The gown was, of course, Worth. One of her favorites from the previous year that she had not yet had the chance to wear. The skirt was simply shaped, without draping or gathering at the waist, falling from a simple flowing bell into a long train. The white silk, however, was covered in an intricate pattern of scrolling black velvet cutouts that swooped in long lines from her waist and curled here and there across the entire skirt of the gown. The effect from the back was especially dramatic and elegant. The scrollwork continued in smaller detail up the tight bodice, and the short sleeves were a confection of white Chantilly lace and black feathers. Beneath the hem, her black silk petticoats peeked out when she walked or when she would dance. She wore black feathers in her hair, white gloves and simple black opal drop earrings and necklace for adornment, leaving the gown to make the largest impression.
“That dress must have cost a fortune,” Moira added, sportily bouncing merrily down the stairs. “I’m sure Papa and Pops would buy me a dozen if it meant finding a husband. You’re lucky you have the fortune to afford them. Most widows don’t, but of course your father gets you everything you want.”
Eve grimaced but couldn’t disagree. “You might think that, with all the money I’ve got, I might be happy for a while.”
“Money cannot buy happiness, don't you know?”
Hobbes laid a black velvet cloak over the gown, as Eve added wryly, “No, but at least I have nice clothes to wear while I’m miserable. You look lovely tonight, by the way.”
Moira smiled ruefully. “Do you think so? This was the first gown I was able to have done since I got here. Most of my wardrobe is terribly out of date.”
“No, no. It’s very nice.”
Moira wore an emerald green silk gown that set off her red hair and gray eyes nicely. Moira was of a more voluptuous figure than Eve, and the gown showed it off nicely with its low neckline and extreme hourglass cut. The draping of the overskirt emphasized the flare of her hips. The men wouldn’t be able to look away, and Eve told her so.
“I hope you’re right.” Moira laughed, as Richard and Abby joined them. “Well, shall we go? It’s my first big ball, and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
“I really wish we hadn’t committed to doing this tonight,” Eve moaned, but her face fell in shame. “I’m sorry, dear. I know you’re excited. I will do my best not to ruin it for you.”
She only hoped that Vanessa MacKintosh, who had boldly requested an invitation from the duchess herself just that afternoon, might realize the social faux pas she had made and choose not to go.
* * *
That simple wish was not to be.
“Lady Glenrothes, my how…nice you look tonight,” Eve drawled with sappy sweetness though she was inwardly aghast that Francis’ ex-wife would think herself welcome to join Abby, Moira and Eve where they stood chatting while the men retrieved refreshments for them.
The evening was already late. Eve and Moira’s dance cards had been filled early on while Abby still refrained from dancing. Eve had danced almost every dance, taking her partners in Francis, Richard and James as well as a few other older gentlemen who asked her. She’d even accepted a dance with Jack Merrill, though he teased her mercilessly through the whole thing, making her regret her decision.
As she’d woven through the motions of the dances, Eve had seen Vanessa from a distance several times over the course of the evening but had avoided a confrontation before this point.
“It’s quite bold of you to choose to wear red, especially at a black and white ball,” she added, unable to keep her voice completely pleasant.
“A lovely compliment, Lady Shaftesbury,” Vanessa simpered.
“Terribly sorry. That was certainly not my intention.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed as if trying to ascertain whether there had been intentional insult, looking from Abby to Moira, who both managed a straight face. It occurred to Eve that perhaps she wasn’t a decidedly intelligent woman. She was thinking so hard about Eve’s comment that Eve had to assume that might be the case. If that were, what was her aim in attending the same functions as Eve and attempting to engage her in conversation? If it wasn’t to make herself look intentionally tragic, what was it? Becoming, God help her, friends? Getting Eve out of the way so she could have Francis back? She hadn’t wanted him for a dozen years. Why would she want him now?
“Her ladyship said I could wear anything I wanted since I haven’t been back long enough to have a new wardrobe done,” Vanessa went on, when the trio remained silent.
“Her Grace.”
“What?”
Moira spoke up as if to a small child. “You refer to a duchess as ‘your grace’ or ‘her grace.’ You’d best learn other rudiments of etiquette if you're going to keep up in Society."
“Her grace,” Vanessa repeated.
“Would you like me to write it down for you?” Abby asked sweetly.
“Probably can’t read anyway,” Moira whispered in an aside. “You did go to school, didn’t you? Or at least had a governess to teach you all this?”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and took on a vicious gleam, but she could not rebut Moira’s jibe, since she had managed to torment all her would-be governesses into quitting.
Before a spat broke out, Eve interrupted tiredly, “What do you want, Vanessa?”
“My husband, of course.” The bold statement confirmed Eve’s earlier suspicion. “I saw you dancing with him. Word is that you’re his mistress.”
Eve managed to disguise her dismay at having such an accusation tossed so casually in her face. “I am no man’s mistress.”
“You looked very cozy with each other earlier,” her rival taunted.
“That’s really none of your concern.” Eve waved her fan with studied ennui. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe he divorced you.”
“That could easily be changed.” The woman’s hand whisked away the detail as insignificant. But the sight of Glenrothes with the countess so cozily ensconced at his side throughout the evening had planted a seed of doubt as to the success of the plan. So much so, Vanessa had decided to approach the countess directly, even when she knew she should not. Rumors put them on the verge of marriage. She wanted to gauge for herself how serious a relationship her husband was developing with this woman.
Eve’s eyes narrowed over the top of her fan. “Why would you want him now when you did not before?”
“You are not serious," Vanessa retorted. “You’ve seen all of him, I’d wager,” she added to the shock of the ladies. “He’s become a rare piece in the years I’ve been gone. He’s all man now.”
Appalled that the woman would even mention such a thing in polite company, Eve could not address her words directly but said only, “Need I remind you that you didn’t want him?”
“He was a boy before, not the man he is now—and he’s rich to boot,” Vanessa responded, as if Eve were an idiot child. “Besides even if I can’t have him, that doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone else have him.”
“Bitch,” Abby muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?”
Abby squared her shoulders and glared at Vanessa. “I said that you, madam, are a bloody bitch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry. Do you need a definition?”
Vanessa came at her with claws bared. “Why you! I’ll—”
“You’ll nothing.” Eve caught her arm and pulled her back. “Lest you wish to bring the duchess’s ire down up on you. Go away, Vanessa. Go back to wherever it was you came from.”
“And let you have Glenrothes?” Vanessa spat out. “Never! You can’t have my husband."
“Ex-husband, madam, and I already have him,” came Eve’s calm assurance, though she amazed herself by directly addressing such a personal matter.
“Not entirely,” the other woman countered. “He’ll never be yours.”
“We shall see,” Eve countered with quiet confidence.
“Yes, we shall,
” Vanessa sneered and flounced away. “Sooner than you think.”
Chapter 36
Vanessa stood near a potted palm nearly an hour later, waving her fan before her face as she watched her former husband talking with the Countess of Shaftesbury. The countess was stunning. She’d expected to see that beauty falter upon closer inspection, but to her chagrin, it had not. Her skin was enviable, smooth and unlined, even though she was nearing thirty years. And while her gown alone would have been enough to envy, the countess was also tall, trim and elegant, making Vanessa feel short and frumpy in her own red velvet gown that she had adorned with black fur. Where she had before thought the fur trim added to her voluptuousness, she now felt it made her look almost fat. She stood out in the sea of black and white like a beacon of bad taste.
Vanessa watched the earl lean closely to whisper in the woman’s ear. A radiant blush flooded her cheeks when he raised her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. Glenrothes led her out to the dance floor, taking her in his arms as if she were something fragile and precious before launching into a whirling waltz that spun the countess around the floor. Her skirts flared up, revealing her black petticoats and drawing the appreciative stares of several gentlemen to her trim ankles.
Heads turned as they rotated around the circumference of the floor. They were a stunning pair in their black and white attire, both so tall, and he with his hair and skin so dark standing in stark contrast to her pale beauty. Yet they saw no one around them. It was obvious their focus was completely on each other. The earl was smiling. Vanessa realized she had never seen him do so before. He looked happily captivated by the woman. Tender…loving?
The truth struck her like lightning. They were in love!
Vanessa frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be something more than lust between them, but now that she’d seen it, she knew the truth. Envy struck hard and deep. She’d been in love once as a young girl before her father forced her to marry the boy Glenrothes had been. Her lover had been a mere crofter, however, and her father had refused to allow them to be together. It’d been almost fifteen years since she’d felt anything that looked like what the couple on the dance floor felt.
That was unacceptable.
Why should they have what she could not?
Lady Shaftesbury laughed aloud as Glenrothes spun her around. An expression of pure joy. The recent confrontation between Eve and Vanessa seemed not to bother her much, though it had bothered Vanessa greatly. She could readily see that it would be nearly impossible to get Francis back for herself and was now ready to take the money Glenrothes had offered and run. But first, she wanted to see the countess suffer total humiliation for making Vanessa Fane feel inadequate.
She swallowed deeply in an attempt to rein in her anger. “When?” she growled aloud, never looking away from the pair. “When are you going to get her out of here? I want her gone. This is so demeaning.”
“Never worry, my dear,” her companion answered softly, staying within the shadow of the fronds. “It never does well to create a scene such as you did at the duchess’s garden party this afternoon and nearly did again tonight. Nearly told her about me, didn’t you? Nearly told her of our plan? That simply will not do. Patience.”
“I’ve never done particularly well with patience.”
“Fear not. You shan’t have to wait any longer,” he responded with a nod to the room. “I believe our moment has arrived.”
The waltz had come to an end and, after a quick word and an adoring smile to her partner, the Countess of Shaftesbury gracefully exited the ballroom nodding cordially to acquaintances along the way. Vanessa’s compatriot slipped quietly after her, shadowing Eve into the hallway as she made her way to the ladies retiring room, waving Vanessa back as she made to follow.
A sly smile twisted her lips as she watched him go. Now that cold bitch would pay for taking what was hers.
He trailed her at a distance but closed in when he realized she wasn’t paying the slightest attention to her surroundings. She was humming under her breath as she climbed the stairs leisurely. In the hall above, he waited for a chance to approach her and, after passing a pair of giggling debutantes, the way ahead was deserted.
“Might I have a word, Lady Shaftesbury?”
* * *
Despite her earlier desire to remain at home, Eve was having a wonderful evening. She had danced as she hadn’t in years, feeling light on her feet during the reels and laughing merrily as she was lifted and spun through the turns. When Francis had taken her in his arms for the waltz, holding her tightly and whirling her about the floor until she felt giddy, she’d been in heaven as he whispered to her words of love and beauty. With the exception of her single encounter with his ex-wife, it had been a nearly perfect evening.
She was humming to herself as she sashayed down the hall to the ladies retiring room and turned with a smile when a cultured voice called for her attention. It was a voice that recalled London Society more than Edinburgh’s, rousing her curiosity. A figure lingered in the shadows behind her.
“I’m sorry, sir, have we…”
Her voice trailed off, and a hand rose to her chest in disbelief as she beheld the man emerging into the light. She swallowed painfully, a knot of fear closing her throat as her heart’s tempo hit an abrupt crescendo of disbelief and then…panic. “William?” she choked out as the blood drained from her face.
“Indeed, my dear. It seems as though you have been a very naughty girl in my absence.” William Ashley-Cooper took a step closer and wrapped a hand around Eve’s arm, the familiar grasp an echo of years past. “These past several weeks have been most enlightening.” Seeing the color leaving her face, he added, “But please feel free to faint. I will catch you.”
Without choice, she did.
When she roused, Eve found herself in a small bedroom, most likely one of the duchess’s many guestrooms, lying on the bed. She closed her eyes trying to contain the renewed racing of her heart, wondering if what she had seen was true or some terrible figment of her imagination. And if it were true…!
Turning her head, she saw her husband seated on a nearby chair, his fingers templed before him as he watched her. It had not been a dream at all. Not her imagination. There he was, hovering like a hawk over his helpless prey. Thoughts were whirling through her mind too fast to grasp hold of even one. The implications of his presence! She groaned. “Oh, my God.”
“Ah, so you do remember me. How very encouraging.” His snide sarcasm brought a shake of denial from Evelyn.
“This is impossible. You are dead.”
“Indeed,” Lord William Ashley-Cooper sniffed haughtily. “I really must scold you for so quickly declaring me dead, my dear. It has been most inconvenient. Imagine arriving at my childhood home and having no one there whom I recognized. Indeed, no one who recognized me. Earl Shaftesbury!”
“But the Utopia went down, and you were not among the survivors,” she insisted, still stunned to see her husband alive and well in front of her. “The Queen’s investigators confirmed your death.” It was impossible, inconceivable. Her own personal nightmare had come to life before her eyes. She shook her head again in denial.
“My dear, I was never on the Utopia. You should have realized that at some point, yes? No, of course not.” He examined his fingernails with an air of boredom. “I had gone from Italy to Greece and then on to China in pursuit of a collection of quite lovely and priceless artifacts. Unfortunately, in my attempt to acquire them, I drifted into slightly illegal territory and have been detained as a guest this past year.”
Eve rallied a bit at this and found herself able to laugh as she understood the nuance of his explanation. “You tried to steal them and were arrested!”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes,” he admitted with a dark glower.
Shaftesbury had already boarded the Utopia when his agent arrived at the ocean liner to tell him that the treasures they had been pursuing had been tracked down to a
private seller in Greece. Within moments, he had left the ship, not bothering to notify the crew, thus his name had still been on the passenger list when it went down. Lucky and unlucky for him, he had disembarked. The seller in Greece had been arrested and the artifacts, a pair of fourteenth century Ming vases, were sent first to the consulate. He’d approached the ambassador with an offer to purchase the ancient vases, but they were shipped back to China. He had followed on the next vessel departing, an unfortunate month aboard a cargo ship, and again approached the government with an impressive offer to buy the vases. When they refused, he had, yes, attempted to liberate them in a less than legal fashion.
Who knew they took their national treasures so seriously there? He had spent the better part of the year trying to convince his captors who he was. How important he was. It was only by sheer luck that he had managed to be freed. He’d liberated the vases and fled back to England with bounty hunters in pursuit only to find his identity gone and unverifiable without his wife.
“And now I return to find myself declared dead, my fortunes and property out of my control, and my wife behaving in a most disgraceful manner with another man. I believe appropriate retribution may be in order.”
“Perhaps you should have told someone—anyone—where you were, William! I hadn’t heard from you at all since the day you left New York. You were to have returned on the Utopia! But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Why are you here, William? To punish me? I’m sorry, but you do not rule my life any longer.” Gathering her flagging courage around her, she stood and brushed out the creases of her gown with studied carelessness.
“I believe I have told you before, my dear: I own you.” He gripped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. “You are my property. By law. Mine to do with as I wish. Mine to command, and I need you to come with me.”
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