by Carola Dunn
As they parted, Muriel whispered to her, "How lucky you are to have so charming a cousin. And so very considerate!"
The viscount gazed after her carriage as it drove off. "As pretty-behaved as she is beautiful," he said. "I shall tell Mama that she need not doubt the wisdom of your friendship with Miss Parr. Indeed, from what I hear of a certain parrot's exploits, a certain young lady might even benefit from her acquaintance with such an admirably well-bred female."
He smiled at her, but for once she did not notice how very handsome he was. Furious, she escaped upstairs before she said something she might later regret. It was too bad, when she had been doing so well, that her own cousin should join Andrew in preferring Muriel's manners to hers.
* * * *
Despite Gayo's depredations, the duchess's dinner party went well. Teresa was brought to the attention of yet more prospective hostesses, and received promises of several invitations. She was in good spirits when Andrew called for her to ride in the park next morning, though it was a grey, mizzling day.
He complimented her on the delightful picture she presented on her bay mare. "In a proper riding habit too," he added with a teasing grin. "Though I admit there was a great deal to be said for your Costa Rican costume, and for those hardworking little horses too."
"These beauties would have a hard time of it in the jungle," she agreed as they crossed Park Lane, followed by the duke's groom. "Your chestnut is magnificent."
"Not mine," he shook his head regretfully. "I spend too much time abroad to set up my stables. He is my father's, but I have the use of him whenever I am at home."
"Tell me about your father, and the rest of your family. You have met all my multitudinous relatives and I know nothing of yours."
He complied. As they rode on through the grey morning she learned all about his widowed father, his older brother, whose tyrannical wife had much to do with his liking for travel, his three married sisters. They were all in the country at present, though they would come up to town in the spring. He spoke of his home in Warwickshire, to which he hoped to retire one day.
"But not until I have seen the rest of the world," he said, laughing. "It's days like this that make me long for North Africa," he added as it began to rain. "We must go back before you are soaked."
"I am not afraid of this sprinkling. Have you forgot the downpours we call rain at home? I have not yet had my gallop."
"Then I shall race you to the gate, for this may be no more than drizzle but you must admit the temperature is quite different from your tropical storms."
They were damp, if not soaked, when they reached the house. Teresa invited him in to dry off and have some breakfast.
"I am glad you asked," he said, "or I might have gone so far as to invite myself. I have an appointment with the duke later this morning to discuss the trial."
"My uncle has everything well in hand, I believe. Boggs, have Sir Andrew's coat dried, if you please, and show him into the breakfast room. I shall be down shortly."
She returned to find Andrew already busy with a dish of ham and eggs and muffins. Boggs seated her, and then presented her with a silver salver.
"Your post, miss."
"Mine? All those? Who can possibly be writing to me?"
"Hinvitations, I'd venture to guess, miss." He poured her coffee. "Bacon, miss?"
"Food! How can I think of food! Look, Andrew: soirées, routs, musicales, dinners!" The table was littered with papers.
"It seems you are well on the way to social success already, just as Lord Edward wished."
"What is this?" She picked up the last of the pile and broke open the seal. "From my banker. He has arranged for me to meet with half a dozen coffee brokers at the Gloster Coffee House in Piccadilly."
Andrew frowned. "A respectable coaching house, I believe, but I shall make enquiries. I shall go with you, of course, and you will take Annie. Marco had best go too. When is it to be?"
"Next week, Friday morning. I am sure I shall be safe with Marco and Annie." Why did he have to spoil such a delightful morning with his disapproving assumption of authority? "If Don Eduardo ever expected you to take responsibility for me, it ended when my uncle took me under his protection."
"Then you will request your uncle's escort, or your aunt's perhaps? No, I shall support you in this because Don Eduardo expected it of you, but the duke and duchess will be the happier for knowing nothing of your foray into the world of commerce."
A sound at the door alerted Andrew and he noticed that an expression of uneasy fascination had spread over the butler's usually impassive face. "Not a word of this to anyone, Boggs!" he hissed as Lord Danville came in.
Blank-faced again, Boggs bowed, murmured, "Certainly, sir," and went to seat the viscount.
With Andrew avoiding all mention of coffee and the law courts, and Lord Danville determined not to speak of either Gayo's misdeeds or Andrew's betrothed, conversation faltered. Neither seemed able to think of anything else. With some idea of what was on their minds, Teresa took pity on them and introduced the subject of horseflesh. To her surprise, for she thought they had little in common, they had soon arranged to visit Tattersall's together in search of a pair for his lordship's new curricle.
The duke came in, the talk turned to politics, and she left them to it.
* * * *
The next few days sped by, full of morning callers, afternoon callers, shopping, drives in the park when it was fine, and parties of one sort or another in the evenings. When the duchess was not available to chaperon her, Teresa was often squired by Lord Danville or Lord John. Since her cousins were both much sought after, she soon knew enough people to be able to rely on meeting friends wherever she went.
She even collected her own circle of chattering young ladies and admiring young men, among them Jenny Kaye, Daphne Pringle, Sir Toby and Mr Wishart. Andrew was often among the company, but Teresa soon realised that Lady Parr and Muriel moved on the fringes of society. She met them only once, at a rout accurately described by Lord John as "a devilish crush." Muriel seemed quieter and shyer than ever among Teresa's lively friends.
Lord Danville was not at the rout, and his brother stigmatised Muriel, in an undertone, as dull as ditchwater. "Not that she's not pretty enough," he added fairly. "Needs a bit of animation." He turned to flirt with Miss Pringle.
Teresa thought Muriel looked unhappy, and guessed the reason. She invited her to drive in the park the next afternoon.
In the morning, riding with Andrew, she discovered as she expected that he had told his betrothed about his mission to China.
"She dislikes the idea excessively," he said in a gloomy voice. "Of course I do not insist that she go with me. I shall not leave until February, so we might be married at once and have several months together. Then she can reside with my father, or with her mother if she prefers it, until my return. That is not unreasonable, is it? I know it is far from ideal, but many diplomats' wives must live with long separations. And think of Navy wives!"
"Poor Muriel!" Teresa murmured, disturbed by his lack of sympathy for his beloved. She found herself unable to summon up any words of consolation and they cut short their ride, out of charity with each other.
In the afternoon, disobeying her mother's every precept, Muriel burst into tears in the middle of Hyde Park. Teresa shielded her from curious eyes as best she could with her parasol, and they hurried homeward through the side streets.
"Why cannot he be satisfied with a position in the Foreign Office?" wailed Muriel.
"If you love him," said Teresa with exasperated sternness, "you should be glad that he has been offered a job so in tune with his tastes. He will not be gone forever, but if you cannot bear his absence, you must needs go with him."
She returned home in a stormy mood, unable to understand how two people in love with each other could make each other so miserable. Summoned to the drawing room to take tea with her aunt and several visitors, she sent a message that she had the headache.
&
nbsp; * * * *
In her distress, Teresa had forgotten that this was the night of the ball. The duchess appeared in her chamber, calling for hartshorn and followed by Miss Carter, Howell and Annie all offering conflicting advice. Somehow the news spread. Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, arrived with her sovereign remedy; Chef Jacques sent up a French tisane; Boggs enquired whether a footman should be sent for the doctor.
At the height of the clamour, guaranteed to produce a headache where none existed, Marco stalked in with a brotherly disregard for propriety. "Stop fussing, Teresa, everyone is busy with preparations for your blasted ball and you're setting them at sixes and sevens," he said callously. "Take some of your own herbs. You've been treating other people for years, have you no faith in yourself?"
"I'm not fussing," she said, with justifiable indignation since she had not been able to get a word in edgewise for some time. "My head is much better already. It was no great thing and I believe has been cured by everyone's good wishes. Thank you, dear aunt, all of you, for your solicitude."
"A nervous megrim, I daresay," the duchess diagnosed, being an expert on the subject. "Lie down for an hour on your bed before you dress, child, and do not worry. You are certain to cast all the insipid misses in the shade tonight."
Marco lingered after all the others but Annie had left. "Nervous megrim, is it?" he said with a grin. "Now that's cutting a wheedle for I don't believe you know the meaning of the word."
"Go away, you horrid boy." His sister pulled a face at him. "Of course it was no such thing, but I am tired and I intend to follow Aunt Stafford's advice."
"She's right, you know, you will be the prettiest girl there, so cheer up and do not worry." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Papa would be proud of you."
"And of you," she said softly as he left. "You are growing up, little brother."
Annie drew the curtains and helped Teresa undress, and to her surprise she fell asleep.
When she woke, the maid was lighting candles. "It's time to dress, Miss Teresa. Just come and see what's waiting for you!"
"Waiting for me?" Feeling refreshed, Teresa stretched and slid out of bed. Annie draped her robe about her and she went into the dressing room. "Flowers! How pretty! Did you look at the cards? Who sent the crimson rosebuds?"
"They're from Lord Danville. He had an unfair advantage, knowing what you're wearing. Shall you carry them?"
"Mmm, they smell sweet. Do you think you can pin one or two in my hair?" She looked at the other four posies, all from various gentlemen she had met in the past week. There was nothing from Andrew; she told herself firmly that of course he could not send flowers to anyone but his affianced wife. "How kind everyone is. What is this?" She picked up a small box of carved ivory.
"I didn't open it, miss. It's from his Grace."
"Oh, look, Annie! A ruby necklace, and eardrops. Oh, Annie, I think I am going to cry."
"You mustn't do that," said her abigail bracingly. "Don't want your eyes to match your gown too, do you?"
Teresa's first ball gown was of ruby satin with an overskirt of ivory lace, open down the front, and more lace trimming the low-cut bodice and puffed sleeves. By the time she had washed and put it on, the coiffeur from Birmingham had arrived to help with her hair, and Howell to supervise the rest of her toilette. The glossy black mass was piled high on her head, with a few loose ringlets framing her face. With instructions from Howell, Annie's nimble fingers wove a wreath of the red rosebuds, and they fixed it in a coronet about her dark head.
Annie knelt to help her put on her ivory satin dancing slippers.
"Her Grace sent this," said Howell, producing a fan of pierced ivory and slipping its ribbon over her wrist. She stepped back. "Well, I have to say, miss, as how her Grace is right. You'll take the shine right out of all those pink and white misses. Looks almost royal, don't she, Annie?"
Annie nodded, eyes shining. "You'll dance every dance, Miss Teresa," she prophesied, "and they'll be fighting to take you in to supper."
* * * *
There was admiration on the faces of her cousins when she descended to the drawing room. As she curtsied to the duke and duchess, Lord John stepped forward and swept a bow that would have done credit to a Cavalier.
“Cousin, may I have the honour of the first dance?” he requested. “I wager half the fellows in the room will be ready to call me out for forestalling them.”
“I hope you will not call out your papa, then,” she said, twinkling up at him. “He asked me yesterday.”
John turned to the duke. “Sir, name your seconds!” he cried melodramatically.
His Grace shook his head reprovingly and murmured, “I daresay you will grow up one day. You look magnificent, Teresa.”
“Thanks to your gift, Uncle.” She touched the ruby pendant, her face glowing. “How very kind you are, sir. “And Cousin Tom, thank you for the roses. You see I am wearing them.”
“Thus greatly enhancing their beauty,” said Lord Danville gracefully, if a trifle ponderously.
“Dash it all, Tom, you’ve stolen a march on me, too,” his brother accused. “I ain’t in the petticoat line in general," he apologised to Teresa. “Should have thought of flowers. The muslin company don’t expect such graces,” he added wickedly in a whispered aside.
“How lucky you did not send any,” she teased, pretending she had not heard his last remark. “I could never have chosen between my cousins’ offerings and must have declined to wear either.”
Marco stepped forward, proud and handsome in his first evening breeches and black velvet coat. With a bow as graceful as John’s, if less elaborate, he handed his sister a small package.
“I hope it is right,” he said anxiously. “I asked Aunt Stafford what would be suitable.”
It was an ivory bracelet, intricately carved, that matched Teresa’s fan to perfection. She put it on at once, over her glove, and turned to Marco. He hurriedly backed away.
“No hugs! You will crease my coat.”
“Never say my little brother is become a dandy.” She laughed. “Thank you. The bracelet is perfect.”
“It is from China. Cousin John took me to Limehouse, down by the docks. There are hundreds of Chinamen there.”
From China. Teresa studied the entwined dragons with interest, trying to suppress a wish that it was she, not Muriel, who had the opportunity of going to the mysterious land with Andrew.
The guests arrived, forty for dinner followed by another two or three hundred for the ball. The duchess excused Teresa early from the receiving line so that she should not be too tired to dance. She went into the ballroom, dazzling with mirrors, the diamonds of the ladies, the gold chandeliers with their hundreds of beeswax candles. Her dance card was filled, all but the waltzes, long before the duke came to lead her onto the floor to open the ball.
The first dance was a quadrille. Concentrating on the complicated figures, Teresa forgot to be nervous and laughed with delight. The duke beamed at her.
“I wish Edward were here to see you,” he said. “And your mama, of course. You quite take the shine out of all the young ladies.”
Teresa agreed wistfully that it would be beyond anything great to have her parents present, but she could not really imagine them mingling with the haut ton. The hacienda on the volcano’s slope was in another world.
Lord Danville was waiting to claim her for the next dance. As she stood with him at the side of the room, Baron Carruthers approached them. She had seen him several times since her original glimpse in the park, but had never been formally introduced.
He bowed to her partner, his cold eyes appraising her. They reminded her of the jaguar. “Servant, Danville. I am come to beg a favour. Pray present me to your beautiful cousin.”
Lord Danville looked uneasy but found it impossible to refuse a direct request. Though Teresa curtsied politely to the baron, she did not hold out her hand. He bowed low and asked permission to sign her card.
“I am sorry, all the dances are t
aken,” she said in relief. There was something about him that repelled her, quite apart from her cousins; warnings and the rumours she had since heard about his dissipated way of life. He bowed again, his words of regret accompanied by an expression close to a sneer. He did not press her, and headed for the card room as Cousin Tom took her arm to escort her onto the floor.
When it was time for the first waltz, Teresa went to sit beside the duchess. Most of her friends had already made their débuts the previous spring, so the patronesses of Almack’s had long since granted them permission to waltz. Teresa watched a little sadly as the floor began to fill. She was enjoying her first ball more than she had dreamed possible, and it was a shocking waste of time to have to be a wallflower, however briefly.
Then she saw Andrew making his way towards her. In the crush she had missed his arrival. Sitting out a waltz with Andrew would be better than dancing it with anyone else, she thought joyfully.
He bowed to the duchess. “I have Lady Castlereagh’s permission to ask Miss Danville for the dance,” he said. “May I deprive you her company, ma’am?”
Her hand on his arm felt the muscles move as he clasped her waist and swung her into the dance. His blue eyes gazing down into hers drove all thought from her mind and she moved in a daze, conscious only of his closeness. Her lips parted in a half smile. His grip on her hand tightened and he drew in his breath sharply, pulling her a little closer.
“Teresa,” he murmured.
She did not answer. Words were unnecessary.
The next set was one of the simpler country dances, fortunately, since Teresa’s head was still in the clouds. She was not expected to hold a proper conversation with her partner, Mr Wishart, because the figures separated them often. Somehow she managed not to make any obvious mistakes.
After that came the supper dance, which John had reserved, and his lighthearted friendliness brought her back to earth. They chatted merrily as they danced, then went into the supper room with Jenny Kaye and her partner.
At a nearby table, Andrew bent solicitously over Muriel, asking her what she wanted from the buffet.
