She had to laugh at that. ‘You’re good for me, Charles Moncarm, and I know I’m the end in fools not to snap you up straightaway.’
‘You’ll come around to it, and before much longer,’ he murmured, drawing her hand through his arm. ‘Shall we proceed?’
It wasn’t difficult to ensure a lengthy dawdle, for they were acquainted with almost everyone they met, and there was one burning topic of conversation which seemed to occupy everyone’s interest – the rights and wrongs of the queen’s return.
‘My dear, if my husband had used me as hers has done, I’d think myself entitled to act as she has.’
‘Poor, dear Lord Sidmouth was going home last night with the Duke of Wellington, and he couldn’t get into his house for the mobs. There were missiles hurled after his carriage, and squibs set off under his horses’ very hooves! It’s quite disgraceful that such vulgar elements should be permitted to rampage like that!’
‘The press is paid abundantly to support the queen, all the radicals like Wood have seen to that, and the city is with her too, although I understand our wise host tonight has thrown in his lot with the king.’
‘The Times went so far today as to say that the landing of neither William the Conqueror nor William III agitated the bosoms of Londoners as much as the arrival of brave Queen Caroline!’
‘Admiral Lord Yarmouth could stand no more of the yahoos outside his house this morning – they’d kept him awake all night and he’s a crusty fellow at the best of times. Well, he rushed out at them brandishing a sword and a pistol, and they scattered in all directions, like ants. I haven’t laughed so much in years, although Yarmouth was too furious to find anything amusing in the situation.’
‘Dursley had his carriage waylaid coming here tonight because it was seen emerging from the royal den of iniquity, Carlton House. He was forced to doff his hat to the queen, and showed astonishing presence of mind by aping Wellington and wishing her majesty all she merited. The buffoons didn’t know he was being clever and actually cheered him on his way. I confess I didn’t think Dursley had it in him, but then he’s been positively busy recently, hasn’t he? If Felbridge doesn’t watch it, the Lyndon fortune’s going to be lifted from right under his fool nose, and it’ll be no more than the rash young rip deserves. Ribbons before a fortune? Ye gods, if he had any wisdom at all, he’d make sure he’d married the fortune before deserting it to play knight of the road. The fellow needs his head examined, and no mistake. He’s changed so much recently that I hardly know him, and I’m damned sure la belle Blanche must be feeling the same.’
This last was uttered by a gentleman who didn’t see Jane and Charles join his group in the library, and he looked very embarrassed and uncomfortable when he realized they’d heard every word. He cleared his throat. ‘Er, forgive me, m’dear, I didn’t mean anything….’
Jane’s fan wafted to and fro and she smiled in a little embarrassment too. ‘Sir, no doubt all you say does indeed run the risk of coming true, but now, if you will forgive me….’ She inclined her head and hastily withdrew from the room, followed by Charles.
On the crowded landing above the double staircase, she halted, turning agitatedly to him. ‘I can’t keep this up for much longer – I feel so guilty. Oh, I know it isn’t my fault, but I still feel as if somehow it is. It really is too bad of Henry to carry on like this, and it’s so embarrassing to hear him being discussed in such a way. If it’s being talked of here, you can guarantee it’s all over Town. I could choke him for his irresponsibility, truly I could!’
‘Perhaps it would be better if I took you home.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why not? If it’s upsetting you like this….’
‘Too many people have seen me here, I couldn’t just leave; it would be most discourteous, as well as cowardly. No, I’ll have to face Blanche, and her parents, there’s nothing else for it.’
‘If you’re quite sure.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
He drew her hand through his arm and they turned toward the staircase, but then Jane halted in dismay, for coming up in their direction was Alicia, Duchess of Brantingham.
Jane would have retreated, but the crush was too great because a large party had emerged from the card room to go down to dance. There was nothing for it but to face Lewis’s odious mistress.
The Duchess of Brantingham was one of the most beautiful and most notorious women in London, having taken a number of lovers from the very outset of her marriage to the elderly but extremely wealthy duke who now refused at any price to divorce her. Her crimes, as such, hadn’t been so very great, a number of important ladies had been equally guilty, but she had lacked the discretion to keep her amours secret, and that was the most heinous crime of all in the eyes of a society which thrived on such double standards. But there was something about her which turned men’s heads, and there was no doubt that when she chose she could be witty and amusing, so that the monde had not been all that surprised that she had snapped up a man like Lewis Ardenley, stealing him from the arms of a proud but unwary rival. Now, as she slowly ascended the staircase toward that rival, a number of people realized that an extremely interesting confrontation was almost bound to take place, and so made little secret of their interest, pausing to watch, no doubt hoping for the proverbial fur to fly.
Alicia hadn’t as yet noticed Jane, and engaged in a brief conversation with a gentleman. She looked particularly beautiful tonight, in a lime green silk gown the neckline of which plunged perilously low over her curving, flawless bosom. Her willowy figure would have been eye-catching even had she not been so very beautiful, for her sense of style and fashion was impeccable. Her hair was thick and tawny, and possessed of a strange air of weight which made it always seem on the point of tumbling free from its pins, but it never did; it always remained perfectly groomed and enviably shiny. She had green eyes and a creamy complexion, and her lips never seemed to need rouge, they were full, warm, and softly pink, and they curved in an inviting way which made many a man forget what it was he had been talking about a moment before. There were diamonds at her throat and sparkling from her ears, and soft white plumes springing from the tall, jeweled comb in her hair. Tonight, she was evidently at her most witty, for her tinkling laughter rang out audibly as she tapped the gentleman’s arm with her closed fan and proceeded on up the staircase. Then she saw Jane, and her green eyes became almost feline. ‘Good evening, Jane. Charles,’ she said, her voice carrying plainly in the sudden hush surrounding them.
Charles inclined his head. ‘Alicia.’
Jane merely held the other’s gaze. ‘Good evening.’
A faint, rather taunting smile played about Alicia’s lovely lips. ‘How very pretty you look tonight, quite charming. Do tell me, how was Cheshire?’
The hush was almost deafening.
‘Just to the east of Wales, as it usually is,’ replied Jane conversationally, steeling herself for a vitriolic exchange.
Alicia’s eyes flickered with cool amusement. ‘My dear, how very droll you are, to be sure. Perhaps I should phrase my question another way. Did you enjoy your stay in Cheshire?’
‘I enjoyed it immensely. Did you enjoy Paris?’
‘Well, to be perfectly honest, my dear, we didn’t go out a great deal while we were there, so I really couldn’t comment.’ Alicia’s smile was positively silky.
There was a ripple of unashamed amusement from the onlookers, who were quite blatantly listening to every word.
‘What a waste of Paris, to be sure,’ replied Jane smoothly. ‘One might as well stay in in London.’
‘But, my dear, staying in in Paris is so much more fun!’ declared Alicia, glancing deliberately around and inviting more laughter.
But Jane wasn’t about to allow her the last word. ‘Really? Well, I suppose I must take your word for it, since the enjoying of that particular kind of fun has been an art you’ve more than perfected over the years, and with so many teachers that I decla
re I quite forget their names.’
The barb went home. Alicia’s eyes flashed with anger and her fan snapped open. Gathering her skirts she walked on past, leaving the way clear at last for Jane and Charles to proceed down the staircase. As they did so, a babble of conversation broke out behind them as the confrontation was dissected word by word, point by point.
Jane managed a smile which conveyed a high degree of triumph. ‘Victory to me, I fancy, Charles.’
‘I had no idea you possessed such fearsome claws.’
‘I needed them, since hers were unsheathed the moment she saw me. Did you see the cat in her eyes? I merely dealt claw for claw.’
‘And very dextrous you were, too. I doubt if even a barber-surgeon could have wielded a sharper edge.’ Charles paused at the foot of the staircase. ‘If you didn’t still love him, you wouldn’t have bothered with her just then, would you? The mere fact that you crossed swords proved to me that beyond a doubt you still want him.’
‘Want someone who treated me so very shabbily? I think not, Charles.’ But she knew she didn’t sound very convincing. ‘Can’t we forget him and just go to the ballroom so that I can attend to my guilty conscience?’
‘Forget him? Oh, I can do that cheerfully enough, but I doubt very much if you’ll ever be able to.’ He drew her hand over his sleeve and escorted her through the crowded, flowery vestibule to the equally flowery inner hall, and then on to the immense black-and-white-marble steps that led grandly down to the glittering, flower-decked ballroom, where an ocean of elegant, bejeweled people moved to the sedate music of an allemande.
The ballroom at Lyndon House was one of the most beautiful in London, a vast chamber with pink marble columns set against walls adorned with intricate gilded plasterwork. Shining Italian crystal chandeliers were suspended from an azure sky sprinkled with countless golden stars, where the gods and goddesses of ancient Greece flew in divine splendor. The orchestra played from an apse high on the wall opposite the line of tall French windows that stood open on to the lantern-lit terrace and the illuminated gardens where guests could be seen strolling among the trees. Outside, there were flowers, but there were so many more inside, festooned with almost careless abandon and yet looking so very perfect, their pale colors and sweet perfume forming the ideal foil for the harsh glare of the chandeliers and the heavy haze of cigar smoke which was already rising to dim the beauty of the ceiling.
A number of people were waiting for the master-of-ceremonies to announce their names before they could proceed down the steps to where Mr and Mrs Lyndon were waiting to greet each new arrival, and so Jane and Charles took their places at the end of the queue. Mrs Lyndon had decided to look as flowery as her decorations, for her silver muslin gown was sprinkled with little artificial roses, and there were more in her salt-and-pepper hair. She wore the famous Lyndon pearls, not one of which seemed smaller than a marble, and she was flushed and smiling, evidently more than pleased with the way things had gone so far. Beside her, looking tall, dark, and a little fearsome, her banker husband glanced shrewdly around, his sharp eyes very quick and clever above his hooked nose. He was, thought Jane, for all the world like a large bird of prey, and it was just as well for Blanche’s sake that she took her looks from her mother.
Jane felt almost sick with apprehension. What on earth was she going to say to them? How could she possibly smooth things over? Charles put his hand over hers, squeezing it comfortingly. ‘It’ll be all right, Jane, don’t worry so.’
‘I can’t help it. Can you see Blanche anywhere?’
‘No, but she’s bound to be here somewhere. Perhaps she’s dancing.’
‘With the Duke of Dursley, no doubt.’
‘If she is, Henry has only himself to blame.’
Jane glanced around again, and then her gaze was drawn inexorably toward the only man who was ascending the ballroom steps when everyone else was descending; it was Lewis. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, as always it did when she saw him. He looked so distinguished, his black velvet coat cut with the excellence attributable only to Weston of Bond Street. His hair seemed more golden than ever beneath the brilliance of the chandeliers, and he was toying with the spill of lace protruding from his cuff, as if his thoughts were very far away from the ballroom. He was coming straight toward her.
She couldn’t look away from him, and he seemed to suddenly sense her gaze, looking directly into her eyes. He paused, a faint smile touching his lips, and then he inclined his head before passing straight by. He didn’t say a word, and his acknowledgment had been so slight as to verge on a snub. Color leapt to her cheeks and she gazed ahead again, resisting with all her power the overwhelming urge to turn and look at him again. She was trembling inside and her hands felt suddenly very cold.
Then the master-of-ceremonies staff was striking the floor and their names were announced.
EIGHT
However, even as Jane and Charles began to descend the steps, by pure chance the orchestra struck up the first waltz of the evening, and Mr and Mrs Lyndon decided it was time to abandon their post and begin to enjoy the ball themselves.
Jane was a little ashamed of the rush of relief which flooded through her as she watched them whirl away onto the crowded floor, but she thought it was probably just as well that the moment had been postponed yet again, for the incident with Lewis had so ruffled her that she doubted if she would have handled the meeting very well at all.
Charles smiled at her, glancing heavenward at the gods and goddesses on the ceiling. ‘They’re smiling on you from Olympus, evidently.’
‘For the moment.’
‘Forget Lewis Ardenley, he’s not worth even a moment of pain.’ he murmured, slipping a hand to her waist and allowing her no choice but to join the throng on the sanded floor.
Flowers, jewels, costly silks and velvets seemed to spin past as they danced, and the laughter and drone of conversation were almost lost beyond the sweetness of the music. For a few brief minutes, Jane forgot all her problems and gave herself to the pleasure of the dance, but as the final chord was struck, and she and Charles stepped off the floor once more, she at last saw Blanche.
She was seated on a small crimson velvet sofa, her ivory fan wafting prettily to and fro as she smiled attentively at her companion, the winning, rakish, slippery Duke of Dursley. He was evidently employing his every wile, holding her hand, gazing ardently into her eyes, and doing his fascinating best to impress her. At thirty-five, he was handsome enough, with dark hair, soft brown eyes, and a full, rather sensuous mouth, but there was something about him which told that the real Dursley was very different from the charming, courteous gentleman he was at present striving to appear. He looked the elegant, easy-going fop in his black satin coat and silk pantaloons, but he had a reputation which was undesirable to say the least, and his gambling debts were almost legendary. His lineage might stretch back to the Conquest, but he wasn’t at all the gracious lord such ancestry should have produced, and he was certainly all that was wrong for someone as sweet-natured and trusting as Blanche.
Jane looked at her brother’s fiancée. As the belle of the ball, it was most appropriate that she wear a gown which sparkled with semiprecious stones. Each tiny movement she made caused a glitter which attracted many admiring glances, for not only was the gown very beautiful indeed, but its wearer was also. She had rich chestnut hair which was dressed up beneath a diamond tiara, and her pale complexion included a sprinkling of freckles over her retrousse nose, enhancing rather than detracting from her looks. Her eyes were of the softest brown, with long lashes which made her look very shy when her glance was downcast. It wasn’t downcast now, however, for she was smiling at the attentive duke and tapping his arm with her ivory fan.
Jane sighed as she watched. Oh, Henry, she thought sadly, you should be sitting there with her now, not that odious toad Dursley. Even as she thought this, she saw Blanche glance up at the great golden clock high on the ballroom’s west wall, her expression a little perplexed; then
she adjusted the feather boa resting over her arms and returned her attention to the duke. Jane knew that she’d been wondering where Henry was. The time was long overdue to tell her what had happened, but how to winkle her away from the persistent lord at her side, that was the problem. Jane was quite determined not to confess her brother’s sins in front of the man who was trying so openly to take his place!
She had no chance to approach Blanche for the moment, however, for she was claimed from Charles by an extremely large and slightly merry general, who wouldn’t take no for an answer where the cotillion was concerned. Since he was an old friend of her family, Jane felt obliged to accept, and so stepped back onto the floor to join one of the sets.
As the cotillion progressed, she saw Lewis and Alicia together for the first time. They were descending the steps into the ballroom, and Alicia was leaning clingingly on his arm, her lovely face turned toward him. He bent his head to say something and Alicia laughed. Jane had to look away, unable to bear watching their easy intimacy.
For the next hour she had no chance to go to Blanche, and she was forced to endure numerous glimpses of Lewis and his mistress. They danced together all the time, thus breaking one of the cardinal rules of etiquette, for it simply wasn’t done for a lady to devote her attention to just one partner. Jane tried not to think about them, concentrating instead upon the problem of how to get Blanche on her own to tell her about Henry, but that seemingly simple task was proving quite impossible. The Duke of Dursley didn’t leave her side to begin with, and besides, Jane was herself besieged by a succession of gentlemen anxious to dance with her. There was an elderly great-uncle who kept asking her where Henry was, and a dashing young guards officer who thought himself so much the thing that he talked of nothing else, to say nothing of the various friends and husbands of friends who whirled her onto the floor for a seemingly endless round of landlers, contredanses, cotillions, polonaises, and waltzes. Time ticked relentlessly on, and not once was she able to draw Blanche aside to explain Henry’s absence, or offer the fast-diminishing consolation that he might still arrive.
Lady Jane's Ribbons Page 6
