Emily moved forward too, curiously following her gaze. “Oh…and of course there may be more than one good reason to visit Oxford,” she said meaningfully.
Ada drew back, her heart thumping at the knowledge that Emily suspected something. Emily met her frightened look with a smile.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t see a thing,” she said under her breath, and moved away.
Ada stood, indecisive for a moment, by the window. When she turned back, Ravi had gone.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. She only came to life when the gentlemen joined them, starting as if she were about to get up, when Ravi entered the room. But there was no chance of speaking to him. He kept his distance, and she was too nervous to approach him. Instead, she smiled at compliments and laughed at jokes. Lord Fintan also stayed away, and she wondered if he too suspected something. She could not bring herself to be miserable about it if he did. Her mind was in too much turmoil. One moment she determined she had to speak to him, they could not part like this; the next she was angry and felt that she never wanted to speak to him again. And then it was time to go home.
Unhappily, she followed her father and Fiona out into the hall. Lord Fintan paused before getting into his motor, to bow over her hand.
“It was a pleasure, as always,” he said. Ada managed a smile.
Emily kissed her warmly on the cheek. “I hope to see you before too long,” she said meaningfully. She exchanged frosty smiles with Charlotte, and went out to her carriage.
Ada, wrapped in her furs, stood close by the doors. Her family was in conversation with the Wellingboroughs, and no one was looking in her direction. On a whim, she stepped out into the flurries of snow—and felt her arm caught tightly.
She barely had time to gasp before she was pulled into the shadows beside the door. She knew at once it was Ravi who held her. “Let me go!” Furiously, she shook herself loose.
“With pleasure,” he said coldly. “I thought—but never mind; I was clearly mistaken.”
“You are mistaken.” Her anger cooled as she remembered how she had behaved. A note of pleading crept into her voice. “It is not fair to accuse me of treachery. You don’t know—”
“What is there to know? I saw everything. I suppose you have known Lord Fintan long?”
“Not particularly, no.” She held her head high. “But it should be no concern of yours whether I have or not.”
“Of course. My apologies,” he said ironically. “As you said, you owe me no allegiance.”
“I didn’t mean—” She stopped, trying to control her frustration and anger. It did not help that she longed to kiss him as much as ever. The lingering scent of his cheroot took her back to the Moldavia. “We agreed we would just be friends.”
“Again, you’re correct. I have no right to feel this way.”
“You don’t understand, I feel it too, but—”
“But what?” he shouted, suddenly. “But I am not quite the kind of man you could see yourself marrying. Lord Fintan, on the other hand—”
“That is not fair!”
His eyes flashed fiercely, and he stepped closer, drawing breath for a retort. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, and his lips were pressed passionately onto hers. She gasped, her head whirling, feeling out of control again. The falling snow bit into her bare skin as her furs slid from her shoulders. She felt his warm, smooth hands caressing her arms, and pressed her body closer, every care of the evening wiped clean from her head. She could go on kissing him forever. But they were right by the door, and at any moment her father could step outside, or the car could draw up. It was intolerable that he was risking her exposure like this, and terrifying that he had such a power over her, power to make her forget herself, her family, her station in life, her ambitions—everything except the terrible joy of kissing him. It could not go on.
She managed to pull herself free. “We must never meet again,” she said, her voice shaking. Then, before she could change her mind, she hurried down the steps just as their carriage pulled up. She followed her family into the carriage in a daze, her eyes blurred with tears as if by snowflakes. In the carriage, she sat back and closed her eyes, murmuring something about a headache.
Stella dozed in the chair before the fire, waking with a start now and then. Waiting up for Miss Charlotte was her least favorite duty. When the door finally slammed downstairs, and she heard the voices of the family in the hall, the clock showed three o’clock in the morning.
Stella jumped to her feet and wiped the sleep from her eyes just in time as Miss Charlotte opened the door and flounced in. Stella could see at once, from her expression, that the night had not been a success.
“Stella,” Charlotte began without hesitation, as she stood before the mirror, “I want you to find anything you can against Ada. I don’t care what it is. She must have done something to be ashamed of at some point; no one could be so horribly innocent as she seems to be. I want to know what it is. I want to know her secrets.”
Stella hurried to undo her mistress’ buttons and help her with her jewelry. She was startled but not surprised. It was clear that Miss Templeton was jealous of Lady Ada, but for her to come directly out and instruct her like this, instead of dropping hints, the hatred must run very deep.
“I’ll do whatever I can, miss,” she said. She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Charlotte about the near miss with the letter. If it had not been for the interfering nursemaid, they might have had solid evidence to get Rose sacked by now. “And against the maid, too—I’m hopeful of getting information very soon.” She finished undressing her and held out the peignoir for her to step into.
Charlotte made a gesture of angry dismissal and shrugged on the silken dressing gown.
“I don’t care about the maid. But I want Ada ruined.” She barely troubled to conceal the venom in her voice. “Just see to it, will you?”
“My dear Fiona,” were Mrs. Verulam’s first words as she entered the drawing room of Milborough House the next morning. “Who on earth is this mysterious lady at the center of Sebastian’s latest scandal? As his mother, surely you must know.”
Ada looked up in surprise from the thank-you note she was writing to the Wellingboroughs. Charlotte, who was leafing through the latest Bon Ton magazine, looked as startled. The parlormaid, who was laying out the tea things, started and chinked a porcelain cup against a saucer.
Fiona raised her eyebrows as Mrs. Verulam placed a decidedly gaudy-looking piece of newsprint in front of her. Ada could see at a glance it was not one of the more reputable papers.
“What on earth is this? Something from the servants’ hall?”
“Yes. Baines, my butler, is kind enough to keep it for me.”
Charlotte walked across the room and looked over her mother’s shoulder.
“The Illustrated?” she said with a shocked laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Verulam, you don’t read that dreadful rag, I’m sure.”
“Oh, are you?” Mrs. Verulam turned a piercing eye on her. “I most certainly do. How else is one supposed to know what one’s friends are up to?”
The parlormaid stifled what seemed to be a cough and hurried from the room, her shoulders shaking. Ada put her own hand to her mouth to cover a smile.
Fiona sighed and picked up the newspaper. “What has the wretch done now?” she said indulgently, although there was a note of concern that she could not quite hide.
“Turn to page nine, that’s where the society news usually is,” said Mrs. Verulam.
Ada watched nervously, aware of the unwritten law that a lady should have her name in the papers only three times: at her birth, marriage, and death. She hoped Sebastian had not done anything that would reflect poorly on the Averleys. And for the first time that day she thought of Rose. Knowing Rose would be tired, Ada had not woken her when she got in, or in the morning. She had contrived to dress herself. It had given her a delightful feeling of independence.
Fiona gasped as she looked at the newspaper.
“Well!”
“Isn’t it exciting?” Mrs. Verulam whisked the paper from her hands and showed it to Charlotte. Ada could no longer control her curiosity and hurried over. “At least he was caught in flagrante with a woman—”
“Mrs. Verulam!” Fiona’s voice was icy.
“—who is both well-dressed and beautiful, I was going to say,” Mrs. Verulam finished calmly.
Ada stared in horror at the photograph. There was no mistaking it. From the center beamed the tall figure of the Russian pianist, on either side of him stood the Churchills, and to one side—unmistakably—were Sebastian and Rose, caught in the moment of kissing.
“Oh my goodness,” she said faintly. What had happened? Why had Sebastian done this? She looked up and saw from Charlotte’s and Fiona’s faces that they had recognized Rose instantly, too.
Mrs. Verulam took a piece of cake and nibbled on it daintily. “Now people are saying she must be a Russian princess of some kind. She doesn’t look Russian to me, but then what can one tell from these pictures?”
Charlotte found her tongue. “I wouldn’t have thought she was any kind of princess. More likely some woman of the town he paid to accompany him.”
“No, no, impossible. I know people who were really there, and they said she was a perfect lady. That kind of thing, you know, cannot be faked.” She picked up the paper again and surveyed it closely.
Ada swallowed. She did not want Lady Verulam’s clever nose sniffing out more than it should. If she gained so much as an inkling of the truth, friend of Fiona’s or no, it would be all over town by lunchtime. Her fingers itched to whisk the paper out of her hands and into the fire.
To her horror, Lady Verulam said, “Ada, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to speak to your ladies’ maid. I understand that she trimmed that hat of yours I liked so much at the reception, and I would very much like Dobbs to do something the same with my blue silk. Would you mind?”
“N-no,” Ada managed. Charlotte and Fiona were looking at her in horror, but there was nothing else she could say. “Of course not. I’ll…ring for her at once.”
As she crossed to the bell, Charlotte and Fiona burst out together, “Really, is it necessary?”
“Perhaps Ada could send over the instructions later on, or—”
“Oh nonsense, why should I put Ada to so much trouble? It will only take a moment,” Lady Verulam replied.
Ada rang the bell, feeling as if she were summoning Rose to her execution.
Rose hurried down the stairs, her stomach knotted with nerves. She was still exhausted from the night before, and she had almost begun to think—to hope—the kiss had all been a dream. She was just glad that she had not had to see Lady Ada since the kiss. She did not know how she could face her—but now she had to.
She paused to catch her breath and smooth down her skirts, then knocked and entered the drawing room. She saw Ada looking at her in what seemed like terror and pity, Charlotte and Fiona fairly glaring at her from the sofa, and Mrs. Verulam beaming encouragingly from her chair. Rose dropped to a curtsy.
“Come here, dear, no need to be frightened. I just want to speak to you about the trimming you made on your mistress’ ivory cloche.” Mrs. Verulam beckoned her over. “Goodness, she is young, isn’t she,” she added to Ada. “Well, she always makes you look perfectly turned out, and that is the important thing.”
Rose walked over obligingly. “Well, ma’am, I”—and at that instant she caught sight of the newspaper on the table. Her stomach turned over as she spotted the photograph. The paper lay directly in front of Mrs. Verulam; there was no way she could fail to see that the real version stood before her.
“It was the stitch I wanted to ascertain,” Mrs. Verulam went on, as Rose failed to answer. “The beads are very pretty but I think I would prefer jet…” She looked encouragingly at Rose.
“I…” Rose’s voice seemed to have taken a leave of absence. She hoped she was not going to faint. There was a terrible silence.
“Come along, dear, don’t be shy.” Mrs. Verulam sounded impatient.
Rose managed to stammer out an explanation of the stitch. Mrs. Verulam listened, nodding. It began to dawn on Rose that Mrs. Verulam was not trying to lead her around to admit she was the girl in the picture. Incredibly, it seemed she had not made the connection. After all, it was not surprising, Rose thought. Ladies and gentlemen hardly looked at servants; to see them outside of their usual employment was not merely shocking—it was inconceivable.
But as for the ladies in her own family—that was another story.
“Thank you so much, Rose.” Mrs. Verulam smiled as she came to the end of her explanation. “Now, I must be taking my leave. Fiona, if you have any light to shed on this mystery”—she gestured to the paper—“you will let me know, won’t you? The whole of London is talking about it.”
As Fiona escorted Mrs. Verulam to the door, Rose dared lift her head and look around. The expression on Miss Charlotte’s face extinguished all hope. Lady Ada was quite pale.
As soon as the door was closed behind Mrs. Verulam, Charlotte burst out, “This is the last straw!”
“It’s quite horrible,” said Fiona through white lips. She strode over to the table, picked up the paper without looking at Rose, glanced at it, and threw it down again. “I cannot believe Sebastian would be such a fool. Kissing—actually kissing—her! She must have made a play for him. Nothing else explains it. The manipulative, shameless…and I do believe she is actually wearing Ada’s new dress.”
“My lady, I didn’t make a play for him!” Rose burst out. At the same moment, Ada exclaimed, “I can explain the dress. And I’m sure there must be some explanation”—her eyes pleaded with Rose to say there was—“for the other thing. Isn’t there, Rose?”
“Please do not encourage that fallen creature to address you,” Fiona said icily. “It is a matter of disgust to me that such a person remains in this room. Given the insult to your dignity and ours, I am sure you will not have the slightest objection to dismissing her without notice or a reference, this instant.” She rang the bell.
Rose turned white. The room seemed to spin. “Oh, my lady—please, no!” She felt sick. How could it have come to this? She had never wanted Mr. Templeton to kiss her. “Please, if you only ask Mr. Templeton—I’m sure he will explain it wasn’t my doing—”
“Hold your tongue, hussy!” Charlotte snapped. Rose flinched.
Fiona continued to ignore Rose.
“I don’t consider Sebastian blameless; however, he should know better than to be caught by a scheming little minx like that. She must have been planning this for months.”
“It’s not true! I didn’t—” Rose knew she was making things worse for herself by speaking, but she could not help it. It was too unjust.
“Will you hold your tongue!” Charlotte repeated. She looked at Ada. “You can explain the dress? How, pray?”
Ada blushed and stammered, “I—I—lent it to her.”
Charlotte snapped out a disbelieving laugh, and Fiona raised her eyes to the heavens. “Ada, I have no idea why you are so keen to defend your maid, but please do not expect us to believe something so outrageous. Not even you could be so blind to every sense of propriety—”
“Well, it’s true!” Ada’s temper was roused at Fiona’s scornful tone. “Rose is a very talented composer, and she deserved to go as much as any society woman.”
“A talented…” Charlotte shook her head. “Ada, she is your maid. How could she possibly be a talented composer? You have no idea how ridiculous you sound.”
“I knew it would come to this when you said you read books,” Fiona said coldly. “Clearly there is no talking sense to you. I order you to dismiss your maid. As your stepmother, I can do so.”
“No!” Ada cried out.
“I expect her to be gone from this house in an hour or less,” Fiona said. “Come along, Charlotte. Ada, you know your duty.”
She turned and swept out of the room. Ch
arlotte followed.
Rose, from pure shock, burst into tears as soon as the door had shut behind them. Through her sobs, she became aware of Ada’s comforting arm around her shoulders. Guilt twisted her heart—how could she have let Lady Ada down like this?
“Oh, Lady Ada,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he was going to do it, I truly didn’t. I don’t know what I did to lead him on. I didn’t know how to tell you, and he said he didn’t know what came over him—I had no idea this horrible photograph would appear.”
Ada patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Rose. I believe you. I don’t think you would ever have done something like this on purpose, and Sebastian is a thoughtless fool—though this does seem shocking, even for him. He must have known the photographers would be there.” She sighed. “You shan’t lose your place. I don’t know how, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. Now dry your eyes and I will see what I can do to soothe Fiona’s and Charlotte’s wounded pride.”
Ada was shaking inside as she went out of the drawing room after her stepmother and stepsister. She had disgraced herself, in their eyes, and she knew that perhaps nothing she could say in Rose’s defense would be good enough. But she had to try.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw a familiar, tall, fair-haired figure pacing in the hall.
“Sebastian!” She ran toward him. “What were you thinking?” she demanded in a hissed whisper, aware of the footmen stationed at the door. “How could you do such a thing? Have you no decency?”
“I know, I know,” Sebastian groaned. “I came as soon as I saw the papers.” He was in an odd mood, Ada realized, both penitent and in high spirits. She frowned. Had he not yet realized what a disaster this could be for Rose? When she spoke again, her voice was cold.
“Well, you had better explain exactly what your part in all of this was to your mother and sister. They are determined that Rose should lose her place, with no notice and no character. They think she snared you. I think that’s as likely as a rabbit snaring a poacher.”
Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton) Page 17
