ladies during the Season.
Reluctantly pausing, he looked down at her again, drinking in the flawless symmetry of her face, drowning in her emerald eyes. He saw them widen, first in amused enquiry and then, as he remained silent, in increasing bewilderment. ‘I’ll have you know, Miss Darent, that I’m rapidly running out of ideas of how to whisk you away before your devoted admirers surround you.’
Smiling in response, Dorothea hoped that he couldn’t hear the thudding of her heart. She was no longer sure of her ability to keep him from guessing her feelings—as he stood before her, magnificent as ever, the spell he cast was too potent. He had developed a certain way of looking at her, which made her feel deliciousl
y warm and tingly and led her unruly thoughts into fields they had no business straying into. Well-brought-up young ladies weren’t supposed to know of such things, let alone weave fantasies about them. Thinking that she could quite happily bask in that hazel gaze for the rest of forever, she forced herself to try for their usual conversational mode. ‘Well, you seem to have succeeded to admiration this evening. I feel utterly deserted!’
‘Do you, indeed?’ he murmured, adding in a provocative undertone, ‘Would that you were, my dear.’
In spite of her intentions, she was finding it harder and harder to meet his eyes with her customary cool unconcern.
Hazelmere finally looked down to examine her dance card. ‘I don’t suppose I should tell you that Lord Markham is presently making a cake of himself, searching through the place for you? No! Don’t look around or he might see you. And the only reason Alvanley, Peterborough and Walsingham ain’t doing the same is that they’re watching Robert do it for them. Miss Darent, I notice there’s a waltz immediately preceding supper, which is a very sensible innovation. I must remember to compliment the Duchess on her good sense. Will you do me the honour, my dear Miss Darent, of waltzing with me and then allowing me to take you into supper?’
Dorothea had managed to gain a firmer hold on her composure during this speech and was able to serenely reply, ‘That will be delightful, Lord Hazelmere.’
One black brow rose. ‘Will it?’
But she refused to be drawn with such an unanswerable question and simply smiled sweetly back. Hazelmere laughed and raised one finger to her cheek. ‘Promise me you’ll never put a rein on your tongue, my dear. Life would become so dull if you did.’
The caress and the even more provocative tones brought a familiar flash to her large green eyes.
‘Ah! Miss Darent! Lord Hazelmere. Your servant, sir.’ Sir Barnaby Ruscombe materialised at Hazelmere’s elbow. Hazelmere suavely inclined his head, and Dorothea drummed up her best social smile for London’s most notorious rattle. Sir Barnaby, beaming as if delighted by these mild acknowledgements, waved his hand towards the figure on his arm, a sharp-featured woman of indeterminate years, dressed entirely in a quite hideous shade of puce, clashing outrageously with her improbable auburn locks. ‘Permit me to introduce you. Miss Darent, Lord Hazelmere. Mrs Dimchurch.’
The exchange of curtsies and bows was purely perfunctory. ‘But I’m sure Miss Darent remembers me from the assemblies at Newbury,’ gushed Mrs Dimchurch. Hazelmere felt Dorothea stiffen. ‘So sad about your dear mama! Lady Cynthia and I always enjoyed a comfortable cose while we watched over our daughters.’ Her sharp eyes were fixed on the Marquis. ‘I must say, I was surprised to hear Lady Cynthia had made your acquaintance, my lord. She never mentioned it. Strange, don’t you think?’
As an attempt to throw Hazelmere, it was so crude that Dorothea only just managed to retain her composure.
His lordship, used to stiffer competition, made short work of it. Regarding the offending Mrs Dimchurch with a coldly gentle smile, he softly said, ‘I very much doubt, my dear ma’am, that Lady Darent was the type of lady who would presume, on the basis of a single chance introduction, to claim acquaintance with anyone. Don’t you agree?’
Mrs Dimchurch turned brick-red, rendering her toilette even more hideous.
Without waiting for a reply, Hazelmere nodded to Sir Barnaby and, bestowing a devilish smile on the unfortunate Mrs Dimchurch, drew Dorothea’s hand once more through his arm and strolled back towards the milling crowds in the centre of the large room.
Once out of earshot of the importunate couple, Hazelmere glanced down. ‘My dear Miss Darent, how many such mushrooms have you had to endure?’ He sounded distinctly guilty.
She chuckled, then answered airily, ‘Oh, hardly any since the first week.’ She looked up, confidently expecting him to laugh with her and was surprised to see the hazel eyes reflecting real concern. Before she could do more than register the fact they were spotted by her prospective partners.
The rooms were filled to overflowing and more people were arriving. Finding any lady in the crush was extremely difficult. Having totally lost Miss Darent, one of the crowd looking for her had asked if anyone had seen Hazelmere, as, knowing his lordship, Miss Darent was probably with him. This had led to a search for the Marquis who, because of his height, was a great deal easier to spot than Dorothea. With various comments, mostly in an uncomplimentary vein, being thrown at his head, Hazelmere good-humouredly surrendered Dorothea to her swains and was swallowed up in the crowds.
Dorothea was amazed that anyone could find anyone else in the throng of people filling the ballroom and spreading into the adjoining salons. She had no idea where her grandmother or Cecily were, but with so many acquaintances among the ton she was not in the least put out. Somehow her partners seemed to find her for their respective dances, when the ballroom would miraculously clear as the music began. As each dance finished, the floor would fill again with a shifting sea of gorgeously clad ladies, the gentlemen in their more sober clothes providing stark contrast. The evening passed in a whirl of conversation and dancing, and she had no time to ponder the subtle change she had detected in the Marquis.
The only cloud on her horizon was the persistent Mr Buchanan. He seemed to dog her erratic footsteps, continually appearing as if by some malignant magic wherever she chose to pause. Finally she appealed to Ferdie for advice. ‘How on earth can I get rid of him?’ she wailed as they trailed and dipped through a cotillion.
Although highly sympathetic, having already endured too much of Mr Buchanan’s company and lacking Hazelmere’s acid capacity to silence at will, Ferdie could find no magic formula to rid his protégée of this unexpected encumbrance. ‘Hate to say it, but he’s the sort who never takes the hint. You’ll just have to be patient until he slopes off.’ Then he was seized with inspiration. ‘Why not ask Hazelmere to have a word with him?’
‘Lord Hazelmere would probably laugh himself into stitches at the idea of Mr Buchanan pursuing me! He’d be more likely to encourage him!’ returned Dorothea. They were separated by the movement of the dance, so she failed to see the effect her answer had on Ferdie. Retrieving his dropped jaw, he shook his head. Personally, he could not imagine Hazelmere encouraging anyone to pursue Dorothea, much less the importunate Mr Buchanan, who, unless he missed his guess, was a fortune-hunter of the most inept variety. Clearly a word in his cousin’s ear would not go amiss.
No longer feeling the need to dance with other young ladies as a cover for his pursuit of Dorothea, Hazelmere spent much of the evening talking to friends, acquaintances and a not inconsiderable number of his relatives. He was not pleased when, turning in response to a tap on his arm, he looked down into the severe countenance of his eldest sister, Lady Maria Setford. Knowing that she would have heard of his interest in Dorothea, he persistently misunderstood every quizzing remark she made on that subject. Exasperated, she finally recommended he look out for his other older sister, Lady Susan Wilmot, who, she informed him, was also somewhere in the rooms and desirous of speech with him.
Her brother merely looked at her with an expression that very luckily she was incapable of interpreting, before excusing himself on the score of having seen their mother, with whom he required a few words.
He did, in fact, pass by Lady Hazelmere, deep in conversation with Sally Jersey, and paused to whisper, ‘Mama, I know you’ve always sworn you were faithful to my father, but how on earth do you account for Maria and Susan?’
Lady Jersey, overhearing, burst into her twittering laugh. Lady Hazelmere made a face at him before asking, ‘You don’t mean they’ve started sermonising already?’
‘I’m sure they would like to, only they haven’t decided whether it’s worthwhile yet,’ returned her undutiful son, winking at her as he moved on.
Like Ferdie, Hazelmere had spent the journey to Richmond House sunk in thought. A despondent mood had overtaken him earlier in the day, when he had had to deny himself the pleasure of kissin
g Dorothea in the glade in the Park and had realised that would be his lot for some time to come. Since he was naturally autocratic and, as Dorothea had surmised, used to getting his own way in most things, the need to keep his passions on a very tight rein did not appeal in the least. He had already decided that he could not ask her to marry him until much later in the Season. This was not because he thought he needed more time to win her, nor that he feared to put his luck to the test. Rather it was because he, unlike Dorothea, was well versed in the ways of the ton. He could not be entirely sure of her answer, so he had to consider the possibility that she would refuse him. As their courtship had been carried out in full view of all the gossips and scandalmongers, such an outcome at the height of the Season would place them both in an intolerable situation. In addition, Lady Merion, Fanshawe and Cecily, and Ferdie too would be made to feel highly uncomfortable.
His mood had lightened when he learned that Fanshawe was in a similar position. A much more easygoing individual than himself, Tony would not find the enforced restrictions quite as hard to bear. Cecily, too, was as yet too young to do other than enjoy every moment as it came. Dorothea was another matter. While she never in any way encouraged him, she nevertheless accepted with complete self-assurance every attention he bestowed upon her. He shrewdly guessed that, being older, more mature and definitely more independent than the general run of débutantes, she was more ready and more able to savour the delights of sophisticated lovemaking, to which he was only too willing to introduce her. Her passionate nature, which he wryly suspected she did not yet realise she possessed, was not going to help matters. It was at this point in his mental ramblings that his sense of humour had come to his rescue. How very ironic it all was!
He had quit their carriage in a much lighter mood than he had entered it, and the last shreds of despondency had been wafted away when he had seen Dorothea enter the ballroom.
Tangled Reins and Other Stories Page 11
