The following afternoon, a footman delivered a pair of beautifully embroidered gloves that fitted her without a wrinkle. There was no card, but Amy knew perfectly well where they had come from and she spent plenty of time thinking about it whilst she helped Patience to polish the windows. Common sense was all very well, she thought with a sigh, but the attentions of a rake were more exhilarating, even when she should know better.
‘Dear Sir Humphrey, please try to remember!’ Amy said. ‘It was only a week ago!’
It was the night of Lady Moon’s ball and Amy’s campaign to find the owner of the lottery ticket had begun in earnest. She had quizzed Bertie Hallam when he had called in Curzon Street that afternoon, and had been downcast to find that the ticket was not his. She had wanted it to belong to Bertie for it would have been so much more comfortable not to have had to speak to the others, particularly to Fleet and Joss Tallant. Unfortunately, this was precisely what she had to do.
Seeing a chance shortly after supper, she had lured Sir Humphrey Dainty out on to the terrace and had put the same question to him, only to discover that the absent-minded baronet simply could not remember.
‘Last week…Let me see…’ Sir Humphrey’s gaze darted away from Amy’s face and fixed rather desperately on the door of the card room. His body was tense as though he was going to dart off in the same direction. ‘Now, I might have had a lottery ticket…Or was that the private lottery to fund the Foundling Hospital? Yes, I do believe it was!’ He brightened. ‘I won two hundred and thirty pounds and doubled it at play the same night! What luck, eh?’
Amy tried not to drum her fingers impatiently on the stone balcony. She knew that Sir Humphrey had always had the most appalling memory. A neighbour of the Bainbridge family in Warwickshire, he had been perfectly suited to the life of country squire until a substantial inheritance had transformed him into an ardent gamester and transported him to the depths of London’s gambling clubs. The inheritance was long gone, but Sir Humphrey found himself unable to break away and return to the country.
‘Yes, Sir Humphrey,’ she said, struggling to erase the impatience from her tone, ‘but what about the most recent draw? Last week—’
‘Oh, no,’ Sir Humphrey said decisively, ‘I did not have a ticket for that. I was playing hazard with your brother at the Cocoa Tree, Miss Bainbridge.’
Amy began to realise that as long as they could measure time and place by Sir Humphrey’s gambling, they would stay on approximately the right track.
‘You are sure, Sir Humphrey, for this is very important. You might not have dropped a ticket when you came to play in Curzon Street a sennight ago?’
‘No, indeed,’ Sir Humphrey said again, fidgeting as though an invisible string was drawing him towards the card room, ‘for my pockets were to let that night. If I had had a lottery ticket I could have used it as a stake! So it follows I cannot have had one. There! I knew I should remember in the end.’
There was a certain logic to this explanation, Amy felt. It did not help her to find the missing lottery winner, but at least it eliminated the second of the four possibilities. As she watched Sir Humphrey make his impatient way back to the whist table she was tolerably certain that he was not the one. Two down and two to go. She had left the two most difficult until last, hoping that the mystery would be solved by then.
Amy sighed and walked slowly back through the long windows and into the ballroom. The long drapes stirred in the evening breeze. Inside the room the lights blazed and it was considerably hotter. A cotillion was in progress; Amy watched Amanda twirling in the arms of the Duke of Fleet. Her heart missed a beat at the thought of quizzing him about the lottery ticket, but she felt even more nervous at the thought of approaching the Earl of Tallant.
Amy accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing footman and stood in the shadow of the doorway, watching the ball. It was much the same as any ball she had attended during her come-out and she was certainly not overwhelmed with partners. She was wearing her other new purchase, a dress in jonquil silk. It had scarcely made the gentlemen sit up and notice her, but one or two had been kind enough to favour her with a dance and a little conversation. She had also had a chat with Anne Parrish, whom she had first seen on the night of the visit to Vauxhall. Amy felt a certain affinity with Lady Parrish; they were both outsiders in the ton, although surely Lady Parrish’s situation was far worse than hers, with the on dit going the rounds that Adam Parrish had never wanted to marry her and was dancing attendance on every lightskirt in town.
Across the ballroom, Lady Bainbridge was seated in a knot of chaperons, chatting nineteen to the dozen. The ostrich feathers in her turban waved gently. After a moment she turned and gave Amy a significant look. Mrs Vestey, Lady Amherst and Mrs Ponting all followed her gaze. Their mouths formed perfectly round, excited ‘ooohs.’ Amy rather suspected that she could guess the conversation, in which a certain fictitious Aunt Bessie was likely to figure. Her mother seemed utterly incapable of accepting that Amy was giving the money away, which made the discovery of the rightful owner of the thirty thousand pounds even more urgent. Amy placed her empty lemonade glass on the windowsill and turned to find the Duke of Fleet at her elbow.
‘Would you care to dance, Miss Bainbridge?’ Fleet was smiling down at her. Amy’s heart skipped a beat, but not because the Duke was so handsome and so charming and so utterly above her touch. She knew she was obliged to cross-question him about the lottery ticket. She had been dreading the moment and now there was no escape.
They exchanged a few of the usual commonplaces about the ball as they took their place in the set of country dances, then Amy plunged straight in.
‘We were most grateful for your escort home from the Guildhall last week, your Grace,’ she murmured.
‘I was glad to be of service,’ Fleet replied, with a smile and an eloquent glance in the direction of Amanda, who was further down the set. ‘I understand that you are an old school friend of Lady Spry, Miss Bainbridge? It must be pleasant for you both to have met up again.’
Amy reflected that it did not take a great deal of intellect to see which way the conversation would tend if the Duke had his way. It reminded her of her come-out season, when she had spent a vast amount of time chatting to Amanda’s hopeful admirers about her friend’s many charms. Without exception the men who had sought her out had done so to get closer to Amanda, just as the Duke was doing now. Unfortunately, she could not afford to indulge the Duke of Fleet on this occasion. She had a far more pressing matter to investigate.
‘Yes, of course, it is delightful to see Amanda again!’ she said brightly. ‘We are the greatest of friends. So tell me—were you attending the lottery draw at the Guildhall because you had a ticket of your own, your Grace?’
Fleet smiled down at her, his expression a little puzzled. ‘Yes, I was. I buy a ticket quite often. Miss Bainbridge, do you know if Lady Spry is to stay in Town for long? She would not vouchsafe her plans to me!’
Amy covered her irritation with a patient smile. If he could be persistent, so could she. ‘I am not certain what Amanda plans to do, your Grace. Perhaps you should apply directly to her for the information. Did your lottery ticket win anything?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ Amy could tell now that Fleet was definitely puzzled at her determination to pursue the subject. She knew she could not persist much further, for he was not a stupid man and might guess the reason that she was asking. It was difficult because she had to be absolutely certain—without giving away the fact that she was looking for the rightful owner of thirty thousand pounds.
‘But you are quite sure you did not win?’ she persevered. ‘You had your ticket with you?’
‘I had it with me and unfortunately it did not win,’ Fleet repeated. ‘What is this sudden interest in my gambling habits, Miss Bainbridge? One might imagine—’
Fortunately the dance obliged them to step apart at that moment and did not bring them together again for quite a while. When they finally met up again
the dance was coming to an end. There was a quizzical twinkle in the Duke’s eye as he bowed to her and he showed no signs of wanting to relinquish her company.
‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Bainbridge. Now, as for your interest in my lottery ticket—’
‘Oh, that was just idle curiosity on my part,’ Amy said, looking around for the chance of escape. She was not engaged for the next and could not immediately perceive a means to extricate herself.
‘I see.’ Fleet’s smile was rueful. ‘I confess that the subject interests me—’
‘Oh, I fear it does not interest me!’ Amy said with blatant untruth, hiding a yawn behind her fan. ‘You must know that I detest gambling, your Grace—’
‘I had heard as much,’ Fleet murmured, ‘which only makes your persistence on the topic all the more remarkable, Miss Bainbridge. However, if the subject bores you suddenly, I suppose I must let the matter go, for it would never do to vex a lady.’
Amy felt the relief wash over her. Thank goodness for the Duke’s good manners! Now all she had to do was to find a means of escape. Fleet had escorted her back to her rout chair but showed no signs of departing. Indeed, he was watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Amy felt flustered. She did not think that the Duke was interested in her for herself—after all, he had made his admiration for Amanda more than plain—but she knew she had piqued his curiosity with her unsubtle tactics on the dance floor. She was sure he would raise the topic of the lottery again in a moment so she fanned herself and commented that it was very hot and prayed for deliverance. It arrived, but not quite in the form that she had hoped.
‘I see Joss Tallant is coming over, no doubt with the intention of asking you to dance,’ Fleet murmured. ‘You are honoured, Miss Bainbridge! Joss never singles out any young ladies for his attention!’
Amy’s heart, which had just settled down to a steady beat, leapt into her throat again at his words. She turned her head and watched the Earl of Tallant as he came towards her across the room. She felt hot and shivery at the same time and found herself unable to pull her gaze away from him. It felt strange—she had not seen Joss for a couple of days, but he had seldom been far from her thoughts.
Nor was she the only one disturbed at Joss’s approach. The débutantes were scattering from before his path with a kind of enjoyable alarm. They need not have worried; Amy saw that he paid them not the slightest attention as he cut his way through the throng to her side.
‘Good evening, Joss.’ Fleet was looking amused as he looked from one to the other. ‘I assume you have come to wrest Miss Bainbridge from me?’
Joss bowed. ‘Good evening, Sebastian. Your servant, Miss Bainbridge. Would you care to dance?’
Fleet, obviously anticipating her acquiescence, smiled and wandered off. Amy would dearly have liked to cry off, but she knew that she had to speak to Joss. All the other candidates had fallen by the wayside and he alone must be the owner of the lottery ticket and the thirty-thousand-pound fortune. She had to tell him so. Besides, she had not yet thanked him for the gift of the gloves, improper as it was.
Beyond Joss’s shoulder she could see that her mother had broken off her conversation with the other chaperons, who were all watching with their mouths forming the same round, excited ‘ooohs’ as previously, though this time no doubt for a vastly different reason. She put her hand on Joss’s proffered arm.
‘Thank you, Lord Tallant. I shall be delighted.’
They moved towards the dance floor.
‘Thank you for the gift of the gloves,’ Amy said, a little shyly. ‘They are very pretty.’
‘I did not like to think of you wearing darned gloves,’ Joss said abruptly. He glanced down at her hand, where it rested on his sleeve. ‘I see that you do not wear them tonight. Did you not like them?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Amy darted a look at him. ‘It was just that I did not think that it would be quite proper.’
Joss smiled. For a second his hand covered hers. ‘It would not be, although there are many things more improper. If you like them, Miss Bainbridge, be damned to convention and wear them!’
It was only as they took their places on the floor that Amy realised that the orchestra was striking up for a waltz. She moved gingerly into Joss’s arms, not daring to look up into his face. The waltz was new since her come-out and, although she knew the steps, she had seldom danced it in public. The last time, she recalled, had been with an elderly General who had stepped on her feet several times and had utterly failed to make her feel as though she was lighter than air. Dancing with Joss was easy in one sense and difficult in another. Until that moment Amy had never experienced such an acute physical awareness in her whole life, and the feeling was overwhelming. She did not know whether to pull away from Joss in maidenly withdrawal, or relax into what promised to be a sinfully sensual experience.
Joss solved the problem for her by drawing her closer to him. Her cheek brushed his shoulder and for a second she was certain that his lips had touched her hair, and she had to close her eyes to compose herself whilst her feet moved with the mechanical perfection the waltz demanded. Inside she felt hot and vulnerable and somehow astounded at what was happening to her.
‘We seem to have managed to scandalise the entire ballroom simply by dancing together, Miss Bainbridge.’ Joss’s voice was low and edged with amusement. ‘I am sorry to have made you the focus of all eyes—unless you wished to be, of course.’
Amy glanced round and realised the truth of his words. Everyone was staring, the fans were fluttering, the débutantes whispering. Lady Bainbridge was so red in the face that Amy feared she might have a fit, and somehow the united horror of the crowd served to steady her for their outrage seemed so ridiculous. She looked up into Joss’s face.
‘I cannot see why there is such a fuss,’ she said. ‘We are but dancing, my lord.’
‘True.’ A whimsical smile touch Joss’s mouth. ‘Perhaps I should enlighten you, Miss Bainbridge. Firstly there is the fact that I seldom dance with débutantes, and when I do most people assume I am intending to seduce them.’
Amy raised her brows. ‘Then we need have no fear, for I am not a débutante.’
She heard him laugh. ‘Perhaps I should have phrased myself a little differently for the sake of clarity, if not propriety. How can I put this? Miss Bainbridge…’ he slanted a look down at her ‘…if I dance with any lady, the world assumes I am intending seduction.’
Amy smiled. ‘How extraordinary. That would be so exhausting for you, my lord. Can it possibly be true?’
‘No,’ Joss said ruefully, ‘but gossip seldom takes account of the truth, Miss Bainbridge.’
‘All the same, the gossip must have started somewhere, my lord.’
‘Ah, now there you have me.’ Joss smiled. ‘There is always some truth in rumour, I suppose. Are you sure you feel quite safe with me, Miss Bainbridge?’
‘Because the waltz is licentious and dangerous?’ Amy enquired.
‘Or because I am myself.’
Amy opened her eyes wide. ‘I do not fear for my safety in a crowded ballroom, sir.’
‘Very sensible. But you disappoint me, Miss Bainbridge. How is my rakish reputation to be maintained if you steadfastly refuse to believe in it?’
‘No doubt you will think of a way, my lord,’ Amy responded. ‘Besides, though you may fail to frighten me, there are a dozen young ladies in our vicinity who are only too willing to be terrified of you!’
‘You reassure me. However, when I wish to lose my dishonourable repute I shall come to see you. I am persuaded that it will melt away beneath such blistering common sense!’
They had completed one circuit of the floor and Amy was presented, once again, with her mother’s disapproving frown. It was extraordinary, quite as though she expected the Earl of Tallant to seduce her daughter there and then on the dance floor. Amy, reflecting on the foolishness of this, repressed a little regretful sigh.
‘So what was the second reason, my lord?
You said firstly we were scandalising everyone because of your reputation as a rake. So, secondly?’
‘Secondly, it will not have escaped the notice of anyone in the ballroom that I am enjoying your company, Miss Bainbridge.’ There was a strange expression on Joss’s face for a fleeting moment. ‘I doubt that anyone here will remember a like occasion.’
Amy felt a warmth steal through her. It was impossible not to feel flattered even if she was not sure of his sincerity. ‘Then I am honoured, my lord.’
A smile quirked Joss’s lips. ‘Cut line, Miss Bainbridge! I doubt you are! What is your opinion of me—a gambler and a wastrel…?’
‘And a rake, of course.’
‘I am obliged to you for reminding me. So you cannot be honoured by my attentions, given that you have a low opinion of all of those activities.’
Amy smiled back. ‘I was only trying to be kind.’
‘That is certainly a novelty for me.’ Joss inclined his head. ‘Let us change the subject before my esteem suffers any further blows. It is pleasant to see you out in society again, Miss Bainbridge. I thought that you lived quite retired these days?’
‘Generally I do, my lord,’ Amy returned, ‘but Lady Spry is up in London for a short while and persuaded me that I would enjoy the ball. I confess it is quite entertaining.’
‘Did you then expect that it would not be?’
‘Oh, no, not precisely.’ Amy hesitated. ‘I do not have happy memories of my début, my lord, for I was very shy and did not take.’
The Earl's Prize Page 11
