She easily kept up with him. “Where are we going?”
He threw her an ironic glance. “I am going to keep a promise I didn’t give you in the first place, ma’am. But since you accused me of reneging—” He raised his brows, making her grin.
“I’m sure I did nothing of the sort.”
Chuckling, he turned his attention back on navigating the crowd. Imp! And, mellowing, Sweet, darling girl. He glanced around, making sure that nobody would notice their retreat. But no, neither her relatives nor his parents were anywhere in sight.
He manoeuvred them towards a side door, and they slipped into the hallway, where servants strode up and down, carrying trays with refreshments, and a few guests loitered, no doubt wanting to catch a breath of fresher air.
Griff touched Miss Stanton’s—Charlie’s shoulder. “This way,” he murmured.
She shot him another of her intense green looks—of the kind that hit him straight in the chest, cutting through skin and flesh and bone straight into his heart. Though her eyes were crinkled with amusement, her breathing had accelerated, and her glistening lips formed a slight O.
Utterly delectable.
Utterly kissable.
Griff felt his control slip another notch, and wondered whether he would make it even to the library before he gave in to the wild craving to kiss that luscious mouth.
Perhaps she saw something of what he felt in his eyes, for hers darkened, and the tip of her tongue came out to stroke over her lips.
“Don’t,” he growled in a voice that was barely civilised. How he wanted her!
Her eyes widened, and—
A man stepped in front of them. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Whom do we have here?”
Griff’s head snapped around. He narrowed his eyes as he recognised the man before them.
Ed the Snake, a.k.a. Edward Fenton, Baron Anson, his slimy, slithering other cousin, always ready to make trouble for other people.
Ed surveyed Griff and Charlie from top to toe, and sneered. “Stealing away from the ballroom, Chanderley? Tsk, tsk. But my—haven’t you caught yourself a nice little bird!”
Griff tensed, and as if in answer, Charlie’s fingers dug into his arm. “And good evening to you, too, sir,” she said with a beaming smile, ignoring Ed’s veiled insult.
Griff shot her a glance.
Or perhaps she was merely biding her time before disembowelling Ed the Snake in the hallway. One never knew with Miss Stanton.
“You wouldn’t know where the ladies’ retiring room is located, would you?” she now said. “Isn’t it the most dreadful crush in that ballroom? So crowded even on the dance floor. I told Lord Chanderley something terrible was bound to happen, and would you know? It did.” Heaving a sad sigh, she shook her head. “Quite dreadful: somebody stepped on my hem, and it ripped. I distinctly heard it rip, though Lord Chanderley assures me that it is a mere trifle. But I, sir, don’t count it as a trifle to walk around with a ripped hem, however small the rip. That would be most shocking, wouldn’t it?”
A dazed expression had come over Ed’s face, Griff was pleased to note. Take that, you slimy worm! he thought. He assumed his most haughty expression. “Naturally, I took it upon myself, as any gentleman would, to escort Miss Stanton to the retiring room. One never knows who is lurking about in these hallways.” Ha!
But then Ed seemed to wake from the daze Charlie’s torrent of words had induced. “Stanton?” he echoed. A crafty look entered his eyes. “Not a relative of Stanton, the painter, perchance? Doesn’t Lewdon have a Stanton hanging in that musty old abbey of his? A nude, if I recall, of the woman Stanton eloped with.” He smiled maliciously.
Damn! Griff gritted his teeth, and wondered whether it would do to break his cousin’s nose at elegant Tollham House while a ball was in full swing.
“I was a particular friend of his father, if you must know.”
I bet you were, Griff thought.
“And he was always full of praise of that painting and the… eh… delectable body of the model. Painting paid for their elopement, Old Lewdon always said.”
“Now look here, Anson,” Griff began, but Charlie, pressing his arm, interrupted him.
“How very kind of you to mention that painting, sir,” she said sweetly “I’m afraid I did not catch your name. A nude, you say? Knowing something of the work of the artist in question, I assume it is a classical pose. The birth of Venus, or some such motif.” The merest hint of condescension crept into her voice. “Seeing that you are no connoisseur of the arts, sir—” Here she gave a sad little sigh, and Griff nearly shouted, brava! “—it is perhaps not surprising that you should talk about a piece of art in such a crude fashion, but—la!—it is most shocking, still. And here I was imagining that gentlemen received some kind of classical education!—Now, my lord—” She tapped on Griff’s arm. “—I must insist that we find that retiring room post-haste. Philistine sentiments such as those of your friend’s always make me feel quite faint.” She gave Ed a last, pitying smile. “Good day to you, sir, whoever you are.” And dragged Griff on towards the stairs.
“Lord,” she mumbled as they had left his unsavoury cousin behind them. “Who was that?”
Griff grimaced. “My other cousin, Baron Anson. We call him Ed the Snake.”
Charlie’s brows rose. “Quite fitting, I have to say.”
He threw a look over his shoulder. Ed was still watching them. Damn. “No library today, I am afraid.”
“Hmm.” She pressed his arm. “I feared you might say that. Would you mind very much if I accidentally pushed your abhorrent relative into the Serpentine if I see him in the Park?”
“By all means. You don’t need to feel bound by any consideration of me, my dear.” Ed was still watching them. “Damn,” he muttered. “Where is that infernal retiring room? We’ll have to go there now.”
Now she patted his arm as if he were a nervous dog. “Upstairs, of course. Retiring rooms are nearly always upstairs.” She gave him an arch look. “Why do you think your sister is not drinking any lemonade?” She steered him towards the stairs. “Though why you and Mr Cole persist in bringing her glasses of the stuff is truly beyond me.”
“I do beg your pardon?” Frowningly, Griff followed her lead. “Whatever has the location of the retiring room to do with lemonade?”
“A lot, if you sit in a wheeling chair, and can’t get up the stairs on your own.—Here we are.”
Griff felt as if she had punched him in the gut. His legs turned to syllabub. Good Lord! Poor Izzie! Why hadn’t she…?
Self-recriminations churned in his stomach. What kind of brother was he that he—
“Oh, I beg you: don’t make such a face!” the ever-observant Miss Stanton said. “If it is any consolation, I did not see the connection either until your sister pointed it out to me.”
“My sister did?” he asked stupidly.
“Oh, right during our first meeting.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though I have to say that I was very nosy, which was probably quite bad of me. But truly, I cannot abide all this beating about the bush.”
No, she wouldn’t, Griff thought dazedly. Miss Stanton took life by the horns and faced it head on. He watched her slip into the ladies’ retiring room, where she would no doubt pretend to repair the seam of her dress.
A few minutes later they were on their way downstairs again. Griff took a deep breath. “Miss Stanton—”
“Didn’t you want to call me Charlie?” she interrupted with a soft smile. “Or, ‘my dear’?” Her smile widened, even as a blush stole over her cheeks. “I found it most pleasing when you called me that.”
He coughed. “I did? You must excuse these liberties then.” He broke off when she started to giggle. “What?”
At his admittedly rather irritable tone, she burst out laughing.
“Oh Chanderley, you are a darling man! After the Frimsey conservatory—”
“A sad misconduct on my part,” he muttered.
She giggle
d again. “And didn’t you wish to show me the library here in this house?” she asked provocatively.
Oh yes, she was an aggravating girl. “It would have been very bad of me if I had,” he said stiffly, his sense of propriety finally rearing its head again.
But, oh…
To hold her in his arms, to plunder her mouth at will…
What a hypocrite he was to deny the pleasure her company afforded him! Propriety be damned!
“I would have loved to show you the library,” he said softly, and, after the slightest pause, “My dear.”
Beside him, she gave a blissful sigh. “Ah, Chanderley, I’m so happy I believe I shall swoon! Or perhaps I’m just going to melt into a puddle of happiness at your feet. What a strange feeling this is!”
Chuckling, Griff shook his head. Count on the girl to astound him at every possible turn! She was like a whirlwind sweeping through his life. In her company, one better had to count upon the unexpected.
Still chuckling, he led her back into the ballroom, where they were intercepted by Boo. “Confound it, Griff!” his normally laid-back cousin hissed, grabbing his arm. “Where have you been? You didn’t…? Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“We ran into Ed the Snake.” Griff frowned. “Whatever has happened to have you in such a dismal mood?”
“Ed is in London? Dammit!—Beg your pardon, Miss Stanton.” Boo groaned. “I swear, Griff, our family is driving me deranged!”
“Boo. What has happened?”
In answer, his cousin looked pointedly to the alcove where they had left Izzie. Only his sister was no longer alone. A voluminous woman sat enthroned on the chair next to her, her head wrapped in an enormous purple turban with—Griff squinted—a stuffed bird? sitting on top of it.
“Yes,” Boo said. “The Crocodile is back in Town as well.”
Chapter 11
in which our heroine displays
her musical talent
Miss Carlotta Stanton to Emma-Louise Brockwin, by Two-penny Post
Dearest Emma-Lee,
what an exciting even’g I’ve had! The Tollham ball was most splendid, despite the Shocking Crush of people present. I met another of Lord Ch.’s cousins, an unpleasant creature, whom Ch. divertingly calls ‘Ed the Snake’, though that is the only diverting thing about That Person. He might have seen one of the paintings papa did of mamma—from the Classical Phase, I believe. Oh dear! But you w’d have been v. proud of yr Friend: I did not punch him, however much tempted I was!—I also met Ch.’s aunt, Mrs Burnell. I daresay she is one of the most Interesting Persons I have ever met. She has a very odd, cackling laugh, & her clothes are most flamboyant, but still, I feel she is a true St. Cuthbertian in spirit—even though she never went to St. Cuthbert’s of course.—Do you sometimes miss good old St. Cuthbert’s, Em? everything seemed so easy back there!—One could easily see Mrs B.’s Cuthbertian Spirit in the way she kept poking the gentlemen with her fan or even Rapping Their Knuckles when she thought they were talking nonsense.—Mrs B. has very Firm Notions abt what constitutes nonsense. She was v. annoyed about what she perceived as Ch. & Mr C.’s coddling of dear Isa. (Truth to be told, Em, she was not far off the mark. Ch. is a dear, but he seems to see his sister as some kind of Wilting Daisy.) In any way, Mrs B. was most anxious to meet me after Isa. had told her about me (or so Mrs B. said). She has invited me to a small party she is giving. I regret lending Isa. my song album just now: I could have used some practice, so I won’t put our Mr Bernstone to shame when I’m asked to sing at the party. But it is not to be helped. I will persist!—I hope all is well with you. Are your beaux still aggravating you?
Your loving friend,
Miss Carlotta Stanton
~*~
Mrs Henrietta Burnell to Miss Carlotta Stanton, delivered by footman
Mrs Henrietta Bridget Burnell
requests the pleasure of your company for a small private gathering
at Peardrop House, Mortimer Street
on the evening of Thursday next
~*~
“An invitation? From Mrs Burnell? The Earl of Lymfort’s sister?” Aunt Dolmore frowned at Charlie across the breakfast table. “How extraordinary!”
“Do you think the invitation has been delivered to Cousin Charlotte by mistake?” Cousin Caroline chimed in.
Inwardly, Charlie rolled her eyes. That was most likely indeed, given that her name was on the envelope and given that Mrs Burnell had personally invited her the night before.
“That is most probable indeed.” Aunt Dolmore rang for the butler. “Doring,” she said when he entered the breakfast parlour not a minute later. “How was this invitation my niece received this morning delivered?”
Doring bowed. “By hand, ma’am.”
Aunt Dolmore’s brows rose. “Most extraordinary indeed.—Thank you, Doring, that was all.” She held out her hand. “Give me that note, child, and let me see.”
Charlie reluctantly handed over her precious invitation—the first real, formal invitation she had received since her arrival in London! And after she had met Chanderley’s aunt only the evening before, at that!
Aunt Dolmore glanced over the small piece of notestock. “Well… hm… hm… Mortimer Street, I say! Most extraordinary!”
“I believe Mr Burnell left his widow a very rich woman,” Uncle Dolmore offered. “So there is nothing quite extraordinary about the fact that she can afford a house in the best part of Town.” He winked at Charlie. “I have heard she has friends in the best circles.”
“Yes, yes. I daresay she has if she lives on Mortimer Street.” Aunt Dolmore squinted at the invitation. “Though the form of this is sadly lacking. One would have thought she would use her husband’s name, but no, bold as you please, she lists her own Christian names. Most unusual!”
Another wink from Uncle Dolmore. “I believe Mrs Burnell is what you might call an eccentric, my dear, but a very respectable eccentric. It is my understanding that she spent the past few years abroad, travelling the world.”
Travelling the world?
Charlie perked up.
Now didn’t that sound promising? She loved hearing about travels abroad!
“Hmph,” Aunt Dolmore said, then looked at Charlie. “I doubt you know what a great honour it is to be invited to an address on Mortimer Street, child. And I am sure that Mrs Burnell did not mean this invitation for you alone, but meant it to include the whole family. In the future I would appreciate it if you would give people proper directions.” She sniffed. “I will write to Mrs Burnell and thank her kindly for her invitation. Naturally, the family will be most pleased to accept it.”
Cousin Caroline clasped her hands together. “Mortimer Street! A mere stone throw from the Austro-Hungarian embassy! Do you think Prince Esterhazy will attend this function? How very exciting!”
~*~
The days until Mrs Burnell’s party passed in a blur—there was another party to attend on Tuesday, and, of course, Almack’s on Wednesday night, and drives with Isabella in the Park. Charlie was relieved to learn that Mrs Burnell had invited her nephew and niece to her party as well.
“Though not my parents,” Isabella confided. “I am explicitly to accompany my brother, which is most strange, don’t you think so? They agreed without demur, too!”
“What about Mr Cole?” Charlie cut in. Over the past weeks she had become fond of Chanderley’s big cousin. “Has he been invited as well?”
“No. You see, Boo is my cousin on my mother’s side, whereas Aunt Burnell is my father’s sister. Oh, and Charlie—” She gripped Charlie’s arm. “—when my aunt learnt that I enjoy playing the fortepiano, she specifically requested that I perform at her party. Whatever shall I do?” She bit her lip. “You must know that I wouldn’t at all feel comfortable to play in company. I haven’t done that… well… since the accident.”
Charlie smiled at her. “Then it is high time that you do. I haven’t yet heard you either, and I shall be looking forward to the occasion.”<
br />
With a groan, Isabella covered her eyes with her fingers. “Don’t say such things! It will be most awkward, I am sure!”
“Nonsense,” Charlie said briskly. “Didn’t you tell me yourself how much you enjoy music? Pick a simple, pleasing piece, and you cannot go wrong. That is what Mr Bernstone always said. It is fine and well to master technical difficulties, but on the whole, people at parties only seldom appreciate technically difficult pieces. They much prefer something light and breezy and joyous and short, for surely there will be other young ladies wishing to perform.”
Isabella let her hands fall into her lap. “Is that a St. Cuthbert’s truism?” She sighed. “Well, I am glad that I won’t be expected to play a full piano concerto or anything of the sort. But still, I do wish my aunt would not particularly desire me to play in front of her guests. I daresay they will all stare at my chair, and I will be most uncomfortable.”
“If they do, they will be the most enormous dunderheads alive,” Charlie retorted. “Now let us think what you could play.”
Isabella wrung her hands, clearly still horrified at the thought that she should play at all. But then, she took a deep breath, and said determinedly, “I will march boldly forward, just as your school song says. Now…” Another deep breath. “I was thinking of something more traditional. I am sure that many of Aunt Burnell’s acquaintances will be of her age, and something more modern, like Schubert—have you heard of him?—would perhaps not go down well with an older audience. Haydn would be an altogether better choice, I believe. What do you think?”
Charlie grinned at her. Hadn’t she always known that in the breast of her new friend beat the heart of a true St. Cuthbertian? “I think it is a most excellent idea.”
“Is it?” Pleasure turned Isabella’s cheeks pink. “I’m so glad you think so. I have already narrowed it down to two options. One—” She gave Charlie an expectant look. “—the sonata in A major that starts with dlummM-tadatadada-tidabambah,” she sang, her fingers playing on an invisible fortepiano on her lap. “You know, the one with all the triplets?”
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