by Amanda Scott
“Oh, my dear, you must not stay. Your papa has said he means to visit me before he retires.”
“What, is Papa at home?”
“Oh, was there ever such a fix? He is, indeed. He was here when we returned. Oh, Brittany, what a dreadful row there was, to be sure. First, all the way home in the carriage, do what I would to stop them, and then here, in the front hall of all places, with servants hovering at every pillar and doorpost, no doubt, to hear every word. Not that that stopped your father, of course. He thinks of servants as though they were no more than bits of the household furniture.”
“Papa! I thought you were speaking of Alicia and Tony when you mentioned a row. Give over, Mama, he was not in the carriage with you.”
“No, of course not. How absurd you are. He was here, of course, and that wretched Faringdon would not leave well enough alone, though I practically ordered him to go home. He might have gone, of course, had not your idiotish sister flung more accusations at him, saying he was gaming what little money he had left away to fools like Sir Reginald and would not be able to keep you in a cottage if he did not watch his pocketbook, let alone keep you in the sort of home you deserve. Which is true enough, I suppose. He is not an altogether steady young man. But of course, he paid no mind to what she said. He just went for her again, and he was still bellowing at her when we entered the house. I no sooner turned to request that Pinchbeck show him out again, when your father erupted into the hall from his bookroom—and what he was doing there when I heard him say distinctly that he meant to spend the evening at White’s, I cannot say, but it is just the sort of thing he would do, just to overset one’s nerves. He came in at the very moment that doltish Faringdon was shouting at Alicia that whatever he might do he was certainly not fool enough to go snooping on a man who was in the midst of paying a state visit to the Prince Regent.”
“Oh, Lord,” muttered Brittany, “so Papa knows all.”
“Well, you need not say that like we were discussing the several acts of a melodrama,” said the duchess tartly.
“Not a melodrama, ma’am, a farce,” said Brittany, unable to still her tongue.
The duchess glared at her briefly, then sighed. “No doubt you are right, but I do wish Alicia would behave herself at least until after our ball. Your father very nearly ordered her to keep to her bedchamber for a week this time. Indeed, he did command her to stay there until he has the time and patience to deal with her, and you must know, my dear, that since he rarely has either the time or the patience to attend to matters he does not wish to attend to, poor Alicia could be fixed in her room for a good deal longer than a week. Oh, whatever are we to do?”
Brittany laughed. “Do not fret, ma’am. If he did not beat her on the spot, with Tony no doubt egging him on to do just that, I doubt he will do very much to her at all.”
“Well, you are right about Faringdon urging him on,” said the duchess tartly. “Indeed, I had thought Alicia was for it until your young man said straight out that if your papa did not take a birch rod to her for her actions, then he was as crazy as Alicia.”
“Merciful heavens,” said Brittany, awed.
“You may well say so. Your papa turned on him instead of Alicia, and I fear that your young Faringdon has never suffered such a tongue-lashing as he received then. Halfway through, your papa ordered Alicia to seek her bed and not to let him see her face before morning. Then he ordered me off as well and said he would come to me later. But that was over an hour ago—no, no, quite more than that—and he still has not come.”
“Then he has forgotten that he meant to speak to you, or he has run out of words for speaking. Was he still shouting at Tony when you came away?”
The duchess nodded. “He fairly pushed him into the bookroom and said he wasn’t finished with him, not by a long chalk. Oh, Brittany, you do not think he can have suffered an apoplectic seizure, do you?”
Brittany chuckled, for the thought had already occurred to her, only to be dismissed. “Tony would have told someone, Mama, no matter how much Papa had made him smart. Moreover, even if Tony did not, the moment he left, Pinchbeck will certainly have looked in upon Papa to see if he required refreshment.”
“Yes, of course, for his throat is always parched after he loses his temper, and no one knows that better than Pinchbeck.” The duchess heaved a long sigh of relief, then regarded her daughter unhappily. “You ought to know, dear, that once Papa had released the worst of his fury, he seemed to be rather angrier that Faringdon had left you to your own devices in order to push his way into Alicia’s affairs than at anything else. That is not precisely the way he phrased the matter, of course, but …” Here the duchess’s voice trailed away, and she seemed reluctant to look at her daughter.
Brittany sighed. “Do not fret about that either, ma’am. Everything will work out as it is meant to, you know. I will leave you now, so that you may rest, and if it will put your mind at ease, I shall send to discover if Papa has retired.”
The duchess nodded fervently, and Brittany was soon able to tell her that all was well. Her father was, on the word of his own valet, fast asleep in his bed.
In her bedchamber, Brittany’s thoughts returned briefly to the scene at Almack’s, to her uncharacteristic fit of temper and Cheriton’s look of fury as she left him sitting with orgeat trickling through his dark hair onto his cheeks and stiff white collar. She realized now that after carefully avoiding discussion with Arabella, she had nearly committed the folly of revealing all to the duchess upon her return. She had meant only to discuss possible reasons for her unusual and most confusing behavior, but since that would very likely have led her to reveal her plan to bring Faringdon and Alicia together, it was as well that circumstances had prevented her from opening the topic at all. And since she still knew not what to make of it all, she did what she could to put it out of her mind until exhaustion claimed her at last.
The following morning, Brittany hesitated a moment before entering the breakfast parlor, for fear that she might inadvertently walk in on her father’s confrontation with Alicia. But the silence reassured her that all was well, and inside she found Alicia and Arabella alone at the table. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows on the eastern side of the room, splashing color across the Aubusson rug and bringing out polished highlights on the gleaming tabletop.
Arabella smiled at her. “Mama has sent word that she means to breakfast in her bedchamber.”
“Coward,” Alicia said. “She thought Papa would be scolding me all the morning.”
“He seems not to have scolded you at all,” Brittany retorted.
“On the contrary, he said a good deal last night and a bit more this morning,” Alicia said. “I came downstairs when I learned he was eating his breakfast, because I didn’t think it would suit me to remain a prisoner in my bedchamber until he chanced to remember I was there.”
“He didn’t punish you?”
Alicia shrugged. “I am to remain indoors today, but he seems to have run out of energy after last night. Tony drew most of his fire then. What little I got today was but pale stuff by comparison.”
“Well, you ought to be ashamed to have led Tony before the gun, and ashamed as well for distressing Mama as you have,” Brittany told her sternly as she turned to help herself from the hot platters on the sideboard. “I’ll have another cup of chocolate, please, William. And Alicia,” she added when the interested footman had left the room, “it would be as well if you would remember not to speak so candidly before servants.”
“Well, I like that, when you did the very same thing just now yourself,” retorted her sister. “Not to mention your very pretty behavior last night. Oh, yes,” she added when Brittany looked startled, “Bella told me.”
“Traitor.” Brittany glared at Arabella as she moved to take her place at the table, but she knew better than to say any more on that topic. “Is your gown for the ball finished, Bella?”
“I mean to visit Monique today to find out,” Arabella replie
d, grinning at her. “I want some Brussels lace for it, but of course, she says it is impossible to get with the duties so high and that she’d lose her shop if she were caught with smuggled goods. I know if Mama were to ask her, she would produce ells of the stuff on the spot, but she will not do so for me.”
“Have you looked at those old dresses in the attics?” Brittany asked her. “You know, the ones Mama wore when she was a girl? They were loaded with lace, for it was before the duties went on, of course. We can search through the trunks and more than likely come up with enough to do the trick. I’ll help you immediately after breakfast if you like.”
“No, not then, for we have promised to call upon Aunt Uffington, and we must also visit Lady Cowper, for we have not called since the Castlereaghs’ party. It would be most remiss of us to delay much longer. Perhaps this afternoon?”
“Very well, but you ought to take it to Monique as quickly as possible, you know, for she will say she does not have the time to sew it on otherwise. You can send a footman with it this afternoon, I suppose.”
But when they returned from paying their morning calls, they discovered the duchess entertaining a roomful of visitors, mostly male, who had called in hopes of finding the younger ladies at home. As they entered the drawing room, they discovered Pinchbeck on the point of emerging.
He spoke in an undertone to Brittany. “If it please you, miss, there’s another.”
“What’s that, Pinchbeck?” She followed him farther into the room to discover that he had left a silver salver upon one of the side tables near the settee where her mother was holding court. A small, elegantly wrapped gift box rested upon the salver. “Gracious, what now?” Eagerly, she opened the box to discover an exquisitely formed cloisonné violet on a slim gold chain. “Oh, how lovely!”
“What’s that, Tani?” Arabella had followed them and now moved to look over her shoulder. “Is there a card?”
“Yes, here. It was under the box.” Brittany opened the card. “Listen to this: ‘A violet by a mossy stone/Half hidden from the eye!/—Fair as a star, when only one/Is shining in the sky.’” She glanced up rather guiltily when she had finished, her gaze rapidly scanning the room. But Faringdon was not one of the guests.
“He has gone out of town,” said a familiar voice gently at her side. Cheriton, too, had moved closer when Arabella had done so.
Color rushed into Brittany’s cheeks as her gaze met his and she remembered the way she had left him the previous evening. Though he no longer seemed so blazingly angry, the steady look she received from under that jutting brow made it difficult for her to trust her instincts. “W-what do you mean, sir?” Her voice shook, and she stepped a little away from him, hoping that distance would stop the prickling sensation in her skin. One moment it was as though his nearness sent chills racing through her, and the next as though fire had replaced the cold.
“My words were plain enough, ma’am.” It was the sudden chill in his voice that made her feel cold, not his presence, she decided, as he continued, “Faringdon, odd though it may seem to those of us who know him best, has gone into the country in order to look into some of his business affairs.”
“I see.” She did not see, of course, for Faringdon had never before displayed the least interest in such matters, but perhaps Alicia’s strictures on his conduct had taken root and he intended to take control of his own affairs at last. If so, it would be a very good sign.
“Will he return in time for our ball?” Alicia demanded, having unabashedly moved close enough to eavesdrop on Cheriton’s statement.
He bowed. “That I cannot tell you, ma’am, for I do not know. My best guess is that he will find he knows so little of how his affairs are managed that he will be out of town for a month at least.” He turned then to Brittany, leaving Alicia with her mouth agape. “You will also have to excuse me from the festivities on Tuesday. My mother’s last few letters have been a trifle distressing. She is entirely too cheerful to suit me.”
“Too cheerful, sir?” Dismayed by his casual reference to the fact that he would miss their ball, Brittany repeated these words rather more automatically than with true interest. “How can that be?”
His smile was forced and his gaze seemed to search hers. “I daresay you will not understand, ma’am, but there is a certain flavor to her words that leads me to believe she is dissimulating, trying in fact to make me believe that she does not fret over my continued absence.”
“Really, sir,” Alicia said, “your mama must know her own mind. She is not a child, after all. Men are so foolish. What can have possessed that idiotish Faringdon to leave town at such a time as this?”
Cheriton’s eyes had narrowed ominously at her reference to his mother, but he glanced now at Brittany, and the look softened. “I daresay my absence will distress neither of you, but I did want to make my excuses to your mama.”
“Your own affairs are more important than ours, of course,” Brittany said stiffly, turning away rather more quickly than was consistent with common civility. She moved blindly, certain despite that brief change in his expression that he was still angry with her. Of course, she reminded herself, she had given him excellent cause to be. No doubt he was quite unaccustomed to having orgeat presented to him in such a fashion as she had presented it, and he was simply punishing her. Still, that was scarcely reason enough to desert poor Alicia and poor Arabella practically on the eve of their come-out ball.
“Here, Brittany, are you all right?” It was Sir Reginald speaking, and he caught her by the elbow.
She stared up at him, bewildered for a moment, then recollected herself. “Oh, yes, of course, I was woolgathering, I’m afraid. What was it you were saying, sir?”
When next she turned around, Cheriton was gone. She found it difficult to swallow. There seemed to be a lump in her throat. Perhaps she ought to have apologized to him, especially since she found it impossible now to remember why on earth she had poured her drink over him. But she had little time to indulge herself in the luxury of examining her feelings, for as soon as the guests had gone at last, Arabella demanded her assistance in searching the attics for lace. And when they had found what they sought, the material was scarcely in a fit state to be sewn onto a gown.
“It will have to be washed and ironed,” Arabella said, distraught. “What on earth shall we do, Tani? Monique will never agree to do that. She will simply fling up her hands in that odiously French way of hers and refuse to touch it. And it is rather musty; so perhaps it will not suit, after all.”
“Don’t be a goose, Bella. Where is your usual practicality when we most need it? What, pray, would you say to Lissa if she were the one whining about musty lace?”
Arabella gave herself a shake. “You are quite right. I cannot think what came over me to let such a little thing beset me like that. For some reason I am quite out-of-reason agitated about this ball. Mama’s megrims are no doubt contagious.”
Brittany laughed. “Now you are being foolish, my dear. There is nothing in the least unnatural about fretting over the details of your first ball. We shall simply turn this lot over to Sarah and your Bess, and they will see that it is properly washed and ironed. It won’t get to Monique before tomorrow, but that still gives her several days in which to stitch it to your gown.”
“Oh, but I cannot send a footman with it at such a late date,” Arabella said, “and I simply cannot face her again with more demands, Tani. The woman positively intimidates me.”
“All the more reason to send a footman. She will not intimidate William or John.”
“No, but she will pay them little heed either. What if she merely tells whichever one we send to inform his mistress that what she wishes to have done cannot be done. Neither William nor John would dare to debate the matter with her.”
“No,” Brittany agreed. “’Tis a pity we cannot send Pinchbeck. I would back him against any Frenchwoman.” When Arabella merely gazed at her anxiously and did not so much as smile at the sally, she sighed. “Ve
ry well, Bella, I will take it ’round to Monique first thing in the morning and I will see to it as well that she does precisely as you wish with it.”
Once the lace had been given into the competent hands of Sarah Basehart, Brittany turned her mind firmly to the evening ahead, telling herself that it would be relaxing to go an entire evening without being forced to listen to the bickering of Faringdon and Alicia or to have to deal with Cheriton’s chilly looks. It was one thing to have him annoyed with her for dousing him with orgeat, but she knew, too, that there was more to his present attitude than that. For some reason unbeknownst to her, he persisted in behaving as though she had done something distasteful by attempting to show her sister and Faringdon that they cared for each other. Unable to imagine why he should feel so, she was put out with him nonetheless because his attitude made her feel guilty. Very foolish, she decided. In future she would not allow his opinions to distress her. After all, a gentleman who suffered from the sort of unnatural attachment to his mother that Cheriton displayed no doubt had little understanding of women nearer himself in age.
By the time the ladies had returned from what had been a dull evening—for two of them at least—Brittany had grown tired of trying to convince herself that she was merely a trifle upset by the fact that neither her betrothed nor the gentleman she had come to look upon as an intimate friend was likely to grace Arabella’s and Alicia’s come-out ball. She was angry, and she knew she would be wise to admit the fact and to consider the reasons for her anger objectively, rather than pretend to any other emotion; however, she found no comfort at all in this train of thought. So it was that when Sarah advised her to place ice bags over her eyes the following morning in order to ease their unbecoming redness, she fairly snapped at the woman to get out and leave her in peace.
