by Amanda Scott
“Good heavens, Alicia,” exclaimed Brittany, “what are you suggesting? We cannot keep her here. The ambassador will be searching high and low for her, and her presence here is already known to William and possibly to Tom Coachman as well. And William may very well have told Pinchbeck by now.”
“Oh, pooh, William would not do anything so unhandsome, for he knows that Pinchbeck would feel obliged to inform Papa. And if Tom Coachman noticed anything but his horses, it will have been for the first time within memory.” She turned to Zara. “Will your master call in the Bow Street Runners, do you think? That is what people do in this country when they wish to find something that has gone missing.”
“No, he will not do that,” Zara said firmly. “He will tell no one that I am missing. Indeed, for that information to become public knowledge is what he would most deplore, for to do so would be to bring scandal and thus great embarrassment upon himself. He is enjoying our shah’s pleasure just now and would not wish a scandal to destroy that relationship. He will, however, order Fahd to look about discreetly.” She frowned. “Fahd dislikes me, I fear, for he is jealous of my master’s many kindnesses toward me. Moreover, he is one of the few who knows precisely what I look like.” She sighed. “No doubt my bout of freedom will thus be short-lived.”
“Not if you stay here,” Alicia insisted.
“But that would be exactly the same as remaining in her own house,” Brittany pointed out. “She told me she wishes to see something of London.”
“And so she shall. She can ride out in the carriage with us, for goodness’ sake. We will take William, and no one will pay her the slightest heed, particularly in one of my carriage dresses with a hat and veil.”
“That might answer for a short time,” Brittany said, “and we will only have to keep her from view for two days, after all, for she will have to return to Berkeley Square on Sunday.”
“Why is that?” Alicia demanded. “I think she should stay here and see what a real ball is like. That would be to see English life, would it not?”
“To be sure,” Brittany agreed, chuckling, “but you have forgotten the ambassador’s reception. That is to be held on Monday, and he can scarcely go on pretending that Zara is safe in his house if he cannot produce her for the ladies Monday afternoon. The whole point, remember, is to stifle at birth any action to have her freed from his influence.”
“Was that the point?” Zara asked interestedly. “I was not told so much, but I daresay you need not distress yourselves, you know. Hassan-Khan will contrive even if I am not there to show to the ladies.”
“Why, how can he?”
Alicia smiled, recognizing a kindred spirit. “You forget, Tani, that no one has seen her. He can produce anyone he chooses, and his highborn guests will be none the wiser.”
And so it proved. With all the activity going on in the house to prepare for the duchess’s ball, it was a simpler matter than Brittany had ever supposed it would be to keep their guest out of sight until Tuesday. Sarah Basehart and Alicia’s Margaret were the only ones let into the secret, for Alicia continued to insist that Zara must attend the ball, and nothing Brittany said to either of them was enough to convince them the plan would bring them all to ruin. Alicia laughed at such worries, reminding her that there would be such a crush of guests that no one would notice one more.
For the first time, Brittany was grateful for the absence of both Faringdon and Cheriton. The earl, she knew, would have a fit, and she was none too sure, under the circumstances, that even the marquess’s sense of humor would be enough to protect her from his chilly displeasure. He was vexed with her already, and too much was at stake politically to hope he might simply dismiss their actions as trivial.
Alicia succeeded in taking Zara through Hyde Park on Saturday afternoon, driving in the open landaulette, but after watching her guest’s eyes dart hither and yon throughout the drive, more in fear of recognizing a familiar face than in enthusiasm at the sights, even Alicia’s nerve failed on Sunday. Zara made no objection to a plan to remain in her new friend’s bedchamber and discuss London instead of journeying out again to see it firsthand.
Monday passed without incident, and by Tuesday morning, even Brittany had begun to think Zara might very likely attend the ball with none being the wiser. After all, no one had the slightest notion what she looked like. Moreover, Sarah had agreed under duress to pass herself off as the young woman’s chaperone, and Zara possessed the bearing and manner of one raised to the purple. Everything would go swimmingly, Brittany decided.
Thus it was that she entered the breakfast parlor Tuesday morning, smiling happily and looking forward to the evening as she had not done since Cheriton’s announcement that neither he nor Faringdon would honor the ball with their presence.
“There you are, Tani,” Alicia said, looking up from the table with a grin. “Only listen to this bit, if you will.” She was the sole occupant of the room, so her elder sister said nothing about the impropriety of reading newspapers at table and merely moved toward the sideboard to help herself to kippers and toast, listening with half an ear as Alicia went on, “‘Yesterday the fair Circassian was introduced to upwards of twenty ladies of fashionable distinction at his excellency’s residence in Berkeley Square. She was elegantly attired in a dress of rich white satin, fringed with gold, with a bandeau ’round her head, and wreaths of diamonds. The fair stranger received her visitors with great affability. She is of the middle stature, of exquisite symmetry, rather lusty, complexion of a brownish cast, hair jet-black, handsome black penetrating eyes, with beautiful arched eyebrows, and strikingly handsome. Among the ladies’—only wait till you hear—‘were present Lady Augusta Murray and Lady Arden.’ Oh, Tani, Pen’s mama will prattle of it to everyone, and how I shall keep a straight face the while, I do not know!”
“And why should you have to keep a straight face, Lissa?” Arabella demanded from the doorway. “You ought not to be reading the paper at table, dearest. Why do you allow her to do such things, Tani?”
Brittany stared at Arabella, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound guilty.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, miss?” demanded Alicia, paying no heed at all to the reprimand. “We have scarcely seen you at all. You did not go with us to Mrs. Heathersett’s rout last night, and Mama said you was with her grace of Horncastle, but I daresay that was fudge.”
“Well, it wasn’t. The duchess asked me to make one of their party to Vauxhall Gardens,” Arabella said, blushing as she moved quickly across the room to the sideboard. She seemed to have forgotten the question she had asked upon entering the room, however, and Alicia winked at Brittany and folded her newspaper, dropping it to the floor at her feet.
The conversation at table from that point was desultory, but when Arabella pleaded a need to try her ball gown for a final fitting, neither of her sisters made any attempt to detain her, and when she had gone, Alicia picked up the paper after wrapping several rolls and a slice of beef in her napkin. Rolling the paper around this offering, she nodded to Brittany. “I mean to read this bit to Zara and see what she thinks. Do you wish to come along?”
Brittany did and was much amused by their guest’s reaction. “Poor Soraya,” she said with a chuckle. “Such a social occasion must have taxed her nerves greatly. Does it say whether she spoke at all?”
“Indeed,” Alicia assured her, “it says here that she received her visitors with great affability and that Lady Augusta presented her with a beautiful nosegay, with which she seemed highly pleased. Of course, she might have been affable without speaking, I suppose.”
“Well, she did not speak English to them, that is certain,” Zara said, still highly amused. “Soraya is another of Hassan’s women, of course, but she is not so much in favor as me. I know it is she by the description, and I can assure you she enjoyed taking my place, though she was no doubt fearful that her charade might be detected.” A shadow crossed her pretty face. “She will enjoy even more Hassan’s
reception of me when I return, I daresay.”
Alicia immediately moved to give her a hug. “You need not return at all, you know, if you fear punishment,” she said. “We will protect you, and so will the English authorities. The ambassador cannot force you.”
“But I wish to go back,” Zara said simply. “He is no ogre, though you would choose to make him one, and I care deeply for him.”
“But he sets huge black men with sabers to guard your door,” Alicia protested. “And you admit that it is true they even dress and undress you.”
“Your own servant does as much for you,” Zara pointed out practically.
“But she is not a man!”
“Neither are they.”
Knowing that this simple statement would not be enough to silence her sister, Brittany left the two of them still arguing the point and went to discover what she could do to assist her mother with the last-minute arrangements. As she had expected would be the case, she discovered the duchess nearly prostrate with worry over a dozen minor disasters. None of these was particularly distressing to Brittany, however, for she knew from experience that everything would run smoothly in the end and that her mother would perform her task as hostess to perfection. Once that first guest crossed the threshold, there would be no more sign of the worry that furrowed her brow now.
She had attended to a small crisis in the kitchen and settled a dispute between two servants putting the final touches to the ballroom decoration and went next to assure herself that the buffet tables in the drawing room were being prepared. The dining room was finished, ready for the guests who would come to dinner before the ball began. As she made her way down the grand stair, she saw the porter move to open the front doors.
“I’ll see her grace, Jameson,” declared a familiar voice before the doors had parted more than a crack, “or if she is unavailable, I’ll see the Lady Brittany. Well, dash it, man, move.”
“I must apologize, my lord. The ladies are not at home to anyone today. There is to be a ball tonight, you see.”
“Well, dash it, don’t I know that? Look here, my lad, I’m as good as one of the family, so step aside.”
Deciding it was time to intervene, Brittany spoke clearly. “Jameson, pray allow Lord Faringdon to enter. Hello, Tony, we thought you would not return in time for the ball.”
“Didn’t believe I would, myself. Look here, Brittany, cannot you inform your servants that they ought not to deny me entry?”
“Yes, of course, I cannot think why they persist in treating you as though you were no more than an acquaintance.” She was babbling, she thought. What was he doing here? And what on earth would he say when he discovered the mischief they had been up to in his absence? Fearing that he would sense from her attitude that she had been involved in the sort of shenanigan he usually looked for from Alicia, she spoke very coolly. “Come into the salon, if you like. ’Tis no doubt at sixes and sevens, but you must have known how it would be. Did you merely come to let us know you would be here for dinner?”
He eyed her warily then. “I daresay you are at outs with me for having failed to inform you of my decision to leave town,” he said, his tone more serious than she might have expected. “I ought not to have gone away without communicating my intention to you, of course, but I hope you will not be too angry when I tell you I mean to change my ways in future. Not just in that fashion either.” His attitude was uncharacteristically subdued. “I have done a number of foolish things in my life, Brittany, but I shall not make you suffer for any of them. You will find in me a model husband. That is all I came to say, although I do hope my unexpected return will not cause dissension in the kitchens.”
“No, of course not.” She regarded him in bemusement, but he did not seem to expect her to say more and soon took his leave. It was only after she had seen him safely off the premises that she realized his manner had been unnatural in the extreme, but she had time to think about the brief interview at length while she prepared for the evening, for Alicia and her Margaret had taken charge of Zara. Brittany concluded at last that the only explanation for Faringdon’s extraordinary change of attitude was that he had come at last to recognize his own feelings.
Since he had not gone haring off to attend to business matters as a result of anything she had said to him, he must have realized once he had pause for reflection that his intention was to please Alicia. What would he do now?
Would he approach her with a request that they end their betrothal? That thought passed through her mind only to be firmly dismissed. Faringdon might be a scapegrace, but he was a gentleman born and bred. The rules of society precluded a gentleman’s even considering such a course as that. Moreover, his behavior that afternoon showed clearly that he meant to go through with their marriage. He wasn’t subdued, Brittany told herself at last. He was miserable.
She knew her deduction was the correct one the moment she saw him with the other guests who gathered in the drawing room before dinner. Faringdon could scarcely take his eyes from Alicia, though he spoke not a word to her when he greeted the others.
Alicia, standing with her sisters and the duke and duchess to receive their guests, appeared not to notice his oversight. She was looking her best in a gown of rich cream-colored crepe worn over a satin underdress of the same color, its sleeves trimmed with tulle, its skirt with festoons of buff-and-cream satin and tulle confined with pale-pink satin bows.
Beside her, Arabella greeted their guests in a soft white satin slip beneath a dress of white British net, its skirt richly embroidered round the bottom in lavender and yellow floss silk. The body of her gown was cut low and scalloped all round the bust, the scallop points edged with the elegant Brussels lace trimming. Her hair was disposed in full curls on each side of her forehead, and she wore a small bunch of yellow rosebuds near her left ear. Like Alicia, she wore a pearl necklace and matching earrings, white satin sandals, and white kid gloves.
Brittany’s gown of filmy white gauze over a pale-blue satin slip boasted gauze flounces surmounted by dark sapphire satin rouleaus. The body of the gown was of the lighter satin ornamented with broad lace, and was cut low round the breast with full sleeves decked with sapphire satin points and a fulling of lace round the hem. Her golden curls were piled high and ornamented with a pearl comb. She also wore her pearl necklace and earrings, white satin slippers, and white kid gloves.
Having greeted her Aunt Uffington and old General Walters, who was her aunt’s favorite cicisbeo, Brittany turned again to watch Faringdon. He was talking with Emily Cowper, and his attitude was calm and serious. Indeed, he seemed quite unlike himself. His gaze, sorrowful enough to suit even Philip Wensley-Drew, drifted back toward Alicia just then, and Brittany determined on the spot to take the first opportunity to inform him that she would release him without prejudice from his vows. Smiling from the good feeling this decision gave her, she turned back again to greet a newly arriving guest. When she realized the newcomer was none other than the Marquess of Cheriton, her heart leapt within her as much from dismay as from delight. When his gaze met hers, her spirits sank again, for he was frowning. But when she tried to look away again, she found she could not.
There had been occasions before this when she had wondered if Cheriton could read her thoughts, and now she had the oddest notion that he knew about everything that had transpired during his absence. Her guilty conscience sent waves of color to her cheeks, and it was all she could do to force a smile to her lips.
“Good evening, sir. We had not expected to see you tonight.”
“I sent word to your mother several hours ago, ma’am. No doubt she neglected to tell you.” His gaze moved swiftly over her, coming to rest upon her countenance. He smiled then, and there was a warmth in the smile that affected her profoundly.
Her own smile felt less forced at once, and she spoke almost gaily. “It is to be hoped that Mama did not also forget to tell her chef, sir. Alphonse is short-tempered at the best of times, and at times like this, he becomes a
veritable ogre.”
“I daresay I shall not go hungry. Must you remain here, or am I the last of the dinner guests?”
She glanced around the room. “I think everyone is here. Yes, Papa is moving toward the sherry. That must free us from our present duty, I believe. No, wait, here is Pinchbeck to announce someone else. Gracious, ’tis Ravenwood! Poor Alphonse.” But, laughing, she moved with her parents and sisters to greet her brother-in-law, demanding to know if he had brought Cicely with him.
With a languid but graceful gesture, the newcomer raised his eyeglass and peered about the room, then replied with a studied drawl, “I have left her down at Ravenwood, you know, but she insisted that one of us ought to grace this ball, so I am come. Dear me, Cheriton, is that really you, dear fellow? In London on a repairing lease, are you, or have you decided to join the lot of us in courting Malmesbury’s daughters?”
13
IN THE GENERAL LAUGHTER that followed Ravenwood’s sally, Brittany shot a glance from under her eyelashes at the marquess. He seemed to be quite unperturbed, which she thought distinctly unfair, since her own heart was racing madly. Ravenwood, pressed for information about his wife, reassured them all that she was perfectly well, just not in his opinion, if not her own, stout enough for the trip to town.
“She will have it that I wrap her in cotton wool,” he said with an injured air, “only because I have forbidden her to ride and would not permit her to accompany me to London. But I trust that none of you will heap reprimands upon my poor head if I am cautious.”
“Oh, to be sure we will not,” the duchess told him earnestly, “for only recollect the poor Princess Charlotte.”
“I prefer not to do so if it is all the same to you, ma’am,” her son-in-law drawled with one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Oh, no, Mama,” cried Arabella, “how can you suggest such a thing?”
“There is naught to concern any of us if Cicely has a care to her health,” said the duke tartly. “None of our women would be so lacking in their duty to the family as to expire through the mere effort of giving birth.”
