The Last Waltz: Hearts are at stake in the game of love... (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

Over the next few days, relations between the reluctant invalid and his watchful attendants did improve significantly. Moulton was willing to release Antoine or Marie from regular duties to keep Jean-Paul company during Adrienne’s daily session with Monsieur Daubigny, and the Castles were sincerely touched to see that other members of the household staff extended themselves to dream up diversions and treats to make the time pass more pleasantly for their little brother. The formidable Moulton himself unbent enough to give the lad some rudimentary instruction in the art of whittling, a skill at which he was, unexpectedly, more than proficient. Adrienne had to repress an undignified impulse to throw her arms about the butler’s neck when he reported that Jean-Paul’s enthusiasm for the craft was such that he was currently employed in carving a set of chess pieces for Luc’s birthday.

  “Miss Beckworth and I are so very grateful to you, Moulton. We had nearly despaired of finding some quiet activity that would keep him happily occupied.”

  Looking down into the beaming face, the butler permitted an infinitesimal smile to crack the habitual set of his lips. “I am pleased to have been of some help in Master Jean-Paul’s convalescence, Miss Castle.”

  Adrienne laughed ruefully. “The only problem with his present obsession with whittling is that he is always half-buried in wood shavings. It makes extra work for the maids, but they have been so good, never a complaint from any of them.”

  “Naturally not, miss.” Moulton’s features returned to their permanently rigid set, and Adrienne, recognizing that she had been put in her place, hastily retreated to the sickroom, bemoaning her congenital lack of diplomacy. Of course Moulton would resent any slightest hint that his staff might not be firmly under control at all times.

  She would have been relieved and pleased to overhear the butler agreeing with Madame Bonnet in the privacy of the room when that lady ventured her opinion that the earl’s young relatives were appreciative of the service rendered to them and knew how to conduct themselves in a gentleman’s house despite having lived most recently in reduced circumstances.

  Moulton, who had risen through the ranks to the coveted position of butler in the late Lord Creighton’s town house, was not about to allow a newly hired foreigner to presume to pass judgment, even favourable judgment, on the family he had served for thirty-five years. He proceeded to inform Madame Bonnet in measured terms that his lordship’s family was long distinguished in England for its unexceptionable breeding and comportment. It didn’t occur to him to explain that the Castles were related only by marriage. All those who entered the Norcross orbit were gilded by association. It would have eased Adrienne’s mind a great deal to learn that the caste-conscious Moulton had revised his earliest unfavourable impressions of the earl’s poor relatives because, unlike her brothers, she was unable to forget their true status in this great house. Their dependence on Dominic’s charity continued to chafe her proud spirit, though with no other course open to her, faced with Jean-Paul’s need, she was sensible enough to banish such feelings to a back corner of her mind.

  Excitement continued to build in the earl’s house as the date of the betrothal party finally arrived. Her involvement with her little brother had kept Adrienne aloof from most of the preparations, but she was pressed into service on the day of the party to assist Miss Beckworth with the flower arrangements. Great masses of blooms had been delivered that morning, ordered by Becky, who rather prided herself on her creative way with flowers. She had preferred to design the arrangements herself rather than leave the task to professional florists.

  The house the earl had hired was over-furnished with rather ponderous pieces of carved dark wood, and the colour schemes in the various rooms also favoured intense dark shades. The ladies had agreed that it was imperative to lighten the effect for the festive occasion. To this end, three or four tables and candle stands had been removed temporarily from the large drawing room to create more space. Miss Beckworth had conceived the bold stroke of filling one corner of the room with masses of graceful blossoms and feathery greenery from floor to ceiling level. Dark green predominated in draperies and upholstery coverings here, and the walls were painted a particularly virulent shade of green also. Against this unpromising background, Miss Beckworth and Adrienne laboured to create large light floral arrangements, limiting themselves to yellow and white blossoms only.

  In the dining room a huge Persian rug with a dark red background set the tone for a crimson-and-gold colour scheme. Here the ladies chose to display flowers ranging from pure white through the pink tones to red, combining late tulips with peonies, roses, and branches of white apple blossom. It took hours to accomplish, but neither woman grudged the effort and both felt more than repaid by the sheer beauty of the final result.

  “Isn’t it amazing what can be achieved when cost is no object?” gloated Miss Beckworth, sighing with satisfaction as she lingered in the dining-room doorway to admire their handiwork.

  Adrienne qualified her agreement. “All the money in the world, unless it is at the service of good taste, would not serve to create this marvellous effect. You have a positive genius with flowers, Becky. Dominic can’t help but be pleased with your work.”

  “I hope Lady Tremayne approves of the result.”

  “What could she think except that you’ve designed a fitting setting for her beauty?”

  Miss Beckworth did not comment on the somewhat dry tone in which this remark was delivered, but she shot a quick look at her charge, whose colour deepened slightly as she declared that she must run upstairs to check on Jean-Paul and release Luc from his duties as sickroom attendant.

  Adrienne’s finished gown was not delivered until late in the afternoon, by which time the anxious girl had worked herself into a rare state of nerves. No more had been said about her original intention of developing a headache on the evening of the party. Though Miss Beckworth was much too kind to tease her on her volte-face, the situation did provide her duenna with some secret amusement. This was subordinate of course to the very real pleasure she took in seeing Adrienne about to enjoy for the first time some of the pleasures that most girls of her age and class took for granted. Miss Beckworth raced through her own toilette so that she might supervise the final stage of Adrienne’s. She levelled a swift glance at her image in the glass to ensure that no strand of hair escaped from her neat bun before hurrying down the corridor to tap on Adrienne’s door. The pearls she hadn’t waited to fasten about her neck dangled from her fingers as she approached the dressing table where the girl was seated while Marie arranged her hair.

  “Don’t you look nice, Becky,” said Adrienne admiringly. “That Brussels lace we bought really does give a new life to your grey silk.” Catching sight of the necklace, she jumped up from the bench. “Here, I’ll fasten your pearls.”

  Poor Marie did a juggling act with the hairbrush that Adrienne’s sudden movement had jostled out of her hands. Miss Beckworth turned her back obediently but scolded gently:

  “I beg of you, dearest, to remember to think before you act or speak tonight. A lady does not act with intemperate haste.”

  “Yes, Mama,” said her unrepentant charge, dimpling.

  “Mademoiselle Adrienne, there is not a great deal of time left for me to dress your hair,” reminded the maid.

  “I’m sorry, Marie. The interruption is my fault. I just wanted to see Miss Adrienne’s gown before she descended. It is exquisite, my dear,” she added as Adrienne pivoted slowly. “Madame Henriette is truly an artist. This fabric drifts and floats when you move, and of course the colour is just right for you. It needs no more enhancement than your mother’s gold locket. I’ll leave her in your hands, Marie, while I go down to check the table one last time. Try not to be too long, Adrienne.”

  “I’ll be down directly, Becky, but first I must pop in to show Jean-Paul my finery. I promised.”

  “Very well, but the guests are expected in fifteen minutes.”

  Miss Beckworth cast a sideways glance at the clock on the mant
elshelf from her position by the fireplace, where she was engaged in conversation with General Forrester and his daughter. The last of the guests had arrived a few minutes earlier, and still Adrienne had not come down. It was unlike the girl to be late. For all her impetuosity, Adrienne was never guilty of inconsiderate behaviour. Miss Beckworth smiled in vague encouragement at the general, though she had heard nothing of his last remark. His gaze intensified with quickened interest, but this went unnoticed since hers had drifted away toward the doorway by then. Perhaps she ought to slip out and speak to Moulton about sending someone to fetch Adrienne. As she turned her head slightly with the intention of excusing herself to her companions, her line of vision changed to include Lady Tremayne.

  The beautiful brunette, looking stunningly regal in a gown of heavy white silk lavishly trimmed with gold lace, and wearing a magnificent ruby-and-diamond betrothal ring, had inquired pointedly for Miss Castle on her arrival with her brother. Dominic, his eyes filled with the glorious picture made by his fiancée, had shrugged a disclaimer, leaving Miss Beckworth to explain that Adrienne had promised to check on the invalid. Lady Tremayne had been immediately engulfed by admirers and was still in the midst of a crowd of young officers vying for her attention, but her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the empty doorway, though she smiled and flirted her fan at members of her court.

  At that moment, Miss Beckworth caught a glimpse of aquamarine out of the corner of her eye and sighed with relief. Finally Adrienne had arrived! Miss Beckworth’s relief was short-lived, however. Her gaze, still turned partly toward Lady Tremayne, was transfixed by a series of expressions that flashed across the younger woman’s face as she caught sight of her fiancé’s cousin. Shock, disbelief, and cold rage followed in quick succession before long dark lashes swept down to veil her emotions. Miss Beckworth, shaken by what she had seen, involuntarily sought Dominic’s eyes and knew by the stunned question there that he had also been a witness to a parade of emotions that had crossed those perfect features. Automatically he turned in the direction of Lady Tremayne’s glance, to discover Adrienne trying to slide unobtrusively into the room. His cheerful voice rose above the buzz of conversation as he started forward.

  “There you are at last, cousin!”

  Nothing could have been more efficacious in highlighting Adrienne’s late entrance. Embarrassed colour flew to her cheeks and her lips parted soundlessly as all eyes in the room gravitated toward her.

  With one part of her mind, Miss Beckworth proudly acknowledged that her charge had never looked lovelier. The potential that had been smothered by the constant struggle against poverty had come to blazing life tonight. Madame Henriette’s exquisite creation flattered the slim perfection of Adrienne’s small-boned figure, and Marie had succeeded beyond expectation in bringing order to her mistress’s unruly tresses. She had swept the girl’s hair back from her face and anchored it on top of her head, where gleaming russet ringlets had been allowed to fall where they might. A ribbon of the same colour as her dress confined the curls. The simple style was superbly effective in exposing the delicate planes of her small face and the pointed charm of the dimpled chin. Huge jewel-bright eyes dominated her face beneath surprisingly dark brows and were made more dramatic by a forest of thick lashes. Miss Beckworth was fleetingly conscious of a spasm of regret that neither Matthew nor Juliette had lived to see their daughter’s debut, for such this dinner party must be considered, but just then the main force of her intelligence was concentrated on dealing with the consequences.

  Dominic had reached Adrienne now and was leading her into the room, wearing a proud avuncular smile. Miss Beckworth, however, had not missed the involuntary hesitation in his progress as the full impact of the girl’s loveliness had hit him. He had recovered quickly and continued his leisurely approach, but at that moment the attention of everyone in the room had been riveted on the pair. Lady Tremayne was not going to appreciate having another woman take centre stage for even so short a time as it took to perform the necessary introductions. It was no pleasure to Miss Beckworth to see confirmation of her theory written clearly in the careful rigidity of the beauty’s jaw, which hinted at clenched teeth within, and the glitter of her light brown eyes as she watched her fiancé lead his cousin up to her.

  Miss Beckworth held her breath, but she need not have entertained any worries on that head. Lady Tremayne was too socially adept to create a scene. Her greeting to Adrienne was correct, if cool, and her only reaction when the girl apologized for her tardiness was a slight inclination of her dark head, accompanied by a half-smile.

  The next few minutes were so crammed with introductions to what seemed a literal army of strangers that Adrienne had no thought to spare for Lady Tremayne. In the ordinary way she did not suffer from shyness, but it was a bit daunting to be paraded in front of numerous staring faces before her embarrassment at being the unwitting cynosure of all eyes had even died down. Consequently she acknowledged the introductions in a shy little voice, making no attempt to prolong the moment, though several of the younger gentlemen gave her every opportunity to do so.

  As soon as the earl had completed the round of presentations he was claimed by Lady Tremayne, who laid a proprietary hand on his sleeve. Adrienne seized the opportunity thus afforded to attach herself to Becky, who had resumed her conversation with General Forrester. In truth she needed time to catch her breath and recover her equilibrium, which she was able to do in the undemanding company of Miss Forrester, a quiet-faced young woman a year or two senior to Adrienne. They were still politely discussing the scenic parks of Brussels when dinner was announced.

  A military gentleman, whose name Adrienne must have heard just moments ago but which now escaped her, presented himself at her elbow and announced that it was his privilege to lead her in to dinner.

  “Delighted, sir,” she replied with what she hoped was an airy smile, but evidently she had not fooled her unknown partner, who heaved a heavy sigh.

  “That’s twice you’ve forgotten me, you know, Miss Castle. It is a very lowering thought that one is completely forgettable.”

  “Twice?” queried a startled Adrienne. “Good Lord, sir, can you mean that we have been introduced on two occasions? I confess that I do not recall the other and must sincerely beg your pardon for my deplorable lapse.”

  At her look of real distress, the quizzing smile on the officer’s lips disappeared. “I say, now, Miss Castle, it is I who should apologize for teasing you, although it is true that we almost met before.” At her puzzled look he explained, “I was present at your initial meeting with Dominic in the room across the hall from here.”

  “Ohhhh!” The soft exclamation was drawn out, and the major frankly enjoyed the faint rise of colour that accompanied it. However, Miss Castle surprised him by rounding on him suddenly. “I think I must concur that it is for you to apologize, sir, for being so ungentlemanly as to remind a lady of an occasion when her conduct fell short of that standard. For shame, sir!”

  The words were serious, but twin imps danced in the sea-blue eyes. Major Peters raised his hand in a fencer’s gesture. “I cry pax, Miss Castle. I mounted an unworthy attack, and you have sent me to the rightabout. But for the moment, unless we wish to draw speculation to ourselves, I suggest that we follow the others into the dining room.”

  Adrienne enjoyed herself mightily at her first dinner party. Having more the appetite of a healthy young animal than a young lady of fashion, she did full justice to the delectable meal set before the guests. In addition to superb food, she was kept in a state of high entertainment for the next hour by the dry wit of Major Peters and the determined flirtation carried on by the junior officer on her other side. Lieutenant Markham directed a stream of flowery compliments at her with such an exaggerated air of earnestness that his sincerity would have been suspect even in the eyes of a lady considerably more gullible than Adrienne, who was well aware that staff officers were, practically without exception, young men of good families, well-versed in the nicet
ies of social conduct. He began innocuously enough with a compliment on her dress that was received by Adrienne with a smiling thank-you. Thus emboldened, Lieutenant Markham went on to produce encomiums on her hair, which he likened to autumn leaves, and her eyes, which he labelled (erroneously) the colour of lapis lazuli. After this, she was more than ready to allow Major Peters to recall her attention. Her heated cheeks had time to cool while she listened to an amusing tale of an ill-fated trip to the opera. Eventually civility would compel her to converse again with her other dinner partner, but she trusted he would have settled on some unexceptionable topic by then.

  In actuality, Lieutenant Markham appeared to have used the interval to restock his store of compliments. She ignored his confession that he was enchanted by the bloom on her cheeks and ravished by her dimples, exhorting him instead, as a footman came between them, “Do try some of the vol-au-vent de quenelles, sir, and I can recommend the chef’s sauté de merlans aux fines herbes. He has a real flair with fish.”

  “Pouring the butter boat over your head, is he?” queried a low amused voice from her left as the business of serving took up the lieutenant’s attention momentarily.

  Adrienne quickly choked back the laugh rising in her throat and whispered indignantly, “He cannot believe any female could be so simple as to swallow all that flummery.”

  “I don’t know about that. Believe Markham’s had reasonable success with that line of his a time or two.”

  Adrienne directed a disbelieving look at the major’s bland countenance before returning her eyes to her plate.

  “Has anyone ever told you your eyes are the most incredible colour?” came the unceasing voice at her right.

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Adrienne replied, dazzling a smile at him, “dozens of people, including yourself just a few moments ago. You are beginning to repeat yourself.”

  The faintest quiver disturbed the young officer’s mouth, but he came back smoothly, “Ah, beauty allied to quickness of wit is above all things the most desirable in a woman. There is not another lady in the room, indeed in the whole of Brussels, who can hold a candle to you, Miss Castle.”