“What is it, Edgemere? Come to gloat, have you?”
“Good Lord, no, Sir Archibald! What can have made you imagine such a thing? Allow me.”
With a deft twist of his hand he removed his guest’s final attempt at the waterfall and snapped his fingers at the watchful valet who hovered anxiously behind him. “Fetch me another cloth, my good man, then be off with you.”
“What?” expostulated Sir Archibald.
Lord Edgemere said nothing until he had a crisp neckerchief in his hands. He nodded curtly to the servant, who stammered a bow and looked uncertainly at his master.
“Oh, go, Sebastian! Heaven knows, you have already made a dismal mull of things. And shut the door behind you, will you? This house has ears.” Sir Archibald glared defiantly at the earl as the handle finally clicked.
“Well?”
“In a minute, Sir Archibald! First things first.” The earl stepped forward and placed the cravat smartly about Dalrymple’s neck. For an instant, he had the unnerving impulse to choke the life out of the man. Then his smooth civility returned, and he deftly created a complicated series of knots called, in the highest circles, “the lotus.” Sir Archibald caught sight of himself in the glass and grunted.
“How the devil did you ... ?”
“Practice, sir Archibald. Practice and a little flair. There! You look much more presentable, do you not?”
Dalrymple could not help preening a little, though his head still ached and he regarded Lord Edgemere’s attentions with the deepest of suspicion. He fingered the neckcloth nervously but allowed his lordship to help him into his well-padded coat. He hoped that the lambs wool would hide his minor imperfections of form, but next to Lord Edgemere’s lithe and impossibly muscular physique, he despaired.
“Damn your eyes, Edgemere! What in tarnation do you want with me?”
“I believe the reverse is more to the point, Sir Archibald.”
The baronet raised his speckled brows inquiringly. “By which you mean ... ?”
“By which I mean that if you wish to continue to gain credit through your possession of the diamonds, you will listen most carefully.”
Lord Edgemere had struck the right cord. He had Dalrymple’s full attention at last.
The ballroom, as Mrs. Tibbet had predicted, was full to the brim. Lord Anchorford’s guests had arrived in two carriages, though Lady Caroline had declined the offer of the second barouche, preferring, she said, to arrive “a little later.” Lady Anchorford had kindly accepted her claim of fatigue, though she acidly remarked to her husband that Lady Dashford could be relied upon to upset her household by calling up a coachman later in the evening.
Apart from this minor entourage, there were all the country gentry who had been invited from Hampton and Staines to the other side of Kingsbury. Anne would have smiled to note the imposing presence of the Countess of Eversleigh, who glittered with a thousand jewels and an overheavy tiara upon her bluish grey head. Alongside her was Miss Danvers, primly dressed in a brown gown of dull merino. She clutched at her reticule with pursed looks and generally took in the festivities with a jaundiced air.
Festivities they were, for the combined ballrooms were bedecked with flowers, the walls hung with shimmering satins of canary, lavenders and greens. Mrs. Tibbet had outdone herself with the lighting, for she had achieved a radiant effect with hundreds of gleaming candelabras. Chandeliers from the ceiling glittered a breathtaking mix of crystal and white wax. Flickering flames were reflected everywhere in mirrors strategically placed to the greatest advantage. Members of the orchestra were, contrary to all expectation, seated with the greatest of comfort. The discerning guest could just make them out, seated in buttoned leather chairs next to a plethora of potted palms, ferns and cycads.
The dance floors gleamed with beeswax, but already there was very little space left to note the clever parquet work, for it seemed that the whole of England had arrived for the occasion.
Lord Edgemere bowed regally as guest after guest arrived and made their curtsies and legs. No one—not even Mrs. Tibbet, who eyed him anxiously from the gallery—could detect any sign of perturbation. If his arm ached beneath his perfectly fitted sleeve, he certainly showed no outward sign.
“Lady Grafton and Princess Esterhazy! How very kind of you to make the journey!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Edgemere! Society has waited long enough for you to do the right thing by it. No good one of the most eligible bachelors of the decade closeting himself up with a pair of whippersnapper siblings and the old family retainers! I remember the days of your dear mama ... oh, it was a merry place then!” She looked about her with an interested air. “I see you have purchased a few marbles. Taking up Lord Elgin’s interest?”
“I wouldn’t be so presumptuous! I do, however, have strong classical interests, and if you care to, I could show you the long gallery where I house much of my collection.”
“Hmm ... tempting, but I wouldn’t be so callous as to monopolize so much of your time, Edgemere! The ballroom abounds with young ladies with more pressing claims, I imagine.” With a teasing glance she rapped him over the knuckles with her fan and moved on. The queue appeared endless, but Edgemere stood his ground, determined to greet every last one of his guests, many of whom had travelled from as far afield as London and even Bath to grace his home. Considering the ridiculously short notice and the inclement weather, it was a testament both to his quiet popularity and to the novelty of his providing such an entertainment that so few people had declined.
He nodded to one of the upper house staff, and the orchestra struck up soon after. A glance at the hall clock indicated that Lady Caroline, of course, was late. He sighed impatiently. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sir Archibald leering at one of the debutantes. He was playing with the folds of his cravat, which irritated Edgemere slightly, for he noted that his excellent handiwork was coming loose. Lord Willoughby Rothbart, true to form, was monopolizing the attentions of Lily Farrington, society’s latest heiress. She seemed to be enjoying his company, for she was even now extending her dance card, despite several disapproving looks from her chaperone.
Edgemere resisted the temptation to tap his foot. Where was she, the vixen? All his plans depended upon her arrival. Ah! He believed he heard the announcement now. “Mr. Arthur Mortimer, Miss Serena Mortimer, Lady Caroline Dashford ...”
He took a pinch of snuff before bowing pleasantly over Miss Serena’s hand and nodding to her father. Then—only then—did he acknowledge Lady Caroline’s arrival.
She was magnificent, as he fully expected. She was wearing a satin gown with a band of blond silk crisscrossing her well-endowed bosom. Her draped tunic was a vivid gold, complemented by an open tunic of shimmering silver that was drawn closed at the hipline by a jeweled brooch. Both the longer hem of the gown and the shorter hem of the tunic were edged with wide, embroidered bands of the identical style to the short, puffed sleeves. Her fan was carried shut to reveal the stem, studded in diamonds. Her hair was shining guinea gold, piled up high in an elaborate coiffure and fastened with roses. None of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was wearing the necklace. It glittered and danced upon her neck as though it were a thousand stars, set down from the firmament and emblazoning her person in a manner that overshadowed all her other artifices. Had she been wearing nothing but rags, she would still have looked splendid.
“Lady Caroline. I am honoured.” Lord Edgemere took her hand and pressed a kiss upon her palm. From the top gallery, Miss Derringer, arrayed in soft rose, took a step backward into the shadows. She would not, after all, be attending.
Lady Caroline nodded regally, flirted at Lord Robert outrageously with her eyes, tapped him on the shoulder with her fan—to his credit, he did not wince, though she had just nicked his wound—and moved on. Lord Robert was playing most satisfactorily into her hands. Now she had only to spread a few rumours, let slip a few confidences. . . she touched the necklace delightedly. To be
sure, it was a talisman. She would have been surprised to see the brooding look upon Sir Archibald’s face as he watched her entrance from the wings.
The hour was now quite well advanced. She had missed several quadrilles and the first two country reels. The waltz was about to strike up and she would dearly have loved to corner Edgemere for it. It would have fitted her stratagems perfectly, but the annoying man seemed permanently stationed at the entrance, though no one had arrived for a half hour at least.
“Lady Caroline, may I have the pleasure of the first waltz?” Sir Archibald Dalrymple blinked from the glare of the diamonds. She imagined, however, that the charms of her cleavage were oversetting his nerves, causing him to tug reprehensibly at his neckerchief. She suppressed a slight scowl. If Lord Robert was so disobliging as to be unavailable, she supposed it could do no harm to take a turn with Dalrymple. In truth, after the earl, he was the handsomest man in the room, even if he was a complete gudgeon.
“Very well, Sir Archibald! You shall have that honour, though I swear you had better do something about your neckerchief or I shall seek out Lord Willoughby instead!” She loved setting her rivals at loggerheads. She stared archly at Dalrymple as he muttered an apology and stuffed the whole starched creation into the top of his expensive, if garish, waistcoat. She raised her eyes but made no further comment as she gave him her hand. The orchestra was striking up, and there was no time to seek out another partner. It would do her reputation no good to sit out a dance like a veritable wallflower, so she graciously smiled upon Sir Archibald and took a step onto the floor. Eyes followed the duo, then polite applause. Lady Caroline preened, for she was in high good looks and the diamonds, she was pleased to reflect, enhanced her creamy bosom and lent her an air of queenly elegance. There was no way out for Edgemere now, for every eye in the hall was upon her. Her possession of such an expensive gift spoke volumes. Edgemere was doomed, for no one would believe he would give a respectable woman such a gift without first asking for her hand.
The waltz ended at last, and she was thankful, for Dalrymple had missed his steps several times. The last had been the most severe, nearly causing a rip in her embroidered blond satin hem. She suppressed a glare but refused the mumbled offer of orgeat. Miss Wratcham was approaching, and she was just the person to sow a few seeds... .
“Miss Wratcham! How delightful you look in that gown!”
“Thank you, Lady Caroline. I daresay it is not as flamboyant as yours, but it does have a certain flair. May I compliment you on your necklace? A recent gift, if I collect?” She looked slyly at Lady Caroline, agog to hear if the rumours swiftly circulating the ballroom were true.
Lady Dashford smiled. Miss Wratcham could be relied upon to play exactly into her hands. She opened the clasp of her fan and dropped her wrist, so that the silver lace opened to its fullest extent.
“I fear you have divined my secret! How terribly naughty of you, Miss Wratcham!”
Miss Wratcham bent her head closer as Lady Caroline fingered the necklace. “I do declare I am betrothed! Now don’t say a word ...”
“How deliciously marvellous. Did he give you the necklace as a betrothal gift?”
Lady Caroline nodded. “But hush! I know I can rely on your discretion absolutely.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Lady Dashford nodded. She clicked her fan shut and smiled as Lord Willoughby begged to sign his name to her card. Miss Wratcham excused herself, for she had something “very particular” to say to her dear friend Lady Dorothea Pilkington.
She was gone before she could notice the faint smirk behind Lady Caroline’s best society smile. The deed was done; she had seen to it.
Twenty-one
Miss Anne Derringer dried her eyes and scolded herself for being such a ninnyhammered fool. Lord Edgemere had made his intentions as plain as a pikestaff to her, and she had been too addlewitted to pay any attention to them. She had allowed her sensibilities to overcome her common sense, and that was sadly—sadly—out of character. She could not blame Lord Robert for kissing Lady Caroline’s hand. She did look like a fairy princess in her flowing tunics and glittering gemstones. Perhaps he was simply reconciling himself to his fate, determined to do the right thing by her even if his heart did waver.
Anne had no doubt that it wavered, for she had felt the full strength of his love directed at her, and the monumental power of such a force could not simply be ignored or denied. Still, he had chosen duty and honour before matters of the heart, and it was incumbent on her now to abide by that decision. It would not help Lord Robert if he saw how deeply he was cutting up at her heart or how arduous was the burden he had condemned to her shoulders. He would be bearing the selfsame weight; she could not ask him to endure any more.
Anne sat up with decision, oblivious to the soft folds of cherry rose that shimmered in the candlelight of the cosy nursery room. It would be easier if she left, finally, and allowed him to forge the role he had assumed for himself She knew that if he could never be a loving husband to Caroline, he would at least be a dutiful one.
With a heavy heart, she began the business of writing a letter to the new governess, whoever she might be. She prayed that Lord Robert would not be so foolhardy as to reinstate his original intentions. If for no other reason, she would speak to him before the night was out. The children deserved that consideration at least. She dipped her pen, then softly inscribed the stages Thomas had reached with his Latin, mathematics and French proverbs. So hard to quantify! Her lips quirked as she remembered some of his quainter—but definitely not repeatable—phrases. And Kitty! She must be allowed to continue with her Gothic novels, for only then might she pursue a lasting interest in literature of all genres.
She hoped the new governess would give them a bit of slack, would mingle humour with discipline... . She threw down her pen. Gracious heavens, she was writing a dissertation! She tore up the paper, then sighed. It was useless. And the time! It was late; the children would be sleeping if she did not hurry to make her farewells. It would have to be tonight, though it wrenched her heart, for she would leave by the first post in the morning. Anne was human enough not to want to see Lady Caroline’s gloating face at the breakfast table, for undoubtedly the countess-to-be would ride over from the Anchorfords’ at first light. She blew out the nursery room’s taper, took one last look at the room, then walked slowly to the winding stairs on her left.
“You are engaged to be married, Lady Caroline! How very delightful!” The princess Esterhazy extended a leisurely hand. “And the diamonds are charming. Quite charming!”
“Yes, they are, are they not? Worth a quite extortionate amount I believe, but then, my betrothed has always been rather generous.”
“Has he?” The princess looked interested, ever eager for a scent of scandal broth. If Lady Caroline had been accepting expensive gifts before she was engaged... .
Lady Dashford realized her mistake immediately. “Not that I have ever accepted anything beyond posies, you understand, but his reputation, as I am sure you know, speaks for itself.”
Princess Esterhazy raised her brows. Whatever reputation Sir Archibald Dalrymple had acquired, it certainly had little to do with generosity, or even with the happy circumstance of him being in funds. That was why it was so strange that he had decided to place the necklace into Lady Caroline’s keeping. Still, she was not so uncivil as to say as much to his future bride. She merely nodded her head regally. “Well, my dear, when you are Lady Archibald Dalrymple, I shall take it upon myself to call upon you in Green Street.”
Lady Caroline nearly choked on her stuffed creole. “You are mistaken, Princess! I am not betrothed to Sir Archibald. I cannot imagine where you acquired such a notion! ”
“Why, from your necklace, of course! You are undoubtedly a lady, my dear Caroline. You would never accept such a gift from anyone other than your affianced, surely?”
“Yes, but ...”
“Well then, the diamonds belong to Sir Archibald, therefore ...”
“No!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No! You are labouring under a misapprehension, Your Highness! Sir Archibald lost them to Lord Robert Carmichael two nights ago.”
“Tush and nonsense, my dear. The heat is probably addling your brains! I deplore these squeezes! However cold it is outside, one can be depended upon to positively fry indoors. So many people and all the flames ...”
Lady Caroline’s mind was not on the weather. She had a dreadfully sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach and was determined to dispel her sudden fears immediately. Perhaps the princess was suffering from the heat. Certainly, she appeared quite appallingly confused... .
“Excuse me, Highness, I have just one or two matters I must attend to ...”
“Of course, my dear. You run along and enjoy yourself. Sir Archibald is out on the balcony. I know, for he has been staring after you this age at least.”
Lady Caroline stalked off. Sir Archibald, indeed! She would find Lord Robert and force him to declare himself at once. Where was the man?
“Lady Caroline, I have come to claim my dance.” Lord Willoughby extended a jovial, elegantly gloved hand.
“Not now, Lord Willoughby! I am trying to find—”
“Sir Archibald? I saw him on the balcony about two minutes ago. I must say, Lady Caroline, you are a very sly creature! I would never have thought that you and Dalrymple ...”
“Will you cease talking about Dalrymple? I have had him up to my ears! What is it with everybody?”
“But the necklace, Lady Caroline!”
“What about the necklace?” Lady Dashford lost some of her charm when she was angry. She didn’t care. Lord Willoughby was small fish anyway.
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