A Regency Charade (26 page)

“Grandfather has agreed, Mama, so let that be the end of it,” Priss said, throwing her mother a dagger-look. Then, with the brightest of bright smiles, she turned to Alec. “I shall
so
enjoy seeing Blake again, my dear. Won’t you?”

Chapter Nineteen

The Saturday evening fête was to be the highlight of the holiday. Clio, with very little else to occupy her (since Ferdie seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in the company of Miss Courdepass, Gar wasn’t speaking to her and Alec was remote and frozen-faced for much of the time), gladly took over the supervision of the details to prepare for it. With Clio’s penchant for ostentation and the Earl’s readiness to supply the girl with the wherewithal to indulge her every whim, the affair promised to be resplendent. The guest list, which included all the guests staying at Braeburn, Lady Vickers, and a number of the nearby gentry (who had not been invited to the Great House for years and were anticipating the event with mouth-watering excitement) numbered almost forty.

The large dining room had been opened up for the dinner, and the Blue Room (an oversized and seldom used upstairs sitting room) had been agreed upon as suitable for the dancing. The rugs had been rolled up, the furniture pushed back against the walls, and a small, railed platform had been erected for the musicians. Clio had also seen to it that huge vases of flowers and large numbers of candelabras decorated the room. Except for its smaller size, it was quite as elegant as the most admired of London ballrooms. Everyone who peeped into it that morning agreed that it looked marvelous.

Clio was delighted. The responsibility for the ball was the best thing that had happened to her during the entire fortnight. In the first place, it was a task she enjoyed and at which she excelled. In the second place, she needed something with which to occupy her mind. For if she weren’t busy, she would only dwell on her growing discontent.

It was becoming increasingly clear to her that Alec was not concerned about her at all. He was obviously besotted over his wife. The strange thing about it was that Clio didn’t feel as devastated as she would have supposed. It had occurred to her of late that Alec was a bit of a bore. His company was not at all stimulating, for he never seemed really to be paying attention to her. The truer source of her discontent seemed to be Garvin Danforth.
His
behavior was really fascinatingly disturbing. From the look in his eyes when they rested on her (which they seemed to do quite often) she would swear he was quite taken with her. But his manner in her presence was sullen and querulous. And now that he was not speaking to her at all, she was very much afraid that she’d not be able, ever, to solve the paradox of his behavior. It was all very frustrating, but, at least until the party was over, she had other matters to think about.

On Saturday afternoon, all the usual afternoon activities were suspended so that everyone could rest and prepare their toilettes for what they hoped would be an exciting occasion. Alec, unwilling to remain cooped up in his dressing room for hours, wandered about the empty downstairs rooms disconsolately. He alone, of all the people under this roof, anticipated the evening’s fête with dread. How could he watch his wife dance with Edmonds (and he was certain she would find a way to do so) and still maintain a smiling, happy-host demeanor?

At a few minutes past one, when he had convinced himself that he could manage to concentrate on some reading, he picked up the
London Times
(which had come by post and was only a week late) and settled himself into an easy chair in the library. A movement out on the lawn caused him to glance at the window, and he caught sight of Priss running hurriedly across the lawn. He crushed the paper in his hand without realizing what he was doing. Was the incorrigible creature on her way to meet Edmonds
again
?

When he entered her room that evening to escort her downstairs, there was not a sign of guilt or misgiving in her expression. In fact, she looked quite lovely. She’d chosen to wear a white satin gown covered with an overdress of Copenhagen-blue gauze. She looked as ethereal and innocent as a child, her eyes clear and shining, and her bright curls bouncing over her forehead in careless disarray. Well, he, for one, would not be fooled by appearances. The careless-seeming arrangement of those curls was just as
calculated
as the innocent look in those eyes!

They said not a word as they went down the stairs. It was only when the Earl, who was already at his place in the front hall to greet his guests, turned to the stairs and smiled up at them, that they changed their frozen expressions for overbright smiles.

The Edmondses were among the first to arrive, Blake looking smug and jovial as he shook the hands of his hosts. Lady Edmonds, however, seemed reserved and distant, and it seemed to Alec that she studied Priss somewhat fearfully.

Alec offered his arm to Miss Courdepass for the parade in to dinner. Ariadne was in her best looks this evening in her dark-blue lustring gown (which made her seem taller) and with a becoming flush in her cheeks. Alec was quick to compliment her.

“Thank you, sir, for the kind words. I am blossoming in the radiance of the hospitality of this house,” she answered contentedly.

Alec gave her a knowing smile. “Is
that
the cause for your bloom? I had supposed, from a remark or two that Ferdie let fall, that the color in your cheeks might have quite another source.”

Any other girl would have blushed, but Ariadne’s implacable calm remained unruffled. Only the slight upturn of her mouth gave indication of her inner glow. “Perhaps so, my dear, perhaps so. Time will tell,” she murmured placidly.

“I hope, then, that I may soon wish you happy. There’s not a man in the world for whom I have more affection than Ferdie.”

Ariadne gave him a sidelong look. “I hope, Alec, that I may soon wish
you
happy, too. For there is not a
girl
in the world who more deserves happiness than your wife.” And with that cryptic remark, she took her place at the table.

The dinner (a meal that included almost fifty different dishes and would become the yardstick for excellence against which the participants would measure all their future banquets) took more than two hours to consume, and after the ladies left the table, the men lingered for half-an-hour longer. Upstairs, meanwhile, the musicians began to play, and the assemblage made their way up the staircase and down the gallery to the resplendent “ballroom.” Clio beamed with pleasure at the many compliments she received on her talent for decoration.

But her pleasure was not long lived. Although three gentlemen (all of the visiting gentry, all of them married and all of them middle-aged) asked her to stand up with them for the first dance, she refused them all. Couples began to take their places on the floor, but Clio stood on the sidelines, as if waiting for someone.

Everyone in the Braeburn party was absorbed in their own concerns, and no one but Ariadne took any notice of Clio’s dilemma. But Ariadne was struck with the sudden awareness that there was something decidedly different about Clio this evening. Her magnificent red hair had not changed, but the girl herself was somewhat subdued. Her gown was a simple creation of pale green silk, with small puffed sleeves, a surprisingly modest neckline and a girlish bodice covered with tiny tucks. She wore no jewelry but a pair of small, pearl earrings. And, Ariadne noticed with particular amusement, the girl had not, this once, damped her petticoat.

Garvin Danforth, the cause of this reversion into modesty, stood forlornly near the doorway watching the dancers make up their sets. Ariadne walked up to him. “I see that Clio is not dancing,” she said companionably. “That does seem unfair, doesn’t it, after she’s worked so hard to arrange everything? Although I quite agree with you, Garvin, that dancing can sometime be so improper that it’s just as well to sit it out.” Then she went off on Ferdie’s arm to take her place in the set.

Gar looked after her for a moment and then went limping up to Clio just as the dance began. “I don’t suppose,” he said hesitantly, tugging at his neckcloth nervously, “that you’d care to stand up with me, would you? I’m not much of a dancer, and I have this … er … trouble with my knee—which of course is your fault anyway—but I think we can contrive if you don’t expect me to make my turns too quickly …”

Clio smiled broadly and held out her arms. “Come on, you gudgeon! We’re almost too late! And don’t worry about your knee. Just lean on me.”

Alec very properly asked his wife to stand up with him, and the pair took their places in the set with fixed smiles on their faces. They exchanged not a word during the first few figures, but after a few minutes, Priss hissed, “For God’s sake, Alec, can’t you even
talk
to me? I feel as if I’m dancing with a smiling
cadaver.
”

His smile didn’t waver as he responded coldly, “Be patient, my dear. I’m certain your
next
partner will be more satisfactory.”

Priss was so infuriated that her smile faded, and she walked off the floor at the end of the dance with obvious annoyance. Alec was interested to note that she did
not
choose Edmonds as her next partner. But Edmonds
did
manage to secure her hand for two other dances. And later that evening, Priss and Edmonds were seen strolling around the edges of the ballroom arm in arm. When Alec saw them in so companiable a pose, his stomach turned over. He felt too sick to remain in the room staring at them. He went quickly into a small adjoining room that Clio had opened in the event that some of the party might wish to leave the dancing and play cards. There was a game of whist being played in the far corner—the Earl was, of course, one of the players—but the room was otherwise deserted except for one forlorn figure sitting alone, her back to the door. It was Lady Edmonds.

Feeling a strong rush of sympathy for her, Alec approached her and asked her to dance. “Oh! Lord Braeburn,” she said, forcing a smile. “I … I’d prefer to stay here. Do join me, if you don’t mind missing this dance.”

Alec pulled a chair from one of the tables and sat down beside her. “Why do you not dance, ma’am?” he asked politely. “Are you worn down from the exertion?”

Her smile flickered bravely for a moment and then died. “I’m afraid that no one has asked me. My husband, who did his duty for the first dance, has been
otherwise
occupied for the rest of the evening.”

Alec had not expected this frank and bitter response and was completely at a loss as to how to deal with it. “I’m certain it was an oversight, Lady Edmonds. Would you like me to find him and bring him to you?”

She shook her head and rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief. “No, thank you. He would not care for that at all. He often … takes me to task for m-making demands on him …”

She was on the verge of tears. Alec looked about uncomfortably, but fortunately, none of the card players was taking the least notice of them. “I’m sure you exaggerate, ma’am,” he said gently. “As a husband of some little experience, I can assure you that we are all guilty of sometimes making too much of little things.”

“It is
n-not
a little thing when your husband constantly speaks of other women,” she said in a rather unpleasant whine. “Where
did
I put that handkerchief …?”

“Take mine, ma’am, please.”

She took it and blew her nose into it vigorously. “He’s
always
admiring other women! Do
you
do that, sir?”

“What? I … I don’t know what you mean,” he answered awkwardly.

“I mean, do
you
tell your wife how lovely this one’s neck is, or that one’s ankles …?”

“Well, I—”

“No, of course you don’t. It’s quite a vulgar trait, and anyone can
see
that you’re a perfect gentleman. But Blake is quite addicted to making such remarks. You’d be completely shocked, I know, if you could hear him prosing on about
your
wife, for instance. He thinks her quite a paragon, you know. He’s been singing her praises for years! And now he’s following her about like a pet p-poodle! It’s enough to make one
sick
! I don’t want you to think, my lord, that I’m in any way criticizing Lady Braeburn. Not a bit. I’m certain she’s done nothing to encourage his excesses.”

“No, of course not. I mean …”

“Although I did notice that she’s given him two dances already … and the evening’s not half over. It does seem to me to be a bit beyond the bounds of strict propriety. I hope I haven’t said anything to offend you, my lord, but …”

Alec wanted very much to wring Priss’s neck. It was bad enough that she’d been carrying on an affair with Edmonds for so long, but this sort of indiscretion (although he was not such a fool that he didn’t realize she was doing it, at least in part, to spite
him
) was bound to cause unnecessary pain for a poor creature like this. “No, ma’am, I take no offense,” he said kindly, “but it does no good to sit about by oneself and sulk, now does it? What do you say to our putting a good face on it and going out on the dance floor to enjoy ourselves.
May
I have the honor, ma’am?”

Lady Edmonds joylessly acquiesced, favoring him with her sour smile, and the two emerged from the card room and joined the dancers. It was, for Alec, just another ordeal in this awkward, dull and painful evening, and he passed the remaining hours of the party by imagining the satisfaction he would find in accosting the repulsive Sir Blake with a horsewhip.

With the fortnight coming to an end, Alec did not expect to have to lay eyes on Lady Edmonds or her husband ever again. To his intense surprise, however, he was informed by the butler, one windy afternoon two days later, that a Lady Edmonds was waiting to see him, having requested a “private interview.” The butler had established her in the Earl’s study, the Earl having gone upstairs to nap.

Alec went to the study at once. Lady Edmonds was pacing about the room and appeared to be in great distress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her hair—wispy and disorderly at best—was so carelessly pushed into her close-fitting and unflattering bonnet that a number of strands hung about her face and down her back. Alec urged her into a chair and, leaning on his grandfather’s desk, asked her what he could do for her.