“You accepted his necklace and announced your betrothal. It is a foregone conclusion—”
“To the Earl of Edgemere, you idiot! The necklace was regained by him almost immediately!”
“That is not what I hear!”
“Nor I.” Lord Anchorford calmly apologized for interrupting and accepted a strawberry from a passing footman. Lady Caroline noticed with exasperation that a small crowd was gathering about them and wished she had been calm enough to keep her voice down.
“Well, it is true. He told me so himself.”
“Told you what, Lady Dashford?” The earl seemed to appear as if from nowhere.
“You told me you had regained the diamonds.”
Lord Edgemere looked remarkably blank. “The diamonds?”
“These!” Caroline pointed to her neck, as if he was not already dazzled by the gems.
“Ah, those. Yes, they were a sad loss to me, I am afraid. In future I shall be more careful about how I gamble away my property. Nice evening, though, Anchorford!”
“Thank you! I fancy my guests were well entertained. . .”
Lady Caroline felt as though she were going mad. “Then, what is this?” She pulled the note from her bodice, and the company gasped at the outrageous display. A few, like Lord Willoughby, grabbed at their monocles, but too late. The note was withdrawn all too quickly.
“This?” Lord Anchorford wrenched the note from her hand. “It is something initialled AD ... now who could that be?”
“I do believe it is I! Archibald Dalrymple, you know.” Sir Archibald looked round apologetically. “I fear my handwriting was a little hasty ...”
Lady Caroline felt the room spinning.
Some of the primmer dowagers looked at each other significantly. Miss Wratcham stepped forward and glanced at the diamonds’ clasp with interest. “Undoubtedly it is Sir Archibald’s; I remember the design of that clasp distinctly. There can be no mistaking it!”
“Well, of course it is mine! I won it fair and square! You look wonderful in it, my dear. It is the perfect betrothal present, for I trust it shall remain in our family as an heirloom for years.”
Sir Archibald smiled fondly at Caroline. Edgemere had been convincing. She was a tidy little piece, and he would have the taming of her ... perhaps it would be all for the best. At least the diamonds would be safely in his possession again, for though he would not be able to sell them outright without a great deal of squawking from his lady wife, he would at least be able to get credit again. His possession of them was paramount.
“But—” Lady Caroline’s lips sealed as she regarded some of the ton’s highest sticklers. If she wailed that she had thought the gift from Lord Robert, they would be bound to ask her why she surmised that.
She could not tell them without mentioning previous indiscretions and losing what was left of her reputation entirely. No one would believe, by the odious way he was behaving, that Sir Archibald had never formally proposed and been accepted. Likewise, from Lord Robert’s polite but distant manner, no one would consider for a moment that ... that ... at least she had the grace to blush. If society only knew! Still, she could not cry out over spilt milk.
Sir Archibald was eligible enough if she could not have Edgemere. She was getting on, after all ... then there were the diamonds ... if she refused Dalrymple, she would certainly have to return them... . She swallowed and took Sir Archibald’s hand.
“I am afraid I am feeling a little faint from the crush, Sir Archibald! I fear I had the most frightful delusions just a moment ago.”
“There, there, dear, so long as you are recovering now. Perhaps I shall take you out onto the balcony for air? Can someone call a footman for some fruit punch? It is delectably refreshing, you know ...”
The crowd dispersed with the annoying feeling that it had just missed some quite delicious scandal Out of the corner of her eye, Lady Caroline could see Edgemere. He had his fist clenched across a marble balustrade, but other than that, his features were immobile. For an instant, their eyes met, and he doffed his impeccable tricorne just a little.
Damn his eyes! The man was not such a greenhorn, after all. He had won. Lady Caroline opened her fan and fluttered her lashes at Dalrymple. Edgemere would not have the satisfaction of seeing her rage. Even as he released his grip and made a polite bow to the Duke of Sedgewick, her tinkling laughter could be heard for several moments outside.
“Tom! Kitty!” Anne puzzled, for though they were undoubtedly abed, they seemed to be sleeping far deeper than usual. She crept in, wondering whether a new taper would startle them. Deciding they were made of sterner stuff, she lit one of the grander wax candles and set it by the beds. Still, they did not stir, but the soft glow shed by the light made the lumps in their beds look rather more suspicious than when she had first caught sight of them. Anne laughed, in spite of her woes.
She should have known! It was too much to expect them to go docilely to sleep with all the excitement below stairs. Never mind that Tom had just sustained a near disaster on Dartford, or that Mrs. Tibbet and she had done everything in their power to tire them out for the evening. The temptation would surely have tried the patience of saints, and dearly though she loved them, Anne knew at once that Tom and Kitty did not fall into that category.
She had better look lively, for there were any number of places they could be meddling in—the stables, the kitchens, heaven forbid, the dance areas themselves... . Anne blew out the candle and ran down the corridor. At the very least, she must alert the house staff. If she could find them herself, so much the better. At least she could keep them out of the more dire sorts of mischief There would be no returning them to their rooms, however. That would be too cruel!
She stopped a bit before opening the west wing door. It led off to some of the more public areas, and she was mindful of her dress. Just as well she had remained garbed in the satin. She would not look amiss in the hall, for in truth Mrs. Tibbet had chosen well. It fitted her admirably, and though the pretty satin slippers had been too large for her statuesque figure, the matching rose gloves had been perfect, as had the high waistband secured strikingly with ribbons of cherry rose. She had no adornments upon her throat or arms—these she had long since sold—but her hair was fashioned a la Psyche, with a single fern pressed in at the crown. The effect was devastatingly simple and breathtakingly beautiful, for the fern exactly complemented the tourmaline of her eyes and the cherry rose was a perfect foil to the raven-dark hair. She patted down her skirts and whisked a skein of hair from her eyes. She would have to do, she supposed, if someone caught sight of her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and began her quest.
Of course, the scamps were nowhere to be found. She edged her way past several of the dowagers and made her way across the cool marble floors toward the kitchens. Mrs. Tibbet could send the grooms down to the stables and keep a watchful eye on some of her jellies. Anne would not put it past the duo to be helping themselves to some of the desserts rather earlier than the guests.
She was startled when a dapper young gentleman in a double-breasted wool frock coat barred her way to the kitchens and demanded she hand him her card. Bewildered, she stammered a rather vague response. The gentleman looked at her closely, then chuckled. “If I knew no better, I would think no one had told you tonight that you are the very belle of the ball.”
“Beg pardon?”
“My love, look beyond you to that clever collection of mirrors. Can you not see the truth of what I immediately perceive? I am a veritable connoisseur, you know!”
Anne smiled suddenly, and her face lighted up so dramatically that the gentleman, for all his years of feminine experience, was almost overcome.
“Why, sir, I do believe you are flirting with me!”
“Really? Why, yes, quite possibly I am! But come, my dear, your name. Edgemere cannot be so grim as to withhold that all to himself.”
The smile dimmed. “It is of no consequence, sir. Please, I must get past.”
“But your card. I insist on signing my name to it.”
“I have no card.”
“Have none? By the zounds, now I swear I have heard everything. Come, we will go at once to the master of ceremonies and procure you one.”
In spite of herself, Anne laughed. “You speak as if we are in the pump rooms in Bath, sir! You must know there is no such person presiding, unless you call the earl some such thing!”
As if on cue, Edgemere interrupted her laughing reply. “Do I hear my name taken in vain? Cedric, you dog, depart from here at once. I have something very particular I have to say to Miss Derringer!”
Anne’s heart missed a beat, for the earl was smiling at her so open-heartedly that she could not bring herself to believe he had just willfully thrown his entire life away.
The unknown stranger looked coolly amused. “So that is the way of it, is it? I must say, Edgemere, you play your cards deep. The whole world and his wife thought it was the cunning Caroline—”
“Stow it, Cedric!” Robert looked daggers at his oldest and dearest friend.
“Miss Derringer, the orchestra is striking up for the third waltz of the evening. Are you certain you do not wish to bestow the honour upon me? Robert is all very well, but he does not share our divine colouring. You note that I, too, have exquisite green eyes and hair as pitch as the night?”
“Doing it too rum, Cedric! Your locks are merely a very dark brown, and as for having the effrontery to compare your green to Anne’s ...”
“Anne? Pretty name, that! Did you know Edgemere swears by Weston, but I—I use only Soames of Addington Place.”
Anne had no time to comment politely on the skill of his tailor, for with a broad smile and a decidedly impudent wink, he was off behind a pillar and out toward the supper room.
Anne’s heart started to beat quite wildly, for Robert was regarding her with such a look of ill-suppressed passion that her knees threatened to fail her and she felt quite unwarrantedly faint.
“Not thinking of swooning, are you?”
“Good lord, do you think me so lily-livered as that? Certainly I shall not make such an appalling spectacle of myself in front of your guests!”
“Ah, but then I could quite unashamedly carry you up to your rooms!”
“Your thoughts need a new direction, Lord Robert.” In spite of the severity of her words, Anne’s delectable lips curved upward in a telltale manner that caused an answering gleam in the hazel eyes that regarded her so closely.
“Shall I dance, do you think?”
“I believe that is customary at a ball, my lord.”
“Then, little Celeste, you will do me the honour.”
Twenty-two
Anne glided onto the floor as if in a dream. She did not understand a thing. Lady Caroline was nowhere to be seen, and certainly, there was no sign that any announcement had been made with regard to a betrothal.
The hard lines on Lord Edgemere’s brow seemed to be lifted, and his manner was as lighthearted as the day she had first set eyes upon him in the meadow. What had caused this transformation?
She had no time to wonder, for he was guiding her skillfully across the floor, his arm securely about her waist and quite reprehensibly close, she was sorry to note. Or was she? She snuggled a little closer, daringly closing the gap to less than an inch, a circumstance that made his noble lordship the eighth Earl Edgemere smile more than a little as she felt an answering pressure about her shoulder.
“How is your wound, my lord?”
She had to look up to formulate the question and realized, a little late, just why the waltz was considered a trifle fast. Her lips were practically upon his as she tilted her head backward to speak. He would have grinned, but for the fact that his expansive chest was suddenly quite constricted and his breathing rather more shallow than normal.
“I believe, as I look down into those fathomless pools of tourmaline, that my wound is quite, quite healed.”
“I meant your flesh wound, sir.”
“Oh! I collect you meant my heart wound.”
“That, too.”
“I do excellently, my dear Miss Derringer, now that Sir Archibald Dalrymple has finally met his match.”
“Sir Archibald? I thought he was in bed with a lump the size of an egg.”
“You are behind times, Anne! The lump has receded to a mere bump of hardly any consequence. At all events, he is decidedly out of his bed, though I warrant that with the filly he has just bagged, that state of affairs will not last long.”
“You talk in riddles, Lord Edgemere! Improper ones, too!”
Robert laughed. “Shall I make you puzzle it out? It would serve you right for looking so damnably splendid when I cannot do a thing about it!”
“That has never stopped you before ...”
She saw his eyes grow dark and knew she had better stop her teasing.
“Good lord!”
“What is It?” Lord Edgemere had to pull himself up short to avoid stepping on her feet. Anne had stopped dead in her tracks.
“The children!”
“What about them?”
“They’ve escaped! They could be anywhere! I was just setting off to find them when I came upon the charming gentleman in the silverthreaded frock coat.”
“Charming? I shall cut his heart out. That is Lord Cedric Liverpool, by the way. The Marquis of Salisbury.”
Anne nodded. “I must fly! Heaven knows what mischief they are concocting.”
“Let them concoct! We are having our fun, why shouldn’t they?”
“Because, my dear addlewitted sir, they could be in the stables, your cellar ...”
“My cellar? Call out the guards. Finish the dance, Anne, then kill them for me with my compliments. Tom is already in for a tongue-lashing over his handling of Dartford.”
“So long as it is merely a tongue-lashing.”
“He deserves a whipping, but I cannot bring myself to the sticking point when he very possibly saved my life!”
“And mine!” Anne could feel the heat pass between them in a delicious, unspoken, but highly intoxicating manner. The earl squeezed her waist in a shockingly rakish manner considering that all eyes were upon them, but Anne cared not a jot. Indeed, she sighed a little when he reluctantly released his grip.
“See, this delightful dance is ending, so I shall bid you farewell. Farewell, but not good night. We have a date, remember?”
“I remember.” Anne’s smile was sunshine. “Not for the world would I miss using the Herschel two-inch telescope.”
“Baggage! I intend to make you forget star gazing.”
“Indeed? What a very strange notion, my lord! By the by, I take it you do not intend to become betrothed tonight.”
“My girl, you have a very sorry grasp of my intentions. That is precisely what I intend.”
“But not to Lady Caroline?”
“Not to Lady Caroline. Sadly, she has already been taken.”
Anne’s eyes snapped open.
“Taken? By whom?”
“La, Miss Derringer! You are behind the times! To Dalrymple, of course!”
His tone was so innocently smug Anne had to put her pink satin fingers right over her mouth to smother a chortle. So! That was the deep game Lord Edgemere had been playing. How remiss she had been to ever doubt him.
“You shall tell me everything or I shall never speak to you again!”
“I am quite humbled by that threat! Very well, Miss Derringer, have it your way. And now, adieu, for I have promised both Ladies Elizabeth and Mary Bellafonte a dance each.”
“Then, they are both very fortunate! I have enjoyed myself immeasurably and only hope I am not punished for my indulgence.”
“How so?”
“Tom could be unhitching the coaches, Kitty could be harassing the cook, both could be playing havoc with chamber pots ...”
“Go!”
As it was, Tom and Kitty were being a great deal better behaved than Anne had given them cre
dit for. Both were charmingly attired in ballroom wear from the attic—Tom looked particularly funny in skin-tight breeches that hung upon him several inches too long—and had secured for themselves a private spot away from the madding crowd but with a clear enough view of the proceedings. They had extracted several silver salvers from passing footmen who now scurried around anxious to retrieve them before the kitchen staff did their tallies. Anne eyed several delicious-looking salmon dishes, some sweet pastries delicately oozing fresh cream and cranberries, one or two platters of ham and stuffed quenelles and a small, rather restrained plate of fresh cheeses.
“Can you spare any of that? I am famished.”
“Miss Derringer!” The pair looked at each other guiltily. Anne ignored them and helped herself to a wedge of the salmon.
“Any lemon?”
“No, we tried to cadge some off Hastings, but he threatened to dob us in, so we’ve had to make do without.”
“Poor children. I shall inform Hastings that in the future you are to be served an unremitting supply of citrus wedges.”
Tom grinned happily as he threw his sister a cranberry.
“Told you she was a good gun!”
Anne was first to creep into the earl’s domain. The revelry was still going on downstairs—she could see faint hooded shapes in the garden—but she had no taste to return. She was content, at last, to sit and wait.
The strains of Purcell and Handel were almost audible as she opened the familiar door to the balcony and looked out. Lord Edgemere had been right. The storm clouds had long since vanished, leaving the sky as crisp and clear as a band of inky velvet set with diamonds.
It was cool, now, after the crush of the ballrooms. Anne shivered a little, for the ball gown was not sewn with star gazing in mind. Still, she could not help herself. The night was so tempting, and her heart had rarely rested this easy in all her four and twenty years. For the first time, as she stepped outside, she felt she had come home.
Seeking Celeste Page 22
