by Anne Gracie
“I know all about it,” Alice said. “It’s a vile and hateful thing, but I’m—I’m damned if I let my husband ruin my life a second time.” Yes, anger was better than nerves.
“Good for you.” Lady Peplowe gave her a searching look. “Do I understand that you . . . ?” She glanced to where James was waiting and trailed off delicately, letting her eyebrows do the talking.
Alice felt herself blushing, but she was proud, not embarrassed. “Yes, I did. And you were right. With the right man, it’s perfectly splendid.”
Lady Peplowe clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful.” A martial expression came over her face. “Now, let us see what we can do to squash these vile rumors.” She sailed off into the ballroom, a woman on a mission.
With her hand on James’s arm and Gerald and Lucy following behind, Alice took a deep breath and entered the ballroom. The loud buzz of conversation faltered and died away. Hundreds of eyes swiveled toward her. Silence hung in the air for an instant. Someone said something and sniggered loudly, then the buzz started again, lower but more intense.
Alice stiffened her backbone. The darting glances, the nods, the whispers, the snickers and murmurs—they were nothing she hadn’t expected. And she would not be cowed by them.
Head held high, she moved farther into the ballroom. Murmuring, “Good luck, Alice,” Gerald and Lucy melted away to join a group of young people. Alice was a little surprised but didn’t blame them. This was not their problem.
Her gaze swept the room, and for a brief panic-stricken moment, she didn’t recognize a soul. Then she spied Lady Peplowe standing with Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s, on the other side of the room. With them stood plump little Princess Esterhazy and several other ladies she recognized—acknowledged leaders of society.
Lady Peplowe smiled and gave a little nod, then to Alice’s amazement, Lady Jersey lifted a white-gloved hand and graciously beckoned her over.
Alice blinked. She didn’t know Lady Jersey very well, but she’d always liked her. And she took heart from Lady Peplowe’s expression. Feigning indifference to the attention she was receiving, Alice strolled across the floor. Her heart was thudding. She felt hollow inside. What did Lady Jersey want with her?
“That’s my brave girl,” James murmured. “Show ’em you don’t give a damn.” She was very glad of his support and his strong arm.
To her relief, Lady Peplowe and Lady Jersey came forward with warm smiles. “Lady Charlton, my dear—what a despicable worm your late husband was,” Lady Jersey said affably. “And aren’t we all glad he’s dead and undoubtedly roasting in the other place? Now, are we showing everyone that we don’t care what he wrote, or are we pretending those letters weren’t about you?”
The combination of warmth and brisk pragmatism surprised a laugh out of Alice. “I don’t know—both?”
Lady Jersey laughed, then turned to James. “Good evening, Lord Tarrant. Now, I’m sure you want to stay glued to her side playing watchdog, but leave this nasty little affair to the ladies, if you please.”
James hesitated. “Alice?”
Alice nodded to him. She had no idea what was going on, but she was intrigued.
Princess Esterhazy, the pretty young wife of the Austrian ambassador, imperiously waved James away. Such confidence for one so young, Alice thought. She supposed it had a lot to do with being a princess.
“Now to business,” Lady Jersey said. “My friends and I were outraged by those vile letters, Lady Charlton. Oh, they might have been written about you—though you must never admit it—but we all agree, it could have been any one of us, had we been married off to that brute.” She fixed Alice with a determined look and repeated, “Any one of us. The only difference was that you had no family to support you and nobody to stand up for you—and you were so young! It’s unforgivable. And those letters are a slur against all womankind, not just you!”
A lump formed in Alice’s throat.
Lady Jersey slipped an arm through Alice’s. “I am so sorry that we didn’t know how badly you needed support back then. My friends and I have realized that we allowed your husband to isolate you in those early days, when you were new to London society and we were all so young and careless. Shameful behavior, but it is all in the past, and we shall not dwell on it. We will, however, help you now.” She gestured to the other ladies standing a short distance away. Alice knew all the ladies, though not particularly well. Each one of them was influential in society.
They hurried forward and surrounded her, expressing sympathy and indignation on her behalf. “Now, now, that’s enough sympathy,” Lady Jersey said crisply. “You’ll bring Lady Charlton to tears, and we don’t want that. Time to get on with our plan.”
“Your plan?” Alice repeated, bemused.
“Yes, of course.” She gave Alice a curious look. “Didn’t you come with a plan?”
“Not really. Just to attend the ball and show everyone that I don’t care what my husband wrote about me.”
“Excellent spirit, but it will take more than that. Come along.” At her brisk gesture, some of the ladies split off in pairs and joined other groups, leaving Alice with Lady Jersey, Lady Peplowe and Princess Esterhazy.
James had drifted away as instructed, though he was keeping a protective eye on her from a distance. Lucy and Gerald seemed happily occupied, moving from group to group of young people, chatting and smiling.
Alice turned and saw Almeria and several of her cronies approaching, their expressions smug. Her mind went blank for a second. Then she braced herself.
Stepping away from her companions—she didn’t want them to be exposed to Almeria’s spite—Alice greeted them politely. “Almeria, Lady Beamish, Mrs. Scorrier, how delightful to see you. Are you enjoying this charming party? Lady Reynolds has done a beautiful job with the flowers, don’t you think?” The orchestra was tuning up. She seized on it. “Oh, I do believe the dancing is about to start.”
Almeria’s lips thinned. “I am surprised you had the audacity to show your face tonight, Alice. Are you not ashamed of yourself?”
Alice managed a brittle laugh and self-consciously smoothed down her skirts. “Oh dear, you have recognized my old ball dress. I did have it made over by my maid, but you have such an eagle eye for fashion, Almeria, do you not?” It wasn’t an old ball dress at all, but Almeria wouldn’t remember.
Almeria’s eyes became slits of irritation. “I’m not talking about your dress, as you very well know. I’m talking about that disgraceful book—” She broke off, and her eyes widened with malicious delight. “Or don’t you know about it yet?”
Alice inclined her head curiously. “What book are you talking about?”
Mrs. Scorrier smirked and pulled out a small red leather volume. “This one, of course. Letters to a Mistress.”
“Everyone is talking about it,” Almeria added. “I cannot believe you haven’t seen it. Oh, you must read it.” Her eyes were gleaming with relish.
Alice’s hands had stopped shaking. She was furious. She hadn’t expected Almeria to support her in any way, but this barely repressed glee was too much.
“May I?” She held out her hand. Mrs. Scorrier hesitated, glanced at Almeria, then with a faint shrug handed the book to Alice.
Alice glanced at it, flipped open the pages, raised her brows and said, “Good heavens.” Then she smiled at Mrs. Scorrier. “Thank you for the loan. I’ll read it later—a ball is no place for reading novels.” Ignoring Mrs. Scorrier’s dismayed exclamation, she popped it in her reticule.
“It’s not a novel,” Almeria said, her voice laced with spite. “It’s a book of letters, written by someone very close to you.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Alice said. She’d never been close to Thaddeus.
Almeria leaned forward and hissed angrily, “Those letters are about you Alice, and they’re utterly scandalous. You’re a disgrace to
the family!”
Lady Jersey had come up behind Alice and overheard. “Rubbish!” she said coldly. “The only disgrace to his family is the writer of those obscene letters.” She snorted. “Call himself ‘a noble gentleman,’ does he? He’s obviously some member of the gutter press. No gentleman would write about his wife in such a manner. I’m surprised you fell for it, Almeria.”
“It is about her!” Almeria insisted. “I know it is.”
“How do you know?” Princess Esterhazy demanded, her dark eyes snapping. “Are you responsible, perhaps, for the publishing of this filthy material? Is this why you are so obviously happy about it?”
Almeria gasped and went white. Her two friends gave her sideways glances and moved away. “No, of course not. I knew nothing about it until someone—someone anonymous—sent it to my husband. And I’m not at all happy about it. It—it’s a dreadful scandal.”
Princess Esterhazy sniffed. “And yet you seem determined to spread this scandal around. And to blame your sister-in-law, who surely is an innocent in all this, no?” She shook her head, sending the plumes in her headdress waving. “Most peculiar.”
Lady Jersey nodded. “Yes, extraordinary bad form, to be trying to whip up a scandal about your own family—not to mention stupid, ill-natured and pathetic.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Come, Lady Charlton—no, not you, Almeria, I meant the young Lady Charlton.”
She linked her arm with Alice’s, then paused and glanced back. “I hope you don’t intend to spread that vicious, wholly mistaken gossip, Almeria. We would not look on it kindly if you did.” It was not quite the royal we, but coming from a patroness of Almack’s, it carried much the same weight.
* * *
* * *
Alice circled the room with Lady Jersey, Princess Esterhazy and Lady Peplowe, greeting people, stopping to chat—nothing of consequence, and with no mention of a little red book—but it was a clear demonstration of support.
The music started and young people filled the dance floor. The first dance was an energetic country dance, the second a cotillion.
As the sets for the second dance were forming, Lady Peplowe nudged Alice and glanced over her shoulder. Alice turned and her heart sank. Her brother-in-law, Thaddeus’s brother, was marching toward her, his expression grim. She had no doubt she was the reason for his attendance tonight. Edmund almost never attended balls or parties.
She swallowed and turned to face him. “Edmund.”
He bowed stiffly. “Dance with me, Alice?”
She tried to hide her surprise. The number of times she’d seen Edmund dance could be counted on one hand, but she gave him her hand and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
“Owe you an apology, Alice, on behalf of my brother. His behavior toward you was unconscionable. Indefensible. Realize that now.”
Alice blinked. It was the last thing she would have expected from him. “Thank you, Edmund,” she said as they took their places in the set. “I appreciate it.”
He gave a brisk nod, then the dance began. They danced, Edmund stiff but correct. He never said another word, and at the end he escorted her off the dance floor, bowed to her and left the ball.
“Are you all right?” James came up to her. “He wasn’t rude to you, was he?”
“No.” Alice was still a little bemused. “In fact, he apologized for my husband’s behavior.” She glanced at the door Edmund had disappeared through. “I think the only reason he came tonight was to dance with me in a demonstration of family solidarity.”
“Good. So he should.”
Another gentleman, the husband of one of Lady Peplowe’s friends, appeared and asked Alice for the next dance. Then she danced with Gerald, then Lord Peplowe, who apologized for being out of practice.
Alice danced every dance. The whispers and spiteful looks continued, but they’d lessened, and the kindness she was receiving, much of it from people she barely knew, outweighed the nastiness. It was wonderful, touching and a bit overwhelming.
The next dance was the waltz before supper, and Alice was engaged to dance it with James.
The orchestra played a single loud chord, and she looked up and saw Sir Alan and Lady Reynolds standing on the orchestra dais. Sir Alan’s deep voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. A very important announcement is about to be made by one of our guests.”
“A very exciting announcement,” Lady Reynolds added with a smile. The crowd fell silent.
To Alice’s amazement, James stepped onto the platform and said, “I am delighted to share with you all the news that Alice, Lady Charlton, has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife. Please join us in celebrating.” He held out his hand to Alice.
There was a short, surprised silence, then people began murmuring.
“Go on, up you go.” Lady Peplowe gave Alice a little push, and Alice started walking, dazed and a little confused. He’d made no mention of this. He hadn’t even asked her to marry him. Not since . . .
As she crossed the floor alone, running the gauntlet of the crowd for the second time, someone started clapping, and in seconds everyone was clapping and calling congratulations.
James stepped down from the dais and took her hand just as the orchestra began the waltz. “What . . . I . . .” she began.
“I can’t kiss you in front of all these people,” he said, “but I can dance with you.” And he swept her out onto the floor. They circled the floor once, the only couple dancing, then Lady Jersey and a partner joined them, followed by Lord and Lady Peplowe, Gerald and Lucy, Princess Esterhazy and the ambassador, and their hosts, Sir Alan and Lady Reynolds. One by one, other couples joined them, and soon the dance floor was crowded with waltzing couples, many of whom expressed their congratulations to Alice and James as they twirled past.
Alice danced blind, blinking back tears.
“Good tears, I hope,” James murmured. She gave him a misty smile.
By the time they went in to supper, the atmosphere at the ball had changed. It had been impressed upon the spiteful ones who had been enjoying Alice’s misfortune—for as Lady Peplowe had said to Alice, there would always be people who took pleasure in the misery of others, whether they knew them or not—that it would now be in very bad taste to refer to the things revealed in the little red book. Not only did Alice, Lady Charlton, have the support of some of the ton’s most influential ladies; she was newly betrothed and it must therefore be treated as an occasion for celebration.
Supper, and indeed the rest of the night, passed in a blur for Alice. There wasn’t a moment that she could talk to James alone and ask him about his surprise—his astounding announcement of their betrothal.
Had he had a change of heart about marrying his mistress, or was it simply another public gesture of support? He was, after all, that sort of man: protective, gallant, kind. But oh, the hope building inside her was an ache of yearning.
By the time the ball was winding down and people were starting to leave, Alice was exhausted, but in a good way. She’d come half expecting to be excoriated by society, but instead she’d found friends she hadn’t realized she had.
And James had announced their betrothal.
As they prepared for the carriage to arrive—guests’ carriages were lined up along the street—Lucy said something to a footman, who produced a covered basket along with their other possessions from the cloakroom.
“A basket, Lucy?” Alice asked. “You didn’t bring that with you.” What would she want with a basket? Alice had several she could have lent her.
Lucy grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I know. Lady Reynolds lent it to me.” She handed the basket to Gerald. The carriage arrived and they climbed in.
“It’s quite heavy,” Gerald said, grinning. “What’s the total?”
Lucy bounced on her seat. “Sixteen!”
“What ar
e you two talking about?” James asked.
“While you two were dancing and chatting and getting betrothed—congratulations again, by the way, it’s wonderful news and I’m so excited for you”—Lucy leaned across and kissed Alice on the cheek—“we were busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
In answer, Gerald passed the basket to James. “Look inside.”
James lifted the cover and made a surprised exclamation. He pulled out a little red-leather-bound book. “There are sixteen copies in here? How on earth did you manage that?”
“It was Lucy’s idea,” Gerald said.
“I just—well, we, because Gerald was very good—spoke to all the young people we knew. Most of them had heard about the letters, and some had sneaked a look at them and thought they were horridly mean, so we asked them if they could get hold of their mothers’—”
“—or aunts’ or grandmothers’—” Gerald interjected.
“—copies of the book.” Lucy grinned triumphantly. “And sixteen people—”
“—that we know of—”
“—had brought the book with them to the ball.”
“Seventeen,” Alice said, pulling Mrs. Scorrier’s copy out of her reticule and tossing it into the basket.
“Seventeen copies,” James said. “With the one we already had from Gerald’s mother, that means we only need to track down the last seven copies, and that’ll be the end of that vile little book.”
The carriage arrived at Alice’s house, and James handed both the ladies down. He glanced at Lucy, then said to Alice in a low voice, “I’ll call on you tomorrow morning, and we can talk then.”
Thus ensuring she would get no sleep at all. As he turned to climb back into the carriage, Alice’s hand shot out to grab him. “I would rather we talked now.”
He eyed her a moment, glanced at Lucy again, then said to Gerald, “I’ll walk home. See you tomorrow.”
The carriage drove off. Lucy eyed them with speculative excitement. “I’m sure you two won’t want to be disturbed. You have so much to talk about.” And with a mischievous wink, she skipped up the stairs to bed.
