Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  ‘You certainly will,’ Mary Elliott conceded. ‘And you’ve put on a bit of weight — it suits you.’

  ‘Louisa suits me,’ he said boldly, taking her hand. His eyes travelled over her approvingly. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Her mother sniffed. ‘She looks better now she’s smiling. Go on, get on with you,’ she said, pushing them towards the door, but there was a suspicious brightness in her eyes as she watched Robert arranging Louisa’s mantle. ‘I’ll lock up when I’ve gone, so don’t be worrying. And for goodness’ sake have a good time!’ she ordered sternly.

  ‘We will,’ Robert promised. A few moments later, as the carriage pulled away, he turned to Louisa with tender concern. ‘Are you very nervous?’

  ‘Worse than having a tooth pulled,’ she admitted, and tightly gripped his hand. Closing her eyes, she sank back into the seat, trying to concentrate on the steady, rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves, willing the tight knot of tension away.

  Watching her in the half-light, long curling lashes soft against the faint flush of her cheek, Robert felt a glow of possessive pride. The diamond and sapphire brooch held a small corsage of white rose buds, and around her neck, so white and slender, hung an oval locket on a thin gold chain. Recalling her agonies of indecision over the brooch, he smiled; in the strident glitter of necklets and tiaras, bracelets, rings and pendants, Louisa’s discreet display of jewellery would seem small indeed. Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he glanced at his watch.

  ‘We’ve timed it right, I think. Tommy said he’d be there and waiting on the half-hour, and it’s just past that now. There’ll be enough arriving to cover our entrance.’

  Louisa shivered. They were passing the end of Gillygate, and she suddenly wished herself at home, tucked up before the fire with a good book and a pot of cocoa. In spite of the brandy, she was cold again, and inside her new gloves, her hands were clammy with fear.

  ‘I know you’re frightened,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t be. There’s nothing to be afraid of — Tommy and I will take good care of you.’

  The Minster’s twin towers rose palely into the night and Louisa offered up a silent prayer for any kind of deliverance. None was forthcoming, and narrow Blake Street was already thronged with carriages, many of them liveried. They passed the Assembly Rooms and turned at the junction with Stonegate to join the queue. Each minute seemed an aeon; eventually, when she thought she could bear the suspense no longer, their conveyance halted before the entrance.

  With pounding heart, Louisa waited for Robert to alight and hand her down, waited hours until his hand beneath her elbow guided her up pillared steps into the Assembly Rooms’ oval foyer. True to his word, Tommy Fitzsimmons awaited them, a pair of ladies by his side, sisters by their similarity of feature and attire.

  Afterwards, Louisa felt sure they were introduced, but at the time, with ears deaf and eyes blind, scarcely able to breathe, she registered nothing beyond the security of Robert’s presence. Uniformed servants took their cards and dealt with the ladies’ cloaks. The frond of a potted palm touched Louisa’s arm and she jerked away as though stung; Robert’s fingers tightened, and as they moved forward, he murmured reassuringly.

  ‘You’re doing beautifully, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘Just keep it up for another minute or two.’ He turned to face her, holding out one white-gloved hand. Almost imperceptibly, it was trembling. ‘You see? Me too.’ But his eyes, blue with that peculiar intensity only excitement engendered, crinkled into a smile, and she thought miserably that he was enjoying the fear.

  In the reception room, the little party ran the gauntlet of all but the very senior officers; dazzled by that array of scarlet and gold, Louisa felt her face stiff in a half-smile as Robert introduced her to friends and colleagues. While he smiled and joked, she stood rigid beside him, fingers tight around her fan. A dozen paces, no more, as many moments which dragged like hours until that bright, circular room, with its ring of interested onlookers, was behind them.

  The next room was another world entirely. She paused, terror momentarily suspended, caught by the sheer unexpectedness of it: softly lit, draped with silks and damasks of oriental splendour, it was like a picture from the Arabian Nights. Giant palms shadowed intimate groups of tables; smaller ones, with azaleas and ferns, formed secluded arbours, while here and there amongst the greenery, like members of some Sultan’s seraglio, brilliantly-clad ladies fanned themselves, covertly watching each new arrival. Beyond, through a screen of drapery and leaves the vast Egyptian Hall awaited the first waltz, its soaring Corinthian columns illumined by thirteen crystal chandeliers.

  Nodding pleasantly to more than a dozen acquaintances, Tommy led the way. With Robert, he had already previewed the arrangements. After some discreet haggling, Tommy’s contact on the Ball Committee had placed his name upon the requested table. It was secluded, yet had had an excellent view of the main ballroom.

  As they sat down, Robert whispered: ‘What do you think of it?’

  Louisa’s lips curved into their first smile. ‘I feel like Scheherezade,’ she admitted, her eyes sparkling as she caught his swift glance.

  He chuckled. ‘I’m not interested in fairy-tales – you’ll have to think of something else to keep me amused! Anyway,’ he added dryly, picking up her dance-card as a distraction, ‘you’re supposed to be impressed. They’ve spared no expense, you know.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she insisted. ‘The ladies will love it.’

  ‘No doubt,’ he agreed, casting a practised eye over the gathered company. ‘Most of them are dressed to match…’ With an indulgent smile, he patted her hand, proud of her simple elegance amongst all that finery. ‘I shall have to play my part, of course, and dance with some of them. But you won’t be short of partners.’

  With a smile, he begged the pleasure of a dance with each of Tommy’s ladies, and like puppets operating on the same strings, they handed over their cards, embellished with the Royal Garter surmounted by the French Imperial Eagle, symbol of the one captured at the Battle of Waterloo.

  Stylish and pretty, Amelia and Flora, the Misses Conyingham, were alike enough to have been twins, and so attuned that one would begin a sentence only for the other to finish it. Louisa was amazed by the complete lack of rivalry between them, for they were clearly besotted by Tommy Fitzsimmons. With the benign ease of an Eastern Potentate, Tommy basked in their dual adoration, apparently regarding it as no more than his due. Aside from sharing an occasional twitchy grin with Louisa, Robert gave nothing away of his opinions. She began to wonder if the opulent atmosphere was to blame; if it had suspended normally rational behavior. Then it occurred to her that for them, perhaps, this was normal. She was faintly shocked, but could not have said why.

  Tommy addressed the sisters as one, and after a while, Louisa found herself doing the same. Amelia and Flora were pleasant in return, although apparently incurious, too interested in Tommy and the stream of new arrivals to pay more than polite attention to the couple who shared their table.

  Quietly, for Louisa’s benefit, Robert named some of the more distinguished guests being escorted to central tables, titles tripping easily off his tongue. Lords and ladies seemed commonplace, and there were enough colonels to staff a dozen regiments. County names like Fawkes and Fairfax, Deramore and Howard were scattered throughout the room, familiar to her through society gossip columns. Some had been regular visitors to that decaying mansion in the North Riding where she had been the governess. She found herself more titillated by the novelty of being among them as a guest than seriously afraid of recognition, but she kept her eyes open for the Bainbridges.

  As his commanding officer’s party entered with the Lord Mayor and other civic dignitaries, Robert pressed Louisa’s hand. He drew her attention to an officer who seemed remarkably young amongst that group of older men and their full-bodied wives.

  ‘There you are,’ he whispered. ‘His Serene Highness, Prince Francis of Teck. Great-grandson to George the Third.’

/>   Louisa was unexpectedly overawed by that succinct utterance, and also faintly surprised. ‘I thought his family were German?’ she murmured.

  ‘The Georges were German, weren’t they?’ he reminded her with a grin, deliberately misconstruing her question. ‘No, you’re right. His father’s German, mother first cousin to Her Majesty. But Francis was born and educated over here. Far more English than I am,’ Robert added with a mischievous grin. ‘But he’s decent enough. He has a sense of humour, at least.’

  ‘I should think he needs one, the company he keeps,’ Louisa murmured, gazing at those well-fed, over-dignified faces. ‘Is it true, Robert, that his sister will marry the Duke of York?’

  With a show of secrecy, he leaned close. ‘I have it on good authority that an announcement is expected any day.’

  Half to herself, she said softly: ‘So Mr Tempest was right,’ and felt rather than saw Robert’s sudden stiffening at mention of that name. ‘He said the Princess May was too valuable a property to end her days a spinster.’ With a humourless smile, she added: ‘Poor Rachel was horrified. Which reminds me – have you seen her? Or any of the Bainbridges?’

  Robert shook his head. ‘There are three hundred guests here tonight – with luck, we won’t see them, and they won’t see us.’

  There was a momentary lull in both music and voices as the first dance, a Viennese waltz, was announced. The Colonel and his wife led their most eminent guests out onto the floor; Prince Francis followed with a girl so embarrassingly plain that Louisa was overwhelmed with pity. But as they danced past, she saw that he was smiling and that his partner was enjoying her moment of glory. As more couples took the floor, she watched entranced, dazzled by jewels which sparkled and winked under those brilliant chandeliers, mesmerised by the swirl and sweep of soft silk and frothy lace. Graceful ladies in rainbow colours, their hosts in scarlet and gold, narrow dark trousers slashed by a broad yellow stripe which somehow lent inches to them all. The other men, in evening dress of sombre black and white, were quite outfaced.

  The music was hypnotic, drawing more and more dancers into its thrall, until Robert was touching her arm, reminding her that this first waltz, like the last, was his. Nervous, almost panic-stricken now the moment of truth had come, she hesitated, but he drew her on and into his arms.

  The first few circuits were a blur of heady delight at finding she could dance after all; of sheer pleasure in the music, and most of all joy at being held in Robert’s arms in a public place with his smiling face so close to hers. She had a sensation of lightness, of floating round and round, born up by the melody and those firmly guiding hands. As intoxication took the place of terror, she understood why he had been so eager to share this evening with her. She felt free, deliciously and delightfully so, and the Bainbridge family, complete with Rachel Tempest, were forgotten.

  ‘I thought you said you couldn’t dance?’ Robert demanded as the music ended, and she laughed with delight, in love with the whole world. Looking down at her, Robert thought that he had never loved her more; she was beside him at last, just as he had longed for her to be, happy and unselfconscious, and very, very lovely. On a wave of possessive pride he escorted her back to their table, smiling down into those brightly shining eyes; quite without thinking, he slid his arm around her waist.

  Tommy shook his head in an eloquent mime of reproof, while across the room two pairs of eyes watched in horrified fascination. Arthur Bainbridge tapped his wife’s hand, enquiring with a smirk whether she had seen a ghost. Irritably, Rachel snatched her hand away and turned at once to her sister-in-law.

  ‘It couldn’t be anyone else, could it?’

  ‘I hardly think so. The right height, the right hair –’

  ‘It can’t be her!’ Rachel hissed. ‘Not with him. I don’t believe it!’

  Sophie screwed up her eyes, trying to be sure. ‘It is, you know. I told you I saw them together at Christmas, at the Exhibition.’

  Peering between the palm-fronds, Rachel gave a little huff of disgust. ‘I suppose that’s another of her sister’s gowns – poor Blanche must be working all hours for her. Wait a minute...’

  Sophie craned her neck. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘She’s wearing diamonds — no! Look, Sophie, that brooch. Wait till she moves – there — did you see the flash? Diamonds, I’ll lay my life on it!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Rachel. They must be paste. Where would she get diamonds?’

  Almost unconsciously, Rachel fingered her tiny drop earrings and the pendant at her throat. ‘Where do any of us get them?’ she murmured under her breath.

  ‘They must be paste,’ Sophie said again. ‘She looks very fine, though, doesn’t she? You’d never think she was just a governess.’

  But Rachel was watching Robert Duncannon, that seemingly unattainable man; reading every gesture, his laughter and attentiveness, the ease with which he conversed with her former companion. She was suddenly seized with fury. The Captain had attended her little soirees on occasion, but never had she seen him so animated. That he should be so besotted by that plain, dull old spinster was insufferable; and yet, watching her again, Rachel saw that she was far from plain in that elegant gown, far from dull in the way she responded to her partner.

  ‘What I’d like to know,’ Sophie said, ‘is how she managed to get an invitation. Papa had trouble enough getting tickets for us.’

  From the infinite superiority of her married state, Rachel clicked her tongue at Sophie’s naivety. ‘I’d have thought it was obvious,’ she said nastily. ‘She’s his mistress, of course.’

  On an indrawn breath, her sister-in-law turned shocked eyes back to the dance-floor. ‘Oh, goodness, Rachel, do you really think so?’

  ‘He’ll never marry her, of course – well, he couldn’t possibly, could he? I mean, the Elliotts are nothing,’ she said disparagingly, ‘they don’t even have money. Her mother only keeps an old boarding house on Gillygate. Or is it a bawdy house?’ she whispered slyly. ‘One can never be sure.’

  Sophie’s sudden giggles covered Hugh Darnley’s departure from behind Rachel’s chair. Faintly disturbed, he went in search of Robert Duncannon.

  ‘To smile like that — with your heart in your eyes — is folly,’ said Tommy as the next dance paired him momentarily with Louisa. ‘It reveals too much.’

  She laughed. ‘I can’t help it – I’m having such a wonderful time.’

  ‘Take care,’ he whispered, passing her back to Robert, but she smiled at him, refusing to see danger amongst that pleasure-loving crowd.

  ‘I’m promised to Lady Haygarth next,’ Robert said. ‘She has a multitude of nieces, so don’t worry if I don’t get back to you immediately.’

  Before he left, however, a young Lieutenant presented himself with a deferential air and begged the honour of any dance Louisa might have free. Privately, she suspected Robert of connivance, but he resolutely refused to meet her eyes, and with a twinkling grin took himself off.

  As the young man escorted her through the crowd, Louisa caught sight of Hugh Darnley, soft spaniel eyes anxious as he followed first Robert’s retreating figure and then turned to look at her. Something made her hesitate, but the music was beginning and her partner was waiting; with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Louisa gathered up the train of her gown and took the floor.

  Although shy, he was a more than adequate partner. Feigning ignorance, Louisa asked him to explain the standards and banners ranged beside the orchestra. She declared she was impressed by the two glittering stars of swords which faced the entrance to the ballroom, even more so by the names of famous battles and campaigns adorning the corner pillars: Dettingen, Peninsular, Waterloo and Balaclava. Names to conjure innumerable history lessons, she said; but those lessons now seemed real. Only moments before, Robert had been telling her about the eve of Waterloo. There had been a ball that night, and some young lady — Irish, Robert said, from Kilkenny — had begged leave to gird on Wellington’s sword. It could have seemed m
elodramatic; but here, eighty years later, she could sense the echoes, and the gesture did not seem strange at all.

  She caught a fleeting glimpse of Robert, eyes shining as he waltzed past; imagined Waterloo just a few short hours away, and him going off into battle…

  With a silent admonition, she grasped the young Lieutenant’s hand more firmly and followed him into the turn; and there, without warning, for a brief, heart-stopping moment, was Rachel Tempest.

  Fifteen

  Those few seconds blunted the rest of the evening, dulling the shining edge of it, so that she danced and smiled mechanically, all the time imagining those eyes boring into her back. Robert introduced her to colleagues and acquaintances, and because his reputation was that of a solitary widower, there were indulgent, knowing smiles, whispered queries and more than a few critical stares from disappointed mothers of marriageable daughters. Doing his best to make her laugh, Tommy tried to provide something of a smokescreen, claiming her for a polka and a lancers, flirting quite outrageously as they danced.

  Supper, laid out in the adjoining concert room, was a delight to the eye, designed to tempt even the most jaded palate. Until she spied the Bainbridge party, Louisa had at least been trying to eat, but at sight of Rachel, in frothy lilac lace and playing to the crowd, what remained of her appetite fled. Then a glance from Hugh Darnley broke through her bright facade, threatening to undo the act she thought she had perfected. To bolster it, Louisa drained her glass. She wondered about Tommy’s ladies, and knew, in spite of self-absorbed indifference, that their curiosity would be aroused once Rachel started to talk. Abruptly, she asked for another glass of wine, and despite Robert’s look of concern, drained that too.

  By the time they left the Assembly Rooms, shortly after two, she was more than a little tipsy and positively silly with relief. The sudden giggles which assailed her in the carriage just as suddenly deserted her once they were home. The two flights of stairs assumed Matterhorn proportions, but she climbed them unaided, then collapsed in a state of utter exhaustion. With infinite patience, Robert undressed her and put her to bed, propping pillows behind her for fear she would be sick. He wanted to stay, but he was in uniform and Harris was waiting up for him. Eventually, a little after three, he took the cab back to Fulford.