by Sandra Heath
Camilla’s heart was already beating swiftly, but now it began to pound. Her mouth was dry as she called out nervously. “Who—who’s there?”
The silence continued, but after a moment the other door opened and to her relief Mary peeped anxiously toward her. “My lady?”
“Mary! Oh, I’m so glad it’s only you!” Camilla hurried along the passage.
Mary opened the door a little more. “It—it’s not just me, my lady. Mam’selle is here with me.”
Startled, Camilla went into the candlelit kitchens. Sophie was seated at the scrubbed table with a cup of chocolate. Another cup, evidently the maid’s, stood opposite her. Camilla looked from one face to the other. “Why are you here?” she asked Sophie.
“I—I couldn’t sleep, Lady Camilla. Mary said she would bring me some chocolate, but I preferred to come down here with her. Have I done wrong?”
“No, of course not. I must have heard you pass my door, for something woke me up.”
“We tried to be quiet,” Sophie said.
“Yes, I’m sure you did, it’s just that after the burglar...”
Sophie was contrite. “I did not mean to frighten you, Lady Camilla. Please forgive me.”
Camilla smiled then. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She shivered suddenly, for it was unexpectedly cold in the kitchens.
Sophie saw the shiver. “Mary made too much chocolate. Would you like some too?” She indicated the saucepan on the fire.
“Yes, I think I will. I can’t think why it’s so cold in here, especially when the fire is still so well lit...” Camilla sat at the table.
Sophie smiled. “I think it is only that you were frightened, Lady Camilla,” she said soothingly.
“Yes, probably.”
Mary hastened to bring another cup.
Chapter 8
Two carriages left Cavendish Square for Gloucestershire the following morning. The first, a navy blue vehicle drawn by four finely matched bays, bore the Ennismount arms on its doors, and conveyed Dominic, Camilla, and Sophie. The second, which belonged to Camilla, carried Hawkins, Mary, Dominic’s man, Thomas, and all the luggage. It was the thirty-first of March, the day the Grand Duchess Catherine and Prince Ludwig were due to come ashore at Sheerness.
The weather was cold, overcast, and blustery, with low clouds scudding across the skies, and there was a dampness in the air that told of heavy rain to come. The coachmen huddled on their seats, their caped coats flapping as they tooled their vehicles one behind the other.
A grayness seemed to have settled over the capital, making it look dismal and uninteresting. Smoke was torn from chimneys and dull windows faced the turnpike as the carriages drove swiftly westward. A long day stretched before them, and it would be dark when they reached the Cross Keys in Wantage.
Sophie’s wardrobe had been brought from Ennismount House, and she’d chosen to wear peacock velvet for the journey. Her blond hair tumbled in dainty ringlets from beneath a plumed hat, and her hands were plunged deep into a warm gray muff. She looked every inch a demure seventeen-year-old miss, with no sign so far today of the St. Petersburg hauteur of which she was so easily capable.
Camilla wore cherry wool, and the color suited her. An elegant little black hat was set jauntily on her head, but it wasn’t long before she wished she’d elected to wear something wide-brimmed instead, because Dominic sat directly opposite her and to avoid his glance she either had to give herself a stiff neck by gazing steadfastly out of the window all the time, or a headache by keeping her eyes constantly lowered. A wide brim would have been a very convenient barrier.
She gave him a surreptitious look. How effortless it was for him to achieve that elusive mixture of nonchalance and sartorial perfection that was sought after by every gentleman of the ton. Most would have to spend hours before the mirror with their valets, but nature had favored the Earl of Ennismount with a natural gift.
He must be the dream of every Bond Street tailor, for he would surely look good in anything! She wished she could fault his appearance today, but how could one criticize the immaculate? He was a man of distinction, from the gleaming spurs on his Hessian boots to the superb frogging on his Polish greatcoat, and she despised every inch of him!
As the minutes passed, she reflected rather sourly that if she could turn the clock back, she’d never have gone anywhere near Carlton House on the night of the ball. Perhaps she’d go even farther back to change matters, and not have left Summerton Park in the first place! Anything, rather than endure what she was enduring now.
Sophie was restless by the time they reached Hounslow, and positively fidgety when the next stage ended at Slough. She was chattering constantly by the time they changed horses at Henley, and the sound of her voice was beginning to ring in Camilla’s ears when the last change of the day took place in late afternoon at Wallingford. They set off on the final fifteen miles to the Cross Keys in Wantage, but were still ten miles short of their destination when the rain that had threatened all day at last began to fall.
It didn’t just fall, it poured, drumming on the carriage roof and swiftly turning the highway into a mire. Progress slowed to a snail’s pace as the horses found it more and more difficult to pick their way along the flooded ruts. The first lamps were lit in roadside cottages, and the warmth and comfort of the Cross Keys seemed farther away than ever when Dominic suddenly lowered the window glass and leaned out.
The noise of the rain rushed into the carriage, as did the icy wind that still blustered over the open countryside. He took a moment to gain his bearings, but at last recognized the scenery. “I know where we are. There’s an inn ahead, I think we’ll break the journey there instead of going on to Wantage,” he shouted up to the coachman.
“My lord.” The man turned and touched his dripping hat.
Dominic drew back into the carriage and raised the window again, before sitting down and brushing the rain from his coat.
Sophie was dismayed. “We are not going to the Cross Keys, milord?”
“There’s no point in pressing on in weather like this, especially when the Royal Oak is a creditable enough hostelry,” he replied.
“Oh, but we must go on,” she declared.
An irritable note entered Dominic’s voice. “Mademoiselle Arenburg, if this rain continues the roads will soon be impassable, and I see no point in taking the risk of becoming stranded.” He looked at Camilla. “Is the change of plan acceptable to you?”
Sophie turned anxiously to her. “Please let us continue to the Cross Keys, Lady Camilla,” she pleaded.
“Sophie, Lord Ennismount is correct to fear we might become stranded. Pressing on would be foolish, especially when there’s no need. Besides, we’re here now.” Camilla glanced out as the carriage drove into the yard of the Royal Oak.
Tears filled Sophie’s eyes. “I do not wish to stay here,” she whispered.
The carriage jolted to a standstill, but Dominic didn’t alight; instead he looked sharply at Sophie. “Why is it so important to go on to Wantage?” he asked suddenly.
She didn’t meet his gaze. “It—it isn’t important, milord,” she replied.
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes.”
“I trust so,” he said, looking at her for a long moment before flinging the door open and alighting.
Sophie said nothing more as he helped her down into the rainswept courtyard, then she gathered her skirts to hurry to a doorway, where Camilla and Dominic soon joined her. They entered the inn just as the second carriage drove into the yard.
The hostelry was very crowded because of the weather, but as the landlord hastened to secure the last available room for such illustrious guests, Sophie again revealed her anxiety to go on to Wantage.
She looked intently at Dominic. “Please may we stay at the Cross Keys, Lord Ennismount?”
“We’ve been through all that, mademoiselle.”
“But I do not like it here.”
“It may not be the Winter Pa
lace, but it will do,” he replied in a tone that precluded further argument.
Sophie scowled as he turned away to speak to the landlord, who returned to say that although there was a room for the ladies, Dominic himself would have to sleep as best he could on a settle in the taproom. The food at the inn was of the very highest quality, although the crush in the dining room didn’t allow anyone to enjoy it properly. Camilla and Dominic availed themselves of the excellent roast capon, but Sophie pushed her plate away in sulky silence.
If Dominic noticed her sullen mood, he gave no sign, indeed his mind was quite clearly on other things, in particular the pert serving girl who waited upon them. Russet-haired and freckled, she had saucy eyes and a figure that seemed in imminent danger of bursting her low-cut bodice. She was also very forward, and made it clear she was available should Dominic wish.
After a while the way the girl kept deliberately leaning across the table with plates began to irritate Camilla, who wasn’t in the least impressed by the ample display of bosom. By the time the gooseberry pie was brought, she’d had enough. “Can you please keep your chest out of my food?” she demanded.
The girl straightened with an offended pout. “I’m sorry, I’m sure,” she muttered, walking away.
Dominic smiled appreciatively at the seductive sway of her hips, and Camilla gave him a cold look.
“I had no idea you were so attracted to the obvious and freely available, my lord,” she observed cuttingly.
“I would have thought it beneath you to make any comment, my lady,” he replied, and she fell into a furious silence, wishing she hadn’t made herself such an obvious target.
When the meal was over, Sophie immediately announced she was going to bed, and before anything could be said got up from the table and left the dining room.
Dominic looked urgently at Camilla. “Go with her, my lady, for I don’t trust that little minx farther than I can throw her. She’s up to something, and we have to be one step ahead of her.”
“Up to something?”
“Oh, come now. Don’t you think she was extraordinarily anxious to go on to Wantage?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Think, madam. If she knew that was where we intended to halt, might she not have arranged a tryst there?”
Camilla stared at him. “A—a tryst? But William is in Scotland!”
“So we’ve been led to believe, but do either of us know for certain that’s where he is?”
“Elizabeth said—”
“With all due respect, Elizabeth Oxforth won’t know any more than we do. Suffice it that I’m very suspicious indeed of our little Russian miss, and think you should keep a close watch on her tonight.”
“I hardly think she’s about to ...” Camilla’s voice died away as she noticed the serving girl watching Dominic from a nearby doorway. “So you’re concerned about what Sophie is up to, are you, sir? Why aren’t you honest enough to simply say you have other things to attend to and merely wish to be rid of me?”
“You’re always so free with your accusations, aren’t you?”
“With every justification.”
“That isn’t so.”
“I beg to differ. However, one thing is indisputable right now, and that is your disgracefully obvious intentions.”
“I’m surprised you care about my nocturnal arrangements, Lady Camilla.” He glanced at the serving girl. “She is rather sumptuously upholstered, isn’t she?” he observed.
Camilla’s breath caught. “Do you have to be so— so—?”
“Indelicate?” he supplied obligingly.
“Yes!”
“You are the one who has introduced indelicacy into the conversation, my lady. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe you were the one who drew everyone’s attention to—”
“And you are the gentleman here, so it was up to you to put a swift stop to the ‘come hither’ conduct of that—that whore!” Camilla cried, raising her voice so much that for a moment the entire dining room fell silent. Mortified color flooded into her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to his wineglass, wishing she wasn’t so easily goaded by him.
Dominic’s eyes were bright. “I’m of a mind to be flattered that the situation incenses you so much,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t care less where you spend the night, or who with, Lord Ennismount.”
“Then why do you persist in talking about it?” he snapped back.
Somehow she resisted the urge to pick up his glass of wine and throw it over him. Slowly she rose to her feet. “You are contemptible, sir,” she said levelly.
He met her eyes. “You’re entitled to your opinion, madam, but we seem to have wandered away from the subject of Mlle Arenburg. It doesn’t matter how I intend to spend tonight, but it does matter that the czar’s ward might still be in touch with de Marne, and since I cannot be at her side every minute until dawn, I fear that duty falls to you. You volunteered to don the cloak of chaperone, so I suggest you tie said cloak tightly around your throat and get on with it!”
Gathering her skirts, Camilla swept from the room, not bothering to accord him a parting word or even a nod of the head. She tossed a cold glance at the serving girl, who pulled an insolent face in return.
Camilla was still angry when she reached the bedroom, but Dominic and the serving girl went from her mind because of the odd way Sophie and Mary’s conversation fell away the moment she entered. Sophie was seated before the dressing table while Mary attended to her hair, and they glanced at each other before the maid continued unpinning and brushing.
“Is something wrong?” Camilla looked suspiciously from one to the other.
“No, my lady,” Mary replied swiftly, but her manner could only be described as uncomfortable, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Sophie, on the other hand, seemed all that was natural and at ease. “We were just discussing coiffures, Lady Camilla,” she said.
Camilla went to the window and held the curtain aside to look out. Rain ran down the pane, catching the lantern light in the yard. But she could see something else in the glass, the reflection of the room behind her, and so clearly saw the second meaningful glance Sophie exchanged with the maid. So they’d been talking about coiffures, had they? Dominic’s warning rang in her ears.
Something had to be said. She turned suddenly. “That will be all, Mary.”
The maid hastily replaced the pins and hairbrush on the dressing table and then bobbed a curtsey. “Good night, my lady. Mam’selle.”
Sophie nodded. “Good night, Mary.”
The door closed and Camilla went to the dressing table. “Now then, miss, I wish to have a word with you.”
“A word?”
Camilla decided to see how Sophie would react if suddenly confronted with a blunt question. “Did you make arrangements to meet William at the Cross Keys?” she asked.
Sophie didn’t flinch. “No, of course not!”
“Do you swear it?”
“It is the truth!” Sophie cried, getting up to face her.
“Is it?”
“Yes!” Sophie’s tone was vehement.
“Because if it isn’t, you may as well know that I am as capable of blackmail as you.”
Sophie was aghast. “Blackmail?” she repeated.
“Yes, for that is what your so-called bartering amounts to. Very well, miss, as you sow, so you reap. You may think that being the czar’s ward, with such an important match in the offing, et cetera, et cetera, you and maybe you’re right, but William certainly doesn’t enjoy the same immunity, so let me warn you that if you misbehave in any way, I’ll see to it that his father learns of his misconduct. You’re perfectly aware of the inevitable unfortunate consequences for William’s future.”
“You—you are threatening me?” Sophie cried, with more than a hint of lofty St. Petersburg outrage.
“No, Sophie, I’m bartering,” Camilla replied coolly.
Sophie flushed, and for a mom
ent seemed outraged again, but instead she lowered her eyes obediently. “I am being good, Lady Camilla, I swear it. I have not made any secret arrangements.”
“I hope I can believe you.”
“You can, and you do not need to be so horrible to me.”
“It wouldn’t be necessary if you inspired a little more faith.”
“I can’t help it if you do not trust me, Lady Camilla, nor can I help it if you are jealous of an inn serving girl!” Sophie cried resentfully.
Camilla stared at her. “I—I beg your pardon?”
Sophie bit her lip and lowered her eyes quickly. “I did not mean to say that. Please forgive me.”
“You meant every word.”
Sophie became rebellious again. “Yes, I did! Mary told me what you say about Lord Ennismount, but I can see the truth. You find him attractive, and wish he was to spend tonight with you instead of a low maidservant!”
“That’s quite enough, Sophie,” Camilla said in a low, trembling voice.
But Sophie couldn’t stop now. “You are bitter with him, and you take it out on me!”
“I said that’s enough!” Camilla snapped. “Now listen to me, young lady, if you are to stay at Summerton Park as my guest, I expect a certain standard of conduct, especially when it comes to your pronouncements about my private affairs, which have absolutely nothing to do with you. I find it totally abhorrent that you should resort to pumping my maid on such a matter, and even more abhorrent that you should leap to conclusions you’re actually prepared to voice. You’re proud enough to boast of being the czar’s ward, so perhaps it would be a little more becoming if you behaved with more appropriate dignity and decorum.”
The rebuke winged home, and Sophie stared for a moment. “I—I am sorry, Lady Camilla,” she said in a chastened tone.
“So you should be.”
“I—I am very tired. I think I will go to sleep now.” Sophie quickly finished her toilet and then climbed into the bed.
It was still raining shortly afterward when Camilla joined her and extinguished the candle, plunging the room into darkness. The rain lashed against the window and sluiced down a drainpipe. There wasn’t anyone on the road now, and the yard was quiet. Camilla stared up into the darkness. This had been an exceedingly disagreeable day, and she could only pray tomorrow would be an improvement.
