by Buck, Gayle
Maisie looked critically at the gray satin gown that she had readied. It was well enough, but the color was too drab. She shook her head. A pity that her mistress was in half-mourning, but there it was.
Joan got out of the bath and dried herself. She dressed in her undergarments. The abigail threw the gown over her head and pulled it down into place. While the abigail did up the buttons in the back, Joan stared critically at herself in the mirror. She asked slowly, “Maisie, why this particular gown? It is quite the most elegant that I possess.”
The abigail shot a look at her face, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Miss Ratcliffe will be coming down to dinner, so I’ve heard.”
Joan digested the information. Her mouth curved in a small smile. “I see. Thank you for your concern, Maisie.”
The abigail finished the buttons. She was surprised by her mistress’s calm reaction. She would have expected at least a hint of agitation. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
“I don’t know what else you could possibly do to make it any easier, Maisie,” Joan said on a short laugh. She shook her head at her abigail’s anxious expression. “Don’t you understand, Maisie? It shall be a relief simply to have it done and over with.” She turned away from the mirror, as ready as she would ever be to go downstairs and face the hostility that would of a certainty be her main fare that night.
Joan met Lord Humphrey on the stairs. They greeted each other and she accepted his proffered arm.
He shot a keen glance at her pensive expression. “Nervous, my lady?” he asked sympathetically.
Joan looked up quickly, meeting his eyes. She gave a little laugh. “Yes, I admit it. I am quailing inside. Is it so obvious?”
“One would never know it,” he assured her.
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and now slowly traversed the entry hall toward the drawing room. Naturally the entire household would congregate before removing to the dining room. Joan could hear the low buzz of conversation. She set her eyes on the door, dreading the moment when she would become the focus of all eyes.
The viscount paused just before entering the drawing room. He drew a deep breath, then opened the door. Surprised, Joan glanced up at his aquiline profile. She had not realized before that his lordship must also feel a touch of nerves at this debut, but his steadying of himself had been obvious. She was glad to know that Lord Humphrey found the moment difficult. It made her own nervousness seem less pressing.
Since Joan was not thinking about herself when she entered on the viscount’s arm, she missed the combined attentions of those already gathered in the drawing room. Her poise remained intact despite the hostile gazes pinned on her. The worst moment was over by the time that Joan looked away from the viscount, for Lady Dewesbury was already moving forward to greet her.
“Edward, my dear! Miss Chadwick, how delightful you look,” she said, casting an approving and yet wondering glance over Joan’s gown.
Joan murmured an appropriate reply. Her eyes strayed past the countess. She met the hostile stares of Lady Ratcliffe and a heretofore-unknown young lady.
Joan thought quite honestly that she had never seen a more dazzlingly beautiful girl.
Miss Ratcliffe was perfect of feature and figure. She was the possessor of masses of guinea gold hair, large indigo-blue eyes, and a delectably bowed mouth. At the moment there was a hard expression in her eyes and her full under lip was caught between her teeth, lending her a petulant expression, but Joan could forgive her those unangelic inconsistencies. Without those traces of human failings, Miss Ratcliffe would have been simply too perfect to bear looking at.
Lady Dewesbury was determined to make things go in as civil a manner as possible. She therefore made an effort to introduce Miss Chadwick with a bright voice. “Miss Chadwick, you have met Lord and Lady Ratcliffe, of course. And this, naturally, is Miss Augusta Ratcliffe.”
“Miss Chadwick.’’ Lord Ratcliffe bowed to Joan and she was surprised when he actually smiled briefly at her. However, Lady Ratcliffe vouchsafed only a freezing stare and the barest of nods.
As for their daughter, Miss Ratcliffe slowly stared Joan up and down before dismissing her very existence. She turned to the viscount, who was one step behind Joan, and held out her hand to him. The hard look disappeared from her brightening eyes and her pretty mouth softened into a beguiling smile. “Edward, come sit beside me.”
“Yes, my lord. We have not seen much of you these past weeks. You must tell us how you found London when you left,” Lady Ratcliffe said.
The viscount had stiffened at Miss Ratcliffe’s unmistakable command. He was on the point of making an excuse, but Lady Ratcliffe’s added joiner put him on the spot. He did not want to further antagonize his godmother when it was so important to him that she be brought to understand his position. He knew that Lady Ratcliffe was his mother’s dearest friend, and for that reason more than any other he hoped to soften Lady Ratcliffe’s ire against him.
“I will be happy to tell you all that I know,” he said. He seated himself, but not beside Miss Ratcliffe, choosing instead to position himself in a chair opposite the two ladies.
Miss Ratcliffe’s nostrils quivered in brief temper, but she did not challenge the viscount on his careful maneuvering. She shot a swift dagger-like glance at the back of Miss Chadwick’s head as that lady was being led off by the countess.
Lady Dewesbury took Joan up to the Earl of Dewesbury. The earl had maintained his ground separated from the rest of the company, where he stood beside the mantel. The firelight cast ruddy shadows over the planes of his stern face. His hands were clasped behind his back and he stared down from his greater height with an uncompromising set to his mouth.
“My dear, this is Miss Joan Chadwick, whom you have already heard so much about. The Earl of Dewesbury, my husband,” said Lady Dewesbury. The anxious air rested prominently upon her features.
“My lord.” Joan inclined her head. She did not offer her hand, being quite certain that it would not be accepted. There was such a look of heavy disdain and actual dislike in the earl’s eyes that she felt herself oppressed just by the flick of his glance.
“Miss Chadwick.” Lord Dewesbury’s voice was flat, expressionless. After another moment of staring at her, he turned his gaze onto his flustered wife. “I should like to go into dinner now.”
Lady Dewesbury fluttered her hands, consternated both by her lord’s arctic behavior and by his abrupt demand. “But Mama is not yet down!”
“You need not worry your peabrain over me, Charlotte,’’ came Lady Cassandra’s voice. “I am quite certain that Greville does not.” With all eyes turning upon her, Lady Cassandra swept into the drawing room with the aid of a footman.
After an astonished second, while he digested his mother-in-law’s unexpected insult, the earl began to flush an interesting shade of red.
Lady Cassandra watched his lordship’s transformation sardonically. “I am an old crow, Greville, but you are not yet up to properly training your fowling piece in my direction,” she said.
Lord Dewesbury restrained himself with difficulty. He bowed stiffly in Lady Cassandra’s direction. “As you say, Lady Cassandra,” he said. He offered his arm to his wife and Lady Dewesbury placed her fingers on his arm. The earl and countess proceeded to lead the way into the dining room.
Lady Cassandra got in a parting shot. “A most worthy pair, indeed!”
The earl missed a step and half-turned. Lady Dewesbury’s agitated whisper was perfectly audible to everyone. “Greville, please! You gave me your solemn word.” The earl’s snarling reply was lost in the flurry of forming up for the trek to the dining room.
Joan found the viscount at her side. She smiled gratefully to him for his proffered escort. “Thank you, my lord.”
Lord Humphrey nodded to her and spoke over her head to Lady Cassandra. “Grandmamma, I have a second arm if you will do me the honor.”
Lady Cassandra smiled, twin points of wicked light snapping in her c
ool gray eyes. “Of course, my boy. I would not so insult you by denying you the privilege of acting as my escort.”
Lord Humphrey broke into a wide grin. He found himself for once thankful for his grandmother’s pricking wit. Given Lady Cassandra’s irascible mood, she would undoubtedly detract some of the disapprobation from himself and Joan. He could not think of anything that could please him more.
It had pained Lord Humphrey to observe his father’s stiff reaction to Joan, but even more to the point, he had felt the singular lack of greeting that he had himself been granted by the earl. He had always enjoyed an extremely cordial relationship with his father, and the earl’s pointed omission had wounded him deeply. Perhaps with Lady Cassandra presenting herself as a target, the earl would unbend enough to toss a grudging word or two in his own direction.
With Joan on one side and Lady Cassandra on the other, Lord Humphrey followed his parents into the dining room.
The Ratcliffes brought up the rear, Lord Ratcliffe resignedly partnering his two seething ladies.
The earl presided at the head of the table and Lady Dewesbury at its end. Joan was seated between Lady Dewesbury and the viscount and beyond Lord Humphrey was Lady Ratcliffe’s place. Opposite the viscount was seated Miss Ratcliffe. Lady Cassandra took her place beside the earl, throwing a mildly malicious glance in his lordship’s direction. The last chair awaited Lord Ratcliffe between his daughter and Lady Dewesbury.
Lord Ratcliffe was not greatly surprised by the seating arrangements, but apparently his wife was not of similar mind.
“The gall,” hissed Lady Ratcliffe in her lord’s ear as he seated her. Her eyes were narrowed on the tableau farther down the table. “To place that nobody’s claims ahead of those of my dearest Augusta.”
“Recall that the young lady is Lord Humphrey’s betrothed. Naturally she is seated beside the viscount. You cannot fault Charlotte for that,” Lord Ratcliffe said quietly.
“Of course I may,” exclaimed Lady Ratcliffe. The glimmer of tears appeared in her blue eyes. “When I recall what good friends we once were it positively overpowers me.”
Her voice had risen to its normal level and all those at the table overheard her. Lady Dewesbury visibly winced. Joan, having noted her reluctant hostess’s distress, lowered her eyes. At that moment she did not have the courage to meet the various and swift glances that were angled in her direction.
Without comment, Lord Dewesbury solicitously offered his own linen handkerchief to his distressed dinner partner. Lady Ratcliffe snatched it, mumbling an inarticulate word of gratitude.
Lord Ratcliffe made good his escape and went around the table to his own place. As he settled into his chair, he glanced about and met the bright anger in his daughter’s lovely eyes. He decided that it was going to be a very long evening. Lord Ratcliffe signaled the footman to fill his wineglass.
The first course consisted of a nice barley soup removed by small quail in aspic and baked doves.
Miss Ratcliffe addressed the viscount in a playful manner from across the table. “I have missed you. Naughty, naughty Edward.”
The viscount pretended not to hear. He had no intention of allowing himself to be drawn into just the sort of dialogue that he particularly despised. Instead, he attempted to divide his attention equally between his dinner partners on either side of him. Lady Ratcliffe gave him the cold shoulder and twice cut him dead with a contemptuous look before she turned in an obvious fashion to address the earl.
Lord Humphrey gave a philosophical shrug and thereafter felt himself free to devote himself to Joan. “I hope that you have a taste for fowl,” he said quietly.
Joan slanted a brief, interested glance at his lordship. She had done full justice to the quail in aspic. “I do, as it happens. But why do you inquire, my lord?”
Lord Humphrey grinned. “I think that you shall soon gather my meaning, ma’am.”
Lady Cassandra picked with her fork at the dove on her plate. “I’ve never cared for skinny birds,” she observed.
Upon hearing her ladyship’s pointed comment, the earl’s mouth tightened. Lord Dewesbury requested the hovering footman to bring out a particular bottle of wine. He called down the table, “My dear John, you must try this next vintage. It was a gift from one whom I consider a true connoisseur.”
“Bring it on, Greville,” said Lord Ratcliffe. He was more than ready to indulge himself.
The second course featured fresh asparagus, peas, and scallops, several enticing meat pies, and three braised ducks served with herb dressing on the side. Joan eyed the ducks. It was the third offering of fowl. She was beginning to understand what Lord Humphrey had alluded to.
Miss Ratcliffe smiled across the table at Lord Humphrey. Her indigo-blue eyes were bright. “I expected you to arrive several days ago, my lord.” She spoke loud enough so that there was no mistaking her determination to have an answer. Everyone at the table paused for a scarce second, their forks suspended. Their gazes traveled between Miss Ratcliffe and Lord Humphrey.
The viscount could not ignore this time the challenge in Miss Ratcliffe’s voice. “There were matters to attend to,” he said shortly.
“Oh, so I gathered,” said Miss Ratcliffe, sliding a glittering glance in Joan’s direction. “But I dare to opine that my claim on you was of greater moment.”
Lord Humphrey seemed about to deliver himself of a hasty set-down. Lady Dewesbury hurried to intervene. She said hurriedly, “The Spanish onions are particularly delectable this evening, do you not think, Edward?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Lord Humphrey.
Lady Cassandra snorted, whether in laughter or not was anyone’s guess. She speared a piece of dark meat and held it up to eye level. “I detest duck. The meat is so very greasy,” she said meditatively.
Lord Dewesbury growled somewhere deep in his throat. He turned determinedly to Lady Ratcliffe. “Aurelia, are you in need of anything? Another serving of potatoes, perhaps?”
“No, nothing.” Lady Ratcliffe managed a wan smile for the earl. “I am sorry, Greville. The food is sticking in my throat now. I am sure I do not know why.”
“Perhaps you should try some of this excellent wine,” suggested Lord Ratcliffe helpfully.
Lady Ratcliffe sent him an evil look.
The third-course entree was a large goose, roasted and swimming in its own gravy.
Lady Dewesbury’s eyes widened at sight of the domestic bird. “A goose?” she murmured. She threw a reproachful look down the table at the Earl of Dewesbury. He appeared supremely unconscious of the countess’s glance, but he could be seen to be reddening.
Miss Ratcliffe shrugged her slim shoulders in an elegant fashion that called attention to her shapely bosom. “Really, Edward, I am most annoyed with you. You have somehow contrived to entangle yourself in a most displeasing situation. But I do not doubt that with a little thought it may yet be worked out to our satisfaction.”
Lord Humphrey gave his twisted smile. His gray eyes held a hard light. “I am not at all displeased with my situation, Miss Ratcliffe,” he grated. “On the contrary! I do not know when I have felt more in control of my own affairs.”
Lord Dewesbury muttered angrily under his breath. He stared at his plate with palpable reserve.
“What was that, Greville? Something about the goose, I feel almost certain. I do not blame you in the least. There is something so peculiarly unsettling in having a Christmas goose served in June,” said Lady Cassandra.
The earl suddenly seemed on the verge of apoplexy.
Lady Dewesbury flung down her napkin and hurriedly rose from the table. “I, for one, am quite finished. Greville! Greville, I think that I shall take the ladies off. Hudgens, we shall have the desserts later with our coffee, if you please.” By her stern example, Lady Dewesbury forced the other ladies to rise also. The ladies murmured their excuses to the gentlemen and left them to the private enjoyment of their wine.
Chapter Sixteen
The ladies withdrew to the
drawing room and settled themselves comfortably. Almost at once, Joan found herself the target of Miss Ratcliffe’s unwelcome attention. That young lady had picked up a lady’s magazine and flipped through it until a certain page caught her eyes.
“Why, Miss Chadwick! I do believe that I have found that very same gown you are wearing,” she said. She turned the magazine so that they could all view the fashion plate.
Miss Ratcliffe smiled, saying with a shade of malice, “My compliments to your seamstress, Miss Chadwick. She managed to capture quite the essence, if not the superiority, of the design.”
“I prefer Miss Chadwick’s version myself,” Lady Cassandra said unhesitantly. “All that trim and frippery pictured on the plate crosses the line into gaucherie.”
Miss Ratcliffe inclined her head in pretty deference for the elder lady’s opinion. “Perhaps it is the color of your gown that does not do it proper justice, then. Gray is so dreary, is it not? I prefer scarlet for you—yes, scarlet, I think. Some quite famous characters are said to have worn scarlet. Jezebel, for instance.”
“My dear Augusta,” murmured Lady Ratcliffe in mild reproof. It was not a strenuous rebuke, however.
“I am fond of red,” Joan said, ignoring Miss Ratcliffe’s deliberate and insulting allusion. She continued with the quietest of set-downs. “However, since I am in half-mourning, Miss Ratcliffe, such a vivid color would hardly have been appropriate.”
Miss Ratcliffe was momentarily silenced, as even she recognized the boundaries that could not be crossed.
“Mourning, my dear?” Lady Dewesbury asked, startled. She was at once reminded of her own inner questions concerning the hues of Miss Chadwick’s chosen wardrobe. “I do hope not a close family member?”
“My beloved father, my lady, eight months ago.”
“I am sorry, Miss Chadwick,” Lady Dewesbury said with ready sympathy.
