by Carola Dunn
“Of course not, he is not a lord. Enough of Mr. Osborne. I fear you are in for a dull evening. I was not sure when you would return here so I accepted a dinner invitation for tonight.”
“Never mind, I am used to retiring early after being at home,” said Alison philosophically.
After Lady Emma’s departure, she ate a solitary meal before the fire in the drawing-room. She had taken up a book and Henry was clearing away the dishes when the door knocker sounded. He hurried to answer it.
Returning a moment later, he announced, “It’s Lord Kilmore, miss, wants a word with you.”
“Lord Kilmore! At this hour? Good gracious, I cannot receive him here alone. I had best slip into the hall and see what he wants.”
His lordship looked particularly dashing, with a black domino draped over his evening clothes and a black mask dangling from his hand. A second domino, of pale blue silk, was folded over his other arm.
“Miss Alison,” he greeted her, bowing. She was not sure that she approved of his continued use of her Christian name. “I happened to hear that you were returned to the world today. It is the luckiest chance. There is a masquerade tonight at Vauxhall.”
“Thank you, my lord, for remembering that I wanted to attend a masquerade, but I cannot go. Lady Emma is gone out.” Alison could not help sounding disappointed.
“Ah, but I have thought of everything. Not only have I brought a domino for you, I have a chaperon waiting in the carriage outside.”
“A chaperon?”
“You are acquainted with Mrs. Darnell, I believe? She and her husband will go with us.”
“I have only met Mr. Darnell.” Alison remembered him as a respectable, somewhat stout gentleman of middle years, who seemed an unlikely companion for Lord Kilmore. However, his wife must be an acceptable chaperon, she thought. She did want to go to a masquerade. “Thank you, sir, I will go. Pray ask the Darnells to step in while I change my dress.”
“That is not necessary. You look enchanting as you are, and the domino will hide everything anyway.” He held the light, hooded cloak out to her.
“No, it would be shocking to go out for the evening in a morning gown,” she said, laughing. “I shall not keep you above a quarter hour, I promise.”
He looked annoyed, but acquiesced and sent Henry out to fetch his friends while Alison ran upstairs with the domino. She called Carter to help her change.
“I’m sure I don’t know what her ladyship’ll think,” said the abigail worriedly, undoing the row of tiny buttons down the back of Alison’s gown. “Going off with a gentleman at this time of night. The blue sarcenet you want to wear?”
“Yes, to match the domino. There will be a perfectly unexceptionable couple with us, or I should not go. I shall write a note to Lady Emma, so pray do not be anxious, Carter dear. No, I do not need a hat, as the domino has a hood. There, that is perfect, thank you.” She sat down at her little writing table and dashed off a brief explanation. Sanding and folding the sheet, she handed it to the abigail. “Give that to Lady Emma as soon as she comes in, if you please.”
When Alison reached the drawing-room, she was dismayed to find that though Mr. Darnell was as she recalled him, his wife was something of a surprise. Wrapped in a scarlet domino that matched her lips, she was a brassy blonde with improbably dark eyebrows and lashes.
Lord Kilmore presented Alison to her.
“Nice to meet you, dearie,” she said. “His lordship said you was pretty as a picture and I can see he told no lie. Let’s be off, then, or we’ll miss the Cascade. Did you ever see the Cascade, dearie?”
In the face of such friendliness, Alison did not know how to say that she had changed her mind.
As if aware of her uneasiness, Lord Kilmore was at his most charming and solicitous. He did not attempt to flirt, helping her into the carriage with no more than a steadying hand beneath her elbow. As they drove towards the river, he apologized that short notice had prevented hiring a boat to complete the enjoyment of the evening. Instead they crossed the Thames by the new Vauxhall Bridge, joining a stream of carriages heading in the same direction.
When the coachman drew up at the entrance to the gardens, Lord Kilmore pulled a mask from his pocket and begged Alison’s permission to help her tie it on. She pushed back the hood of the domino and held the strip of blue satin to her face while he tied the ribbons among her curls. His fingers were deft, scarcely touching her head, and she began to relax.
“Can you see, Miss Larkin?” he enquired.
She adjusted the mask. It felt odd, but she could see perfectly well. Following the Darnells, he helped her down from the carriage. She took his arm, he paid the entrance fee, and they walked with the crowds into the gardens.
“Oh, it is delightful!” breathed Alison, gazing around at the coloured lamps hanging from the trees, the colonnades and pavilions, all thronged with multi-hued dominoes. The strains of music drifted on the breeze from a nearby building. “May we go and hear the orchestra?”
“Of course, my dear, if you are not hungry. I did succeed in reserving a box for supper.”
“I have eaten, but perhaps you have not, ma’am?” She turned to Mrs. Darnell.
“Not to worry, dearie. You go and listen to the music with his lordship. Me and Darnell’ll find the box and you can come along when you’re good and ready. Don’t be late for the Cascade, mind, and then there’s the fireworks at midnight. You won’t want to miss them.” She tugged on her husband’s arm, and before Alison could protest they had vanished in the crowd.
“I fear Mrs. Darnell has not the refinement one might wish,” said Lord Kilmore ruefully. “She is kindhearted, however. By all means let us go to the Music Room. The building itself is worth a visit.”
The circular room, with its flowery, canopy-styled ceiling, was very fine. Alison had never seen a musical ensemble larger than a dance band before and she enjoyed watching the players as much as listening to Handel’s tuneful “Water Music.” Lord Kilmore told her the history of the piece.
“Handel was court composer to the Elector of Hanover,” he explained. “He came to visit England and was so lionized he decided to stay. Then the poor fellow found that the patron he had deserted was about to become King George I of England. Can you picture his despair? Doubtless he would have torn his hair had he possessed any, but of course they wore wigs in those days.”
Alison giggled. “Did he win back the king’s favour?” she asked.
“He wrote the music you have just heard and had it played on a boat on the Thames, following the royal barge. George expressed his delight too forcefully to be able to renege when he discovered that the composer was his faithless servant.”
“I’m glad, and not a bit surprised. The music was splendid and it must have sounded even better heard across the water.” Alison was quite in charity with Lord Kilmore as they strolled back towards the supper boxes.
Nonetheless, she was relieved to find the Darnells waiting there for them, though the gentleman’s eyes were somewhat glazed and his nose bid fair to rival the red of his wife’s domino.
“There you are, dearie,” Mrs. Darnell greeted her. “Nice music, was it? I’m fond of a good tune myself. You’ve just time for a bite of supper before the Cascade.”
Alison was not hungry, but she could not refuse to taste Vauxhall’s famous wafer-thin ham. She did refuse to sip of the equally famous arrack punch, in which Mr. Darnell had been overindulging during their absence, and she turned down champagne in favour of lemonade. Lord Kilmore did not press her. Her last suspicions vanished.
Mr. Darnell was quietly snoozing in a corner of the booth by the time people began to stream towards the Cascade. His wife was perfectly willing to abandon him rather than miss her favourite spectacle. Alison was glad of her presence on one side and Lord Kilmore’s on the other, for the mannerly, elegant crowd was changing character.
Many women had abandoned their dominoes to expose barely decent dresses, and they hung on the arms of thei
r cavaliers, giggling and shrieking. Lord Kilmore steered her away from the most blatant excesses.
“Alas, Vauxhall is not the exclusive place it once was,” he said. “I hope you feel its attractions outweigh its disadvantages, Miss Larkin.”
“It is prodigious amusing,” she assured him, trying not to notice that Mrs. Darnell’s domino had fallen open to reveal a décolleté so deep it was a wonder her gown did not fall off.
“You mustn’t mind them, dearie. Just having a bit of fun, like. Wait till you see the Cascade.”
The much-vaunted Cascade proved worthy of its fame. Alison gazed entranced, exclaiming in delight as a country scene in miniature passed before their eyes, propelled by a water-wheel. She was aware that his lordship was watching her, not the spectacle, amused by her raptures.
“I have never seen anything like it,” she explained, glancing up at him.
He smiled, his eyes warm. “I am gratified to have pleased you.”
The show over, they returned towards the supper box. They had nearly reached it when Mrs. Darnell, with a cry of “Georgie, my dove,” swooped on a passing gentleman.
“Why, Ginger, sweetheart, where the devil have you been?” he responded, bussing her cheek and putting his arm about her waist. Far from objecting, she glanced back and winked at Alison and Lord Kilmore, then swayed closer.
“I had to find a chaperon in a hurry. My choice was not ideal,” Lord Kilmore admitted. “She is lively company, though, and I fear it will be dull with only her husband. The fireworks do not begin until midnight. There are some very pretty grottoes and temples scattered about the grounds; do you care to go exploring?”
* * * *
Philip Trevelyan had been surprised to meet Lady Emma at the Lansdownes’. Her family was as Tory as his own. While dinner with the Marquis of Lansdowne was not an outright declaration of Whig sympathies, as a visit to Holland House would be, tonight’s gathering was of a political nature.
Emma’s companion surprised Philip less. Osborne had mentioned his interest in offering financial support to the party of parliamentary reform, and Philip had, in fact, supplied the merchant’s introduction to the marquis. That Ralph Osborne had escorted Emma was not so much surprising as intriguing. Especially as Emma did not quite meet Philip’s eyes when she expressed her pleasure at seeing him there.
He had no leisure to observe the pair, for his own presence was an exploratory foray. It took all his skill to discover, without making any definite commitment, what his reception might be if he switched parties.
He was satisfied with the results. Alison would be glad to hear that he was making progress with the plans for his political future. As it was not late when the company dispersed, he decided to go with Lady Emma and her escort back to Park Street in the hope of finding Alison still downstairs so that he could tell her. Not until they reached the house did he realize how odd it would look to be asking to see a young lady at eleven o’clock in the evening.
“May I offer you a glass of brandy, gentlemen?” Lady Emma suggested. “The night is still young.”
It would not be proper for either of them to accept alone. Philip exchanged a glance with Osborne and was pleased when the other nodded.
“That sounds like a splendid notion, Emma,” he said with alacrity.
They had scarcely descended from the landau when the front door swung open. The footman ran down the steps to meet them.
“My lady! Mrs. Carter has a letter for you. It’s Miss Alison, she went off wi’ the gentleman.”
Emma’s abigail was standing in the doorway waving a paper. Philip took the steps in two strides and whipped it from her hand. He was about to unfold the note when it dawned on him that he had not the slightest right to do anything of the sort. On tenterhooks, he passed it on to Emma.
She moved into the hall, Osborne close behind.
“What does it say?” demanded Philip impatiently.
“Miss Alison went off with Lord Kilmore,” the abigail announced.
“Hush, Carter.” Emma was a little pale. “Yes, she has gone with Kilmore, to a masquerade. At Vauxhall,” she added faintly. Osborne helped her to a chair.
“Alone with that libertine?” Philip raged. “The little shatterbrain!”
“Not alone. She says that a respectable couple is to go with them. Oh lord, the Darnells!”
“The Darnells?’ Osborne enquired. “Who are they?”
“He will be under the table within the hour,” Emma explained.
“And she will be under the bushes with the first coxcomb who blows her a kiss,” Philip added. “Begging your pardon, Emma. I’ll take your carriage, and pray God I do not arrive too late.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Osborne grimly. “Alison is my responsibility. Try not to worry, Lady Emma. We shall bring her home safe and sound, I make no doubt.”
Halfway back to the carriage already, Philip snorted as he heard those words of comfort behind him. Kilmore was in Dun Territory, and if he could compromise Alison so that she had to marry him, he would not think twice about it. Fear twisted Philip’s innards as he jumped up onto the box and dispossessed the coachman of the reins. Osborne just managed to scramble aboard before the landau rocked into motion.
An elegant but clumsy landau pulled by two showy but sluggish steeds was not precisely the vehicle Philip would have chosen for a dash to the rescue. However, it carried them in one piece to Vauxhall Gardens. Osborne emerged from the interior looking somewhat shaken, and glanced around.
“I’ve never been here,” he said as they passed through the entrance, unwatched at this late hour. “Where do we begin the search?”
Philip shrugged, angry to feel so helpless. “It’s only in the dark walks that she is likely to be in serious trouble, but that is the most difficult place to find anyone. We shall have to separate and do the best we can. You go round to the left.” He pulled out his watch and opened it. “The fireworks will begin in about twenty minutes. We’d best meet there to search the crowds.”
They were about to split up when Philip felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Guv!”
He looked down into the anxious freckled face of Tarry Joe. “What the devil?”
“I bin lookin’ fer ya, guv. I knowed one o’ you gentry coves’d come after ‘er.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I do think we ought to rearrange him,” said Alison. “He looks shockingly uncomfortable and he will soon be on the floor.”
Lord Kilmore obligingly lifted Mr. Darnell’s feet and laid him out flat on the bench. “How fortunate that we are not a large party,” he observed.
“Yes, only think if we had two or three gentlemen in the same condition. There would be nowhere to put them. This syllabub is quite delicious,” she added, returning to the dish before her. “Do you suppose they would give me the receipt for Aunt Cleo?”
“There’s no harm in trying.” With some invisible signal he summoned a waiter.
He was consulting the man when Alison caught sight of Philip Trevelyan coming towards their booth, followed by Ralph Osborne. Happy to see at least the former, she waved. The barely suppressed anger on Philip’s face turned to sardonic amusement, while Mr. Osborne’s anxiety gave way to wrath.
Alison touched Lord Kilmore’s arm. “Look, my lord, Mr. Trevelyan is here.”
Dismissing the waiter, he sighed. “Just when we were congratulating ourselves on being a small party. What do you suggest, ma’am, shall we prop Darnell in a corner or put him under the table? Servant, Trevelyan. Evening, Osborne.”
The two gentlemen nodded stiffly as Alison giggled. “Leave the poor man be. It is almost time for the fireworks.” She smiled up at Philip. “I am happy to see you, sir. Is not this a delightful place?”
“Delightful!” Mr. Osborne exploded. “Are you aware, young woman—”
“Delightful indeed,” Philip interrupted him. “However, Lady Emma is in some concern as to your well-being. Doubtless his lordship will excuse yo
u.”
“But the fireworks will begin at any moment. I do so want to see them.”
His lordship lounged back, looking satirical, toying with his wineglass and taking no part in the argument.
“Fireworks?” said Mr. Osborne. “By Jove, I have always wanted to see a firework display.”
“You may stay. I shall take Miss Alison home.”
“Please let me stay, too. I may never have another chance and Lady Emma will know that I am safe, since you are here.”
“Another half hour will make no difference, Trevelyan.” Mr. Osborne agreed with Alison. “You must be aware that I would not do anything to distress Lady Emma.”
At that moment the waiter returned, handed Lord Kilmore a slip of paper and received a shilling for his pains. His lordship turned to Alison.
“The syllabub receipt, Miss Larkin. Are these rude fellows troubling you? Shall I sent them to the right about?”
“Oh no, pray do not.” Though she was not sure what he intended, it did not sound like a good idea. She tucked the paper in her reticule. “But I should like to see the fireworks,” she repeated hopefully.
“And I should not dream of depriving you of that pleasure. Come, it is time to take our places if we wish for a good view.” Standing up, he stepped out of the box, forcing Philip and Mr. Osborne to move back. He offered his arm to Alison and she laid her hand on it.
Short of starting a melée, there was nothing the others could do but follow as they made their way to the viewing stands.
Alison was glad that she had insisted. The incandescent splendour of Roman candles, Catherine wheels, rockets bursting in the air in showers of red and green and gold sparkles, the pops and bangs and fizzes—all was magical. She clung to Lord Kilmore’s arm, but she was comfortingly aware of Philip and Mr. Osborne behind her, sheltering her from the rowdy crowd. The set piece at the end, recognizable busts of the Duke of Wellington and the Prince of Wales, called forth mingled boos and cheers. A fist-fight started not far off.
“Time to go,” said Lord Kilmore.
With a determined triple escort, it was not difficult to escape the throng. No sooner had they a little space about them than Philip turned to his lordship.
