The next dance was a waltz and this time her partner wasn’t so congenial. Rozalind made up for it by letting her attention drift, looking over his shoulder as they circled the room, trying to see if she could spot Thea.
She couldn’t, but she did see a dreamy-eyed Olivia dancing with a blond-haired, blond-moustached Nordic-looking young man. As Olivia’s seventeenth birthday wasn’t for another few weeks, Rozalind was amused by how much Olivia was being allowed to get away with. Violet, of course, wasn’t being allowed to dance with anyone other than close family members – and as she had no brothers or male cousins, this meant she was restricted to dancing only with her father and a handful of middle-aged and distantly related uncles.
As the waltz came to an end Rozalind wondered whether, if her stepbrother had been with her in London, he would have counted as close enough family for Violet to have danced with him. Kyle was twenty-two, head-turningly handsome and had just been accepted as a junior Foreign Service officer in the US Department of State in Washington. As children, even though Kyle had lived with his mother (her stepfather’s first wife) in Illinois, they had still seen each other pretty regularly, for every school vacation he had visited his father in New York for at least a couple of days. He had never, though, been to England with her, and the Fentons, who were no blood relation to him, had never been of any interest to him, or he to them.
Lately, though, Rozalind had noticed Kyle begin asking questions about her uncle’s political life in the House of Lords. ‘It’s a strange set-up, don’t you think?’ he had said the last time they had met. ‘Members sitting in a second chamber by virtue of hereditary right?’
‘It isn’t something I’ve ever thought about,’ she’d said. ‘Come with me next time I visit England and talk it over with my uncle. I’d like you to meet my English family. They mean a lot to me.’
So far he hadn’t made the trip, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t one day do so. As she continued trying to avoid her partner’s feet, she became aware of a frisson of excitement running through the ballroom.
‘I think Prince Edward may have arrived,’ she said, fascinated at the effect the prince had on even the most blue-blooded of the aristocracy.
‘Does he have the adorable Mrs Dudley Ward with him?’ her dancing partner asked, showing a rare spark of animation.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t caught sight of him yet.’ She turned her head as far to the left as their dance-hold would permit and, though she caught sight of someone who, from the back, looked remarkably like Hal (though as he was wearing a tailcoat it obviously wasn’t Hal), she couldn’t see the Prince.
‘Freda’s rather a corker. I’m not surprised HRH is smitten with her.’
Rozalind would have liked to have heard some more about Prince Edward’s mistress, but the waltz came to an end and they dutifully parted company.
‘There you are!’ Olivia rushed up to her. ‘Prince Edward has arrived! Do come and be presented.’
As Olivia seized hold of her hand, Rozalind went with her willingly, determined to make an impression on the future King of England and to dazzle as she had never dazzled before.
He was standing with his equerry in the centre of a small group of people and there was no diminutive ‘corker’ anywhere in sight. Her uncle was to one side of him, Thea to the other.
‘Remember your curtsey,’ Olivia said as they approached. ‘Left leg well back behind the right, back straight. No wobbling.’
Seconds later, praying for balance, Rozalind sank into a deep curtsey. Her first impression of the Prince was that although he was slightly built, he was handsome in the way that fairytale princes in storybooks were handsome. His pale-blond hair was slickly straight and glassily shiny. His eyes were a stunning azure-blue. Although he was thirty, he radiated boyish charm – a charm that won her over immediately.
As he asked which part of America she was from, Rozalind’s uppermost thought was of how much she longed to photograph him.
‘New York, sir,’ she said, wondering if her Uncle Gilbert would make such a request for her; wondering what the protocol would be.
‘That’s splendid!’ He looked genuinely delighted. ‘I shall be in Canada in a couple of months’ time, visiting a ranch I own in Alberta. I intend making a holiday of things and going from there to New York, staying with friends on Long Island in order to play polo and watch some of the international matches between Britain and America.’
He didn’t turn away from her or give any indication that their conversation was now at an end, and Rozalind was unsure what was expected of her. Uncle Gilbert had primed her on how she was to act when presented. ‘Never, ever initiate any conversation,’ he had said. ‘It simply isn’t done.’
‘Not even for an American?’ she’d asked mischievously.
‘Especially for an American,’ he’d said firmly.
Prince Edward, however, was obviously waiting for some kind of chatty response from her – and responding in a conversation wasn’t the same as initiating a conversation. Remembering the almost hysterical welcome New York had given him when he had visited it four years before, she said in her naturally friendly manner, ‘New Yorkers love you, sir. When you make your visit you will be given a wonderful welcome.’
She was aware of some quick intakes of breath – though not from the Prince.
He gave her a broad smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Duveen. Where your fellow New Yorkers are concerned, it’s a sentiment I fully reciprocate.’
This time the intonation in his voice told her that their conversation had come to a close – though Rozalind felt he had brought it to a close a little regretfully. Seconds later he was carrying out his duty dance with Thea.
‘You spoke far too familiarly, Rozalind,’ Gilbert said, looking unhappy. ‘There was no need for you to make any comment. Especially not one about New Yorkers loving him!’
‘Don’t worry, Lord Fenton.’ The military-looking equerry was unperturbed. ‘Prince Edward won’t. He likes Americans and finds their natural informality refreshing.’
Gilbert made a noise that indicated he wasn’t convinced and Rozalind said, hastily changing the subject, ‘Is Hal here, Uncle Gilbert? I can’t see him anywhere.’
‘He’s here, Rozalind, but don’t go seeking him out unnecessarily. Let him get on with the job he’s here to do.’
He turned to say something further to the equerry and Olivia said to her in a whisper, ‘I saw Hal a few minutes ago. He was out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and talking to the chinless wonder you danced the quickstep with.’
‘Barty Luddesdon? Why on earth would Hal be talking with Barty?’ Another thought followed almost instantaneously. ‘And how do you know the two of them are out on the balcony? Who were you out there with?’
Olivia blushed. ‘Someone you don’t know.’ She flashed a glance towards her father, but he was deep in conversation with the equerry, his back now turned to them. ‘I’ve just made my mind up about something very important, Roz.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I want to go to finishing school. I want to go to one in Germany; Berlin, to be precise.’
‘Why on earth—?’
It was a sentence she never finished.
‘My dance, I believe,’ the brother of one of Thea’s fellow debutantes said, having finally run her to earth. ‘It may be half-over, but better late than never, what?’
Hiding her irritation, Rozalind smiled graciously. ‘Swell! And it’s a tango. Perhaps I should put a rose between my teeth?’
As they danced she did her best to catch a glimpse of Barty and Hal through the long windows giving out onto the balcony, but if they had been there a little while ago, they were there no longer. She wondered if Thea had managed to have a few words with Hal yet, and if Hal was the reason Thea had so suddenly and inexplicably left the dining table earlier in the evening.
A giant red-and-white-striped marquee had been erected in the garden to act as a supper room, and it wasn’
t until Roz was in there, enjoying chaud-froids with truffle designs on them, that she again caught sight of Thea.
She weaved her way towards her through a throng of tiara-headed debutantes. ‘This is a terrific coming-out ball, Thea. Having been presented to the Prince of Wales and having chatted with the Duke and Duchess of York, I’m now a fully committed, diehard royalist.’
Thea giggled, a near-empty glass of champagne in her hand. ‘No, you’re not. You’re a dyed-in-the-wool Republican. Prince Edward is pretty dishy, though, isn’t he? And the Yorks are sweethearts. The Duchess is only twenty-four, which isn’t too much older than us. There’s something very maternal about her. She spent ages chatting to Violet, and the Duke danced with her.’
‘With whom? Violet?’
‘The very one. Papa could hardly veto her dancing with royalty. He’s sent her off to bed now. Two o’clock was curfew time for her – which is perhaps a good thing. Without it, we’d have run the risk of seeing her dancing with Prince Edward.’ She drained the contents of her glass and placed it on a tray being carried by a passing waiter. ‘I spoke to Hal before the guests arrived. He hasn’t come into the ballroom because I told him there was no need. He can write his article without enduring something he would hate and being mortified into the bargain.’
‘I don’t know what you mean about being mortified.’ Rozalind wondered if Thea had drunk a little too much champagne. ‘You’re mistaken, though, in thinking he hasn’t been in the ballroom. A couple of hours ago he was on the balcony with Barty Luddesdon. Olivia saw them together, talking.’
‘She can’t have done.’
Thea was emphatic, but then, as Rozalind knew from long experience, whenever Thea gave an opinion she nearly always was.
Rozalind shrugged, not finding the subject important enough to argue over, saying, ‘If Barty has been in conversation with a socialist Yorkshireman this evening, it’s an experience he’ll have remembered. He’s down on my card for another dance. A Charleston. I guess dancing it and talking at the same time won’t be easy, but I’ll give it a shot.’
She changed the subject to one she thought far more important. ‘What are my chances of dancing with the Prince of Wales? Would your father dropping the suggestion in his equerry’s ear do the trick?’
Thea gave a rude snort. ‘Of course it wouldn’t. I doubt Edward takes the slightest notice of his equerries. They are just there for form’s sake. He dances with whomever he wants to dance with – and if he’d wanted to dance with you, he would have.’ She changed the subject without pausing for breath. ‘I’m off to have a word with Olivia. Saying she saw Hal when she didn’t is just causing mischief.’
Rozalind didn’t see what mischief could possibly be caused, but Thea’s barb that Prince Edward would have already danced with her if he had wanted to had annoyed her. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of Hal earlier on,’ she said. ‘Only from the back, and he was wearing tails.’
‘Tails?’ Thea shot her a glance of blank astonishment and then, without another word, headed out of the marquee, weaving through the crush as fast as she possibly could.
Was that what she had felt behind her, on the back of the visiting valet’s bedroom door? Had it been a set of evening clothes for Hal to change into? Now that supper was being served, the lamplit garden was nearly as full of people picnicking on quail’s eggs, lobster and hothouse peaches as the marquee was. Instinct told her that this wasn’t where she was going to find Hal. If Olivia and Rozalind were right in thinking they had seen Hal in the ballroom, then that was where he would still be, and with so many people now taking a break from the dancing, if he was there he would be relatively easy to find.
Thea saw him the minute she stepped into the room. He was standing near one of the ballroom’s long windows, watching the dancers, most particularly her father, who, with what looked like a great deal of enjoyment, was waltzing with the very vivacious Duchess of York.
As if someone had punched her hard in the chest, she came to a sudden halt, more stunned by the sight of Hal in evening dress and in his present surroundings than she had been a few hours ago when she had walked into the valet’s bedroom and seen him barefoot and bare-chested.
He looked so knock-down handsome she could hardly breathe. He also looked completely at ease.
Her relief was so vast that her legs felt weak. How could she have thought being at the ball would be a mortifying experience for him? She’d dreaded him being embarrassed – and of being embarrassed for him – but her fear had been groundless.
‘Idiot!’ she said of herself, full of pride in Hal’s easy self-confidence.
With joy in her heart she began skirting the ballroom floor towards him. As she did so the waltz came to an end and her father escorted the former Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon off the floor only yards ahead of her.
While hurrying from the marquee to the ballroom Thea hadn’t allowed herself to be waylaid into exchanging so much as a word with anyone, uncaring of how rude she appeared to be. She couldn’t, though, be rude to royalty.
‘Such a splendid evening,’ the Duchess of York said with a smile so sweet that Thea didn’t doubt her sincerity. ‘I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an evening more.’
As the Yorks had stayed at the ball far longer than had been expected – the Prince of Wales and his equerry had left before supper had been served – Thea knew her coming-out ball could be counted a huge success.
‘Your sister, Violet, has utterly charmed Bertie.’
There was a gurgle of laughter in the Duchess’s voice and Thea felt a rush of warmth towards her. She was someone it would be easy to become deeply fond of. She was also clearly bubbling over with the desire to have a friendly chat.
‘The Duke and I have just moved out of White Lodge and into Chesterfield House for the summer,’ she said, as if a temporary move from White Lodge, Richmond Park, to Chesterfield House, Mayfair, was the most exciting thing in the world. ‘We are having our first party there in a week’s time. Do come. It’s going to be such fun. Fred Astaire and his sister will be there. Don’t you love the prospect of dancing with Fred?’
Thea did, and although she was impatient for the conversation to come to a close so that she could be with Hal for a little while, and so that they could arrange which cafe they were to meet in before he caught his train back to Yorkshire, she was very much aware that in ignoring the six-year age difference between them Elizabeth was paying her a great compliment.
Elizabeth went on to chat to her about Yorkshire, saying she was unfamiliar with the area around Outhwaite, but that she had heard it was very beautiful. By the time their conversation came to a close, Hal was nowhere to be seen.
It was now after three o’clock in the morning and, with the end of the ball almost in sight, the orchestra was letting rip with non-stop ragtime. As it was her ball, Thea knew she should have been dancing the Shimmy, the Jog Trot and the Twinkle with the same abandon as her guests, but she wasn’t interested in dancing; she was only interested in spending a few moments of closeness with Hal.
Chaperones, some of whom had spent most of the evening in a bridge room set aside for them, were now filtering back into the ballroom, preparatory to shepherding their charges home. In less than an hour the ball would be over, and Thea couldn’t bear the thought of it finishing before she and Hal had spent at least a few minutes together.
Her search of the ballroom was fruitless and she went back down to the garden and the marquee. There was no sign of Hal there – and no sign of Barty Luddesdon, either.
She bit her lip. Had Hal already called it a night and gone to bed? The blood drummed in her ears at the possibility of making a second trip beyond the green baize door and up into the attics. She thought of the risks and knew that at this time in the morning they would be overwhelming.
Fighting temptation, she went back into the house and stood in the grand entrance hall, torn by indecision. Some people were already leaving, and mechanically she accepted their goodbyes
. Everyone, it seemed, agreed that the ball had been ‘ripping fun’ and ‘absolutely blissy’.
Suddenly Barty Luddesdon hove into view. He was wearing an evening cape and carrying his top hat and was quite obviously about to take his leave.
She waylaid him, saying urgently, ‘Roz said you were talking with Mr Crosby earlier. Do you know where he is now, Barty? I very much need to see him.’
He gave her an attractive lopsided smile. ‘As I’ve promised to give him a lift, I’m hopeful he’s outside, waiting for me.’
‘A lift? Where to? It’s the middle of the night!’
‘It’s nearer to four o’clock than to three.’ His voice was thick with amusement. ‘And Mr Crosby wishes to catch the first milk-train north from King’s Cross.’
‘But he can’t!’ Thea was both bewildered and appalled. Until now she had taken it for granted that the two of them would be meeting up somewhere, such as a park or a cafe, before he returned to Richmond. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would be returning to Yorkshire without taking the opportunity to spend some time alone with her.
‘You’ll need a wrap,’ Barty said, accompanying her across the hall and towards the front door.
Thea ignored him, just as she then ignored Broadbent, who was speaking to the footman on duty at the door, and whose eyes widened in concern as he saw her intention of leaving the house before the ball had officially ended, with no evening wrap or shawl and in the company of the Marquess of Colesby’s eldest son.
Broadbent’s concern was of no interest to Thea, for as the door opened she saw a long line of chauffeured motor cars waiting in the gas-lit street – and Hal, leaning against the bonnet of an open-topped Sunbeam sports car.
Leaving Barty settling his top hat comfortably on his head, she ran down the shallow flight of steps and across the pavement.
Hal stood up straight, but didn’t stride forward to meet her and didn’t open his arms for her to run into them.
With deepening bewilderment Thea came to a sudden halt in front of him. ‘What’s going on, Hal?’ He was no longer wearing evening clothes. The jacket he was wearing was the well-worn one she had seen on the bed. ‘Why are you leaving now, when Papa has set aside a room for you and we can spend all of this morning, and perhaps most of the afternoon, together? I’d planned a walk in Hyde Park and then lunch at the Marble Arch Lyons Corner House.’
A Season of Secrets Page 11
