by Sandra Heath
Camilla’s Conscience
Sandra Heath
Chapter 1
It was the end of March 1814, and there was a grand ball at Carlton House. Two thousand guests thronged the Prince Regent’s London residence to applaud peace in Europe, and to celebrate the betrothal of the prince’s only child, Princess Charlotte, to the hereditary Prince of Orange. An air of excitement exuded the whole capital, for the coming summer would not only see a royal wedding, but also momentous visits by the Czar of Russia and the Emperor of Prussia.
The ball was an unbearable crush that soon proved too much for Lady Camilla Summerton. After nearly two years of self-imposed exile on her late husband’s Gloucestershire estate, she’d lost her taste for the social whirl, and as soon as politeness allowed, she slipped away from the ballroom to seek a quiet corner. The jeweled circlet around her forehead felt uncomfortably tight, and she wished she’d chosen a lighter gown than the green velvet.
She had long dark hair, a creamy complexion, and expressive brown eyes, and at thirty-five her slender figure was the envy of many younger women. She was considered striking rather than beautiful, and as the daughter of the late Earl and Countess of Southwell was aristocratic to her fingertips, but she no longer felt at home among the haut ton. She’d only been in London for a week, staying at an elegant rented house in Cavendish Square, but was already chafing to return to the seclusion of Summerton Park.
Pausing at the bottom of the ballroom steps, she looked back at the glittering chamber. Memories flooded painfully over her. She’d met Harry on these steps fifteen years ago. How old it made her feel. And how lonely. Elizabeth had been right; leaving the country was a monumental error of judgment.
Gathering her skirts determinedly, she hurried away toward the nearest door, passing through anteroom after anteroom until at last there were hardly any guests to be seen. Her destination was a little-used music room at the end of the house, but as she reached the door she heard a playful giggle coming from beyond it. Lovers, she thought instinctively, but as she paused with her hand on the handle, someone called behind her.
“Camilla! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The woman who’d addressed her was Lady Elizabeth Oxforth, the friend who’d wisely advised her against coming to town again. Camilla turned and smiled. “It seems you’ve found me, Elizabeth.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help but be conscious of the dismayed silence that suddenly descended over the music room. Evidently those inside went in fear of imminent discovery.
Elizabeth hurried over in a flurry of purple taffeta. There were plumes springing from her honey-colored hair, and she shimmered with diamonds. For a long time she’d reigned supreme as the unchallenged belle of London society, but had become a little rounded over the past year or so. “Are you enjoying tonight?” she asked as she reached Camilla.
Honesty was the best policy. “Actually no, it’s a horrid press and full of far too many memories. I wish I’d never left Summerton Park.”
“I did warn you, although it escapes me how anyone can be so happy buried away in the wilds of the country, especially in a house that is more oriental temple than anything else.”
“I loathe people who say ‘I told you so,’ and as to Summerton Park being an oriental temple”—Camilla smiled—“well, I suppose I have to concede that point as well.”
“You can’t deny it. I vow a Peking mandarin would feel quite at home in that neck of Gloucestershire.”
“Perhaps he would, but so do I.”
Elizabeth smoothed her long white gloves and changed the subject. “There was a time when you’d have positively reveled in an occasion like tonight.”
Camilla drew a long breath. “I know, I just didn’t think it would be so hollow without Harry.”
“Ah, yes. Harry.” Elizabeth lowered her glance for a moment, but then went on more briskly. “Well, in spite of your wretchedness about being here, I have to compliment you on your togs and coiffure. You look very elegant and fetching, if a little pale.”
“I may have dressed elegantly tonight, but I certainly haven’t dressed wisely. It was very silly to wear this green velvet, and as for a circlet...!” Camilla flicked open her fan and employed it for a moment. There was still a very intriguing silence from behind the door. She knew the room. It was part of a small single-story wing built on to the rear of the house and was lit by a colored glass lantern roof that couldn’t be opened, which meant that whoever was inside couldn’t leave except by the door.
Elizabeth didn’t notice her interest in the room. “How do you keep your figure so trim? I believe I loathe you, you wretch. There’s far too much of me these days, but I daresay it’s the price of having children.”
“How are the boys?”
“Gaining notoriety at Eton. Eton already, it makes me feel like Methuselah,” Elizabeth sighed. “How I long for those halcyon days of yore when I was Lady Elizabeth de Marne, the belle of three successive seasons. It was so wonderful to be pursued by every eligible gentleman in London.”
“As I recall, you were quite adept at doing the pursuing yourself, indeed it’s a pastime you’ve continued all through your married life,” Camilla reminded her.
Elizabeth smiled a little wickedly. “One has to do something when one’s husband is more devoted to the green baize than his wife. George and I have a very sensible marriage—we only turn to each other in bed when there’s nothing better to do.”
“You’re far too cruel about George.” Camilla smiled. “By the way, I hear William is betrothed.”
“Ah, yes, little brother William.”
“Little? He’s all of twenty-five!” Camilla declared, thinking of charming Lord de Marne, heir of the earldom of Highnam.
“Yes, he’s twenty-five, but behaves as if he’s ten years younger,” Elizabeth replied. “This betrothal to Lord Penshill’s daughter has been planned for several years now, but suddenly William is the original reluctant groom. He had to be positively threatened before he’d go through with it, and to say he’s a sulky bear over it is putting it mildly. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. It isn’t even as if Alice Penshill is drab; on the contrary, she’s as pretty as a picture, as William himself was obliged to concede on the only occasion he’s been persuaded to actually meet her!”
“They’ve only met once?” Camilla was taken aback.
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, with parents present throughout and therefore no chance at all to get to know each other. William was offhand about everything, and hasn’t improved since. Truth to tell, Father has now become so incensed he’s threatening to disinherit him unless he toes the line from now on.”
“Disinherit him? That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”
“Father and Lord Penshill are old friends, and both are set on an alliance. Father swears he’ll make one of my cousins the next Earl of Highnam if William doesn’t buck up.” Elizabeth paused. “I suppose you’ve heard there’s a marquessate in the offing?”
“There have been whispers,” Camilla confirmed.
“Father’s been tipped the wink that provided no hint of scandal adheres to the family name between now and then, he’ll be the Marquess of Highnam come Christmas. As you can imagine, he’s pawing the ground with impatience, for this is something he’s been wanting for as long as I can remember.
“I hope William doesn’t upset the applecart by causing a stir of any sort over this match, because if it hinders this wretched marquessate in any way, Father’s quite capable of throwing him out. I love my brother very much, but his behavior of late has been quite appalling. Oh, let’s change the subject, for the whole business has brought me quite low.” Elizabeth studied her. “Has any gentleman caught your eye since you came to town
?”
“No.”
“No one at all?”
“No.”
“Harry’s been gone for virtually two years now. When was it? June 1812? Good heavens, it’s long since time you considered taking another husband.”
“I don’t want another husband.”
“Then borrow someone else’s,” Elizabeth urged with her customary lack of scruple.
“I’ve never done that before, and I don’t intend to start now! You’re completely unprincipled.”
“I know, but it’s great fun. You should try it. By the way, Dominic’s here tonight, did you know?”
Camilla looked away. “No, I didn’t, nor am I interested.”
“Naturally I didn’t speak to him, we merely looked through each other.”
“The Earl of Ennismount is the most despicable man in Britain.” Camilla’s tone was cordial, but her eyes shone with loathing as she spoke of the man who’d been Harry’s closest friend.
Elizabeth eyed her. “So you still blame him as much as ever for Harry’s death?”
“Yes. Dominic should never have provoked Harry into buying that brute of a horse in the first place.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “I know, but it has to be said that dear as Harry was, there were times when he could be the most hotheaded, stubborn, and determined fellow in creation.”
“Dominic knew Harry wasn’t up to such a difficult animal. He could and should have stopped him riding it, especially in a violent thunderstorm when the horse was distressed anyway!”
“Dominic insists there was nothing he could do.”
“There had to be something he could do, if only call for help to forcibly restrain Harry. I’d have stopped the ride if I’d been there, but I didn’t arrive back in time.” Camilla looked away, for it was always painful to mention that terrible day. She would never believe Dominic’s version of events. Never.
“Can I ask you a very personal question?”
“How personal?” Camilla inquired.
“Exceedingly. It’s this—was Dominic ever your lover?”
Camilla’s breath caught, the color rushed hotly into her cheeks. “Certainly not!”
“Forgive me for asking, but there was always such a charged atmosphere between you that I thought—”
“You’re wrong,” Camilla replied firmly.
“Yes, I can see I am.” Camilla looked very uncomfortable. “Don’t be angry with me for asking, it’s just that seeing him again tonight brought it all back a little. You see, at the time I was absolutely convinced you and he were more to each other than mere friends.” She gave a nervous laugh. “That will teach me to judge others by my own abysmal standards, will it not?”
Camilla’s silence was very telling of her opinion of her friend’s standards.
Elizabeth went on more briskly. “Actually, I’m told he’s in a sour mood tonight, but then I suppose that’s nothing unusual these days.”
She adjusted her plumes. “It seems he’s not well pleased with the latest political duty heaped on him by Prinny and the prime minister. They’ve chosen Ennismount House to take care of a young lady, Czar Alexander’s ward or some such thing. Dominic is regarded as a suitable protector, and his aunt, Lady Cayne, is the chaperone. The young lady has been brought to London from school in Bath in time to meet the czar’s sister, the Grand Duchess Catherine, when she arrives in a day or so.”
“I didn’t even know one of the czar’s wards was in England,” Camilla said.
“Nor did I, and if she’s in Lady Cayne’s tender care, no doubt she wishes she was still in Bath.”
Camilla pulled a face. Lady Cayne was one of the most redoubtable matrons in London. She’d once been lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, and believed rules were made to observe to the final letter, with no allowance for inexperience.
Elizabeth grinned. “I’m told the young woman is proving quite a handful, with far too many airs and graces. A proper little St. Petersburg saucebox.”
Camilla glanced toward the adjoining anteroom and saw Elizabeth’s husband. “I believe George is looking for you,” she warned.
“Oh, no!”
“If you go that way ...” Camilla nodded toward another door.
Gathering her purple taffeta skirts, Elizabeth hurried away.
Camilla sighed with relief. Elizabeth always meant well, but could be aggravating at times, especially when she insisted on dragging Dominic’s name into things.
George spotted her and approached with a broad smile on his amiable face. “Why, Camilla, how excellent it is to see you in these surroundings again.” He wasn’t by any means a handsome man, but his warm character won him many friends. He had gray eyes and his brown hair was sparse on top, so that his bald patch shone as he bowed over her hand.
She’d always liked him and was sorry he had so much to put up with from Elizabeth. But he loved his unfaithful wife, and seemed prepared to tolerate her indiscretions, although whether or not such forbearance would continue forever remained a matter of conjecture.
Camilla always suspected that sooner or later the last straw would be reached, and Elizabeth would rue her inconstancy. In him she had a treasure of a husband, but it seemed she couldn’t appreciate his worth. For the moment, however, he was still in a mood to grin and bear it. “You’re looking very well, George,” she said.
“And so are you. I’m more than glad to see you out of mourning at last.”
She lowered her eyes, for she knew he’d never thought highly of Harry. He’d tried not to show it, but couldn’t really fool her. There had always been a little friction between the two men, nothing to put one’s finger on, and certainly nothing to cause out-and-out awkwardness, but it had been there all the same.
She remembered noticing him at Harry’s funeral. His expression had been very eloquent as the coffin had been taken into the Summerton family vault. If he’d said good riddance out loud, his feelings could not have been more clear. But she didn’t resent him for it; how could she when she knew full well that Harry’s expression would have been exactly the same if it had been Sir George Oxforth’s interment!
George glanced around in puzzlement. “I could have sworn I saw Elizabeth with you a moment ago. At least, I saw someone in a gown of the same shade of purple as hers.”
Camilla felt uncomfortable. “Er, yes, she was with me. You’ve missed her by a whisker. She went that way if you really wish to find her.”
He smiled ruefully. “To be truthful, I only wanted to tell her I’m going now. Prinny’s in a Godawful grumpy mood because Princess Charlotte’s in a sulk about something the Prince of Orange did—or didn’t do, I’m not quite sure which—and for the past two hours I’ve listened to him complaining. On top of that it’s such an abominable crush here that I’ve developed a fancy for a few quiet hours at Brooks’s Club. That is if anyone remains to enjoy a few hands of cards, since I think the world and his wife is crammed in here tonight.”
“What humbug, sir,” Camilla replied teasingly. “The green baize is the be-all and end-all of your existence, and even if it hadn’t been a crush here tonight, and the prince hadn’t spent the last two hours grumbling, you’d still be hankering to go to Brooks’s.”
He grinned. “I fear you’re right, I’m a slave to the gaming table. Now then, which way did you say Elizabeth went?”
“That way, but if all you wish to do is tell her you’re leaving, why don’t you ask a footman to pass your message on?”
“What a capital notion.” He beamed at her and kissed her hand again. “I’ll love you and leave you, my dear. Au revoir.”
“Au revoir, George.”
Camilla waited until he’d gone and then drew a long breath as she turned to look at the music room door, beyond which all was still silent. But she knew two people were there, and she was filled with curiosity as to who they might be.
Without warning, she opened the door and went in.
Chapter 2
The music room
was candlelit, and the soft glow swayed over a golden harp and beautiful inlaid clavichord. There was a pink brocade sofa against one wall, and on it sat a young girl of about seventeen. She was petite, with golden hair and large lilac eyes, and wore a yellow silk gown that she fiddled nervously with as she endeavored to appear composed and natural.
There was no sign of anyone else, but the lack of any window or other door meant the second person, the young woman’s lover, had to be hiding somewhere, and there was only one suitable place—behind the sofa.
Camilla affected to be surprised to find the room occupied. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“That is quite all right, madame,” the girl replied. She had a French accent, but there was nothing French in her appearance. Nor was there anything English, except perhaps for her clothes, which were recognizably the work of a very superior London couturiere.
Camilla wondered who she was. Whatever her name, however, one thing was certain—she was far too young to be conducting a liaison of any kind, or to be unchaperoned at an occasion like this. Had she given some poor matron the slip? Determined to find out more, Camilla sat down on the sofa. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Lady Camilla Summer-ton,” she said.
“I—I am Sophie Arenburg,” the girl replied with barely disguised dismay. The last thing she wanted right now was a cozy chat!
Arenburg? The name conveyed nothing to Camilla. “This must be one of your first balls, mademoiselle.”
“It is.” Sophie lowered her glance. Her unease was almost palpable, as well it might be when she clearly dreaded being found out in an assignation. She managed a smile. “I—I am here at the invitation of the Prince Regent. I am the ward of Czar Alexander of Russia, and have come to London from school in Bath to be presented to the czar’s sister, the Grand Duchess Catherine, when she arrives in a few days’ time.”
Camilla’s eyes cleared then. The difficult young lady Dominic and his aunt had charge of! Well, that explained the French accent, for the Russian court spoke only French. “I, er, believe I’ve heard of you, mademoiselle.”
