by Diane Gaston
His whole body felt a pull towards her. His lips remembered the feel of hers. His fingers recalled the smoothness of her skin. But he stood apart from her. There were workmen papering his walls in rooms nearby and Mr Walters darted from one part of the house to the other. Someone might enter the hall at any moment.
‘How are you, Lorene?’ he asked, not out of politeness but a real need to know.
She looked into his eyes. ‘It has been difficult,’ she said in a low voice. ‘My mother is bereft because the Count left her. She does not go out.’
‘And you?’
She glanced away again. ‘I am well.’
Mr Walters walked in. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am.’
She glanced back at Dell again. ‘We are bound for an agent who represents properties in the country.’
To find her hideaway. She truly was leaving.
He nodded and she left with her man of business.
Dell picked up his own hat and gloves. This was ridiculous. All because of a foolish young woman and a manipulative older one, he’d lost this time with Lorene. They could have had part of these few days alone together, enjoying each other, free to indulge in the passion that he now knew had hummed between them ever since they first met. Instead he was paralysed.
And he was losing patience. He was not attending society functions, but the Duke reported there was no gossip about him. Dell refused to ask the Duchess the same question. How could he be certain she would tell him the truth?
The Duke had informed him earlier that morning that Lord and Lady Brackton still considered him betrothed to their daughter. That was unwelcome news.
‘You might as well marry her,’ the Duke had said. ‘Brackton is quite well connected with both the Whigs and Tories. A union with Lady Alice would give you many political advantages.’ Ross’s father was as bad as his wife in this matter, Dell realised.
A short while ago Dell might have listened to such nonsense from the Duke, but now he easily perceived how wrong it would be to consign that lively young lady to a marriage devoid of emotion. Foolish girl. As long as Lady Alice maintained the lie, she kept herself from considering other suitors. She might find a gentleman who would have a true regard for her if she gave this up.
He’d come close to offering her marriage. What might he have done to her life if he’d done so? She’d be feeling this desolation, what he was feeling now.
He set a brisk pace to the Brackton town house and was soon being announced to Lady Brackton. She was alone.
‘Sir.’ She sniffed indignantly. ‘I am shocked you should show your face here.’
He bowed, trying to remember that Lord and Lady Brackton were convinced he’d wronged their daughter. ‘Forgive my intrusion, ma’am. It is kind of you to receive me.’
She continued to look at him with distaste.
‘I wish to bring this to some conclusion, for all our sakes,’ he said. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak with Lady Alice? With you present, of course.’
She straightened. ‘I fail to see what that will do.’
He took a step closer. ‘I do not know why your daughter told you and Lord Brackton that I was courting her. I assure you, I never spoke to her about marriage. Perhaps she will explain, if I ask her.’
‘Have you not upset us all enough?’ the lady said.
‘The upset is not of my doing,’ he insisted. ‘May I not have the opportunity to speak to her about it?’
She waved a hand. ‘Oh, very well.’ She rose and rang for a servant.
A footman responded almost immediately.
‘Find Lady Alice and tell her to come to me,’ Lady Brackton said.
She did not speak to Dell while they waited. Neither did she invite him to sit.
Soon they heard footsteps hurrying to the door.
Lady Alice appeared in the doorway. ‘You wished to see me, Mama?’ She saw Dell and her face fell. ‘Oh.’
‘Come in, dear,’ her mother demanded. ‘Penford wishes to speak to you.’
She crept into the room, passing by Dell without looking at him and taking a seat next to her mother. She stared down at her hands folded in her lap.
Dell tried to speak as mildly as possible. ‘You told your parents I had spoken to you about an intention to marry you, is that not so?’
She darted a glance at him and nodded.
‘But it was not true, was it?’
This time she glanced worriedly at her mother and twisted her hands.
‘It was not true, was it?’ he repeated.
She suddenly appeared to build resolve. ‘You spoke to me about marriage.’
‘Lady Alice,’ he said firmly. ‘You know I did not.’
She gave him a look that was almost apologetic. Her mother looked smug.
She was lying and feeling regretful over it, he was certain of it, but he’d never convince her parents of it.
‘Other people will be hurt by this.’ Lorene had already been hurt over this, but he had no confidence this would make a difference.
Lady Alice could no longer look at him.
Lady Brackton sniffed. ‘You must not bully her into saying what you wish her to say.’
‘The truth is all I want,’ he said.
Lady Brackton stood. ‘Until you are ready to speak with Lord Brackton about marriage settlements, I suggest you take your leave.’
He bowed to Lady Alice and her mother and strode out of the room without another word. He grabbed his hat and gloves from the footman attending the hall and hurried outside. As he neared the end of the street he heard running footsteps behind him.
‘Lord Penford!’
It was Lady Alice.
He stopped and waited for her to catch up to him.
Her hand pressed against her chest as she caught her breath. He waited for her to speak.
‘I—I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I have caused you terrible trouble.’
‘Undo it,’ he demanded. ‘Tell your parents.’
‘I cannot tell them.’ She took a deep breath.
‘Why?’
She glanced down. ‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Not at liberty?’ He raised his voice. ‘If you think you can force me to marry you, you are gravely mistaken. I will never be manipulated into marriage.’
A gentleman crossed the street at that moment. Dell took her by the elbow and led her in the opposite direction from where the man headed.
Her eyes grew huge. ‘Do you think that man overheard? My father will be furious if this whole thing is talked about.’
‘This will be talked about,’ he said. ‘Someone always talks. Do you not realise what you’ve done? You’ve risked my reputation, but your own even more. You cannot accept another suitor, some gentleman who might actually want you.’
Her expression softened for a moment, then returned to looking distressed.
What game was she playing?
‘What is it? Tell me. If you are in trouble, maybe I can help.’ He’d do anything to extricate himself from this.
‘I am not in trouble,’ she said. ‘Everything is fine.’
Dell was so angry he wanted to throttle her. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’ He turned and strode away without looking back. He passed the gentleman who very well might have overheard him.
He slowed his pace as soon as he was out of her sight and walked slowly back to the Duke’s town house where he no longer felt welcome, but must stay for another week or so before all the servants were hired. As he approached the house, the door opened and Ross walked out.
Ross peered at him. ‘I would ask you how you fare, but I can see you are not well. What has happened?’
‘I called upon Lady Alice and her mother,’ he responded.
‘That did not go well, apparently,’ Ross said.
‘Lady Alice is obviously lying. She even feels distress about it, but she will not recant and she will not explain why.’ He paced in front of Ross.
His friend clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come home with me. Do you have dinner plans? You are welcome to stay for dinner, if you like.’
Dell actually appreciated the chance to be away from the Duke’s house. ‘An unexpected guest will not be a problem?’
‘Not you, Dell,’ Ross said. ‘You are always welcome.’
* * *
Dixon was in the New Tatler office when the reporter came in with a grin on his face.
‘Addison! Steele!’ the man called out. ‘Do I have something for you! You will not believe it!’
Dixon knew the difference between Mr Addison and Mr Steele now. Mr Addison was the bald one; Steele, the thin one. They were the joint owners and editors of the paper that specialised in scandalous stories.
Dixon sat with the writer assigned to tell his story of Lord Tinmore’s death in as sensational a manner as possible. The writer had quickly written the first draft, but they’d been tinkering with it while waiting for the reporter to gather current information.
‘Come in!’ shouted Mr Addison to the reporter.
Dixon rose and hobbled to the office door to listen.
‘So...he waits for this girl, you know. Couldn’t have been more than nineteen. She’s running after him and then they talk. I wanted to hear what they were saying so I crossed the street right when he says, “Do you think you can force me into marriage?” and “I won’t be manipulated.”’ He grinned. ‘I think the man has this respectable lady as well as the other one.’
‘Did you hear that, Parham?’
Parham, the writer with whom Dixon worked, called back, ‘I heard it indeed! The plot thickens!’
‘Do we have enough?’ Steele asked.
Addison clapped his hands together in delight. ‘Any more and they will say we made up the story!’ Which was what they would pretend to do so no one could sue them for libel. Very clever, these fellows.
That was why Dixon selected them. The New Tatler might not come out regularly, but when it did, it always caused a commotion.
* * *
The next afternoon Dell stopped by the town house after a meeting with the Duke of Kessington and other Whigs about the latest legislation. Mr Walters was there supervising the workers.
‘Will Lady Tinmore be coming to the house today?’ Dell asked him.
‘No, sir,’ replied Mr Walters, looking worried. ‘She had to attend to an urgent family matter.’
Urgent family matter? What could that be? One of her sisters? One of the babies? He was immediately filled with concern.
‘What family matter?’ Dell demanded. If she needed help, he would go to her.
Walters shifted uncomfortably. ‘I am certain she would not wish me to say.’
‘Never mind.’ Dell turned to leave.
Dell’s desire to remain detached from the Summerfields was futile. He cared about them all. He cared about Lorene.
Dell opened the door and hurried out.
He all but ran to Lorene’s town house, knocked and was soon admitted.
She stood in the hall, dressed to go out. ‘Dell!’
He approached her. ‘Walters said there was some family emergency. What has happened? Is someone hurt? Ill? How may I help?’
‘Oh, Dell!’ She looked close to weeping. ‘Come in the drawing room and I will tell you.’
As soon as they crossed the threshold of the room, he said, ‘Tell me now. What has happened?’
‘It is my mother.’ Lorene’s face crumbled. ‘She left in a carriage saying she is attending some masquerade tonight. I think she plans to be with Lord Alvanley and his friends. She might do anything! She is still despondent over the Count leaving her!’
He could not help it. He took her in her arms and held her, to comfort her. ‘Do not fear. We shall figure out a way to stop her.’
She clung to him. ‘That is not the worst of it. She told her maid she would dress as Iphigenia.’
Dell nodded. ‘Like the Duchess of Kingston years ago.’
Over half a century ago, the Duchess of Kingston attended a masquerade dressed as Iphigenia, a princess in Greek mythology. The costume exposed her breasts and was still talked of today.
For Lady Summerfield to attend a masked ball wearing a costume that exposed half of her body at that ball would certainly affect the reputations of her daughters—of Lorene—even more than being in the company of dissolute gentlemen. Lorene had been hurt enough by her mother’s excesses.
He released her. ‘You were going out? Where were you going?’
She straightened her hat. ‘To try to discover the location of the masquerade, so I could be there to stop her.’
Dell’s brow knitted. ‘Who is going with you?’
‘No one,’ she responded in an uncertain tone.
‘Not Ross or Glennville? Or your brother?’
‘I do not want them to know,’ she said. ‘I just want to stop it.’
He seized her shoulders. ‘You do not have to act alone, Lorene. They can help.’
She shook her head. ‘I do not want them told! They will start hating her all over again. Edmund is fond of her and we have been getting used to her.’
He understood. It would be like losing their mother again.
‘Very well.’ He made her look at him. ‘I will help you. I will always help you.’
She wrapped her arms around him and held on to him.
She abruptly pushed away. ‘You should not help, though. We must stay apart.’ Her eyes reddened. ‘Because of Lady Alice.’
‘Do not be nonsensical. I’ll not allow Lady Alice’s lies to keep me from helping you. Besides, we do not have to go out together. I’ll go alone to find out where the masquerade is to be held and when,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask at my club. Someone there will know. You ought to stay here in case she returns, in any event.’
She nodded.
He’d also visit some costume shops. Ask if Lady Summerfield might have procured the costume there.
Dell lifted Lorene’s chin. ‘I will not fail you.’
She met his gaze and seemed to look into his very soul. ‘You never do, Dell.’
* * *
Dell went directly to Brooks’s Gentleman’s Club, where he was an infrequent patron of late. The club had been founded by prominent Whigs over fifty years ago and was still largely Whig. It was one of the places where Ross’s father liked to spend his time, meeting with his political allies. Lord Alvanley was a member who frequently played cards there. The man was not present at the moment, though, but Dell hoped someone else would know what he was up to.
Dell joined several other gentlemen who were nursing brandies and discussing politics. He bided his time until there came an opening to mention the masquerade.
‘Oh, yes,’ Conversation Sharp said. ‘It is tonight.’
Richard ‘Conversation’ Sharp, now wealthy from investments in the West Indies, was the son of a hatter. He was also a decent man, kind, good-tempered, sensible—and could talk on any subject.
‘Where is this masquerade?’ Dell asked.
‘The Argyll Rooms,’ Sharp answered. ‘On Little Argyll Street. They are calling it the last hurrah before the Argyll Rooms are demolished to make room for Nash’s New Street.’
John Nash, the architect for the Prince Regent’s Carlton House, had conceived the idea for a new street running from Carlton House to Regent’s Park.
‘Of course,’ Sharp went on. ‘It is more of an excuse to hold a masquerade ball than a reason to do so. The demolition of the buildings has been delayed several months.�
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Dell seized on this topic. ‘Still, it does celebrate the Argyll Rooms, does it not?’
‘Certainly,’ agreed Sharp genially.
‘I have not been there in an age. Nor to a masquerade. This cannot be missed,’ Dell said. ‘Do you know where I might get a ticket?’
‘I believe Nugent has tickets.’ Sharp inclined his head towards the card room.
Dell excused himself and walked into the game room, trying not to look too eager. Baron Nugent was deep in a game of whist. Dell tried to wait patiently until the game was over.
Luckily Nugent won, which put him in a good mood.
‘I heard you have tickets for a masquerade tonight,’ Dell said. ‘I haven’t attended a masquerade in years. Might I procure some at this late date?’
In their youth, he and Ross caroused with the best of them, until Dell went off to war and everything changed.
‘How many do you need?’ Nugent asked. ‘One for you; one for Rossdale?’
Let them think Rossdale came with him. ‘Yes. Two.’
With tickets purchased, Dell left Brooks’s and headed for Jackson’s Habit Warehouse, a costume shop in Covent Garden.
The shop had several customers—all men—looking for costumes. Dell picked out a black domino and black mask as did most of the customers.
He spoke to the clerk. ‘These are for the masquerade tonight.’
‘Do tell,’ the clerk responded unenthusiastically.
‘I am eager to attend,’ Dell said. ‘I heard one lady is coming as a bare-chested Iphigenia.,’
The clerk did not rise to the bait. ‘Indeed,’ he said.
* * *
It took three shops before Dell heard what he’d hoped to hear.
‘Oh, yes,’ this clerk said. ‘A lady came in with Lord Alvanley. Older woman, but still a beauty. Could have been his mother.’ The clerk laughed. ‘Don’t suppose Alvanley takes his mother to a masquerade, though.’
Dell felt obliged to purchase something in exchange for this information. He picked out a leather Venetian mask painted white with gold-and-silver filigree. Perhaps he’d give it to Lorene if the search for her mother was successful. Perhaps it would be something for her to remember him by.
