Black Sheep's Daughter (20 page)

 In her distress, Teresa had forgotten that this was the night of the ball. The duchess appeared in her chamber, calling for hartshorn and followed by Miss Carter, Howell and Annie all offering conflicting advice. Somehow the news spread. Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, arrived with her sovereign remedy; Chef Jacques sent up a French tisane; Boggs enquired whether a footman should be sent for the doctor.

 At the height of the clamour, guaranteed to produce a headache where none existed, Marco stalked in with a brotherly disregard for propriety. "Stop fussing, Teresa, everyone is busy with preparations for your blasted ball and you're setting them at sixes and sevens," he said callously. "Take some of your own herbs. You've been treating other people for years, have you no faith in yourself?"

 "I'm not fussing," she said, with justifiable indignation since she had not been able to get a word in edgewise for some time. "My head is much better already. It was no great thing and I believe has been cured by everyone's good wishes. Thank you, dear aunt, all of you, for your solicitude."

 "A nervous megrim, I daresay," the duchess diagnosed, being an expert on the subject. "Lie down for an hour on your bed before you dress, child, and do not worry. You are certain to cast all the insipid misses in the shade tonight."

 Marco lingered after all the others but Annie had left. "Nervous megrim, is it?" he said with a grin. "Now that's cutting a wheedle for I don't believe you know the meaning of the word."

 "Go away, you horrid boy."  His sister pulled a face at him. "Of course it was no such thing, but I am tired and I intend to follow Aunt Stafford's advice."

 "She's right, you know, you will be the prettiest girl there, so cheer up and do not worry."  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Papa would be proud of you."

 "And of you," she said softly as he left. "You are growing up, little brother."

 Annie drew the curtains and helped Teresa undress, and to her surprise she fell asleep.

 When she woke, the maid was lighting candles. "It's time to dress, Miss Teresa. Just come and see what's waiting for you!"

 "Waiting for me?"  Feeling refreshed, Teresa stretched and slid out of bed. Annie draped her robe about her and she went into the dressing room. "Flowers!  How pretty!  Did you look at the cards?  Who sent the crimson rosebuds?"

 "They're from Lord Danville. He had an unfair advantage, knowing what you're wearing. Shall you carry them?"

 "Mmm, they smell sweet. Do you think you can pin one or two in my hair?"  She looked at the other four posies, all from various gentlemen she had met in the past week. There was nothing from Andrew; she told herself firmly that of course he could not send flowers to anyone but his affianced wife. "How kind everyone is. What is this?"  She picked up a small box of carved ivory.

 "I didn't open it, miss. It's from his Grace."

 "Oh, look, Annie!  A ruby necklace, and eardrops. Oh, Annie, I think I am going to cry."

 "You mustn't do that," said her abigail bracingly. "Don't want your eyes to match your gown too, do you?"

 Teresa's first ball gown was of ruby satin with an overskirt of ivory lace, open down the front, and more lace trimming the low-cut bodice and puffed sleeves. By the time she had washed and put it on, the coiffeur from Birmingham had arrived to help with her hair, and Howell to supervise the rest of her toilette. The glossy black mass was piled high on her head, with a few loose ringlets framing her face. With instructions from Howell, Annie's nimble fingers wove a wreath of the red rosebuds, and they fixed it in a coronet about her dark head.

 Annie knelt to help her put on her ivory satin dancing slippers.

 "Her Grace sent this," said Howell, producing a fan of pierced ivory and slipping its ribbon over her wrist. She stepped back. "Well, I have to say, miss, as how her Grace is right. You'll take the shine right out of all those pink and white misses. Looks almost royal, don't she, Annie?"

 Annie nodded, eyes shining. "You'll dance every dance, Miss Teresa," she prophesied, "and they'll be fighting to take you in to supper."

* * * *

There was admiration on the faces of her cousins when she descended to the drawing room. As she curtsied to the duke and duchess, Lord John stepped forward and swept a bow that would have done credit to a Cavalier.

“Cousin, may I have the honour of the first dance?” he requested. “I wager half the fellows in the room will be ready to call me out for forestalling them.”

“I hope you will not call out your papa, then,” she said, twinkling up at him. “He asked me yesterday.”

John turned to the duke. “Sir, name your seconds!” he cried melodramatically.

His Grace shook his head reprovingly and murmured, “I daresay you will grow up one day. You look magnificent, Teresa.”

“Thanks to your gift, Uncle.”  She touched the ruby pendant, her face glowing. “How very kind you are, sir. “And Cousin Tom, thank you for the roses. You see I am wearing them.”

“Thus greatly enhancing their beauty,” said Lord Danville gracefully, if a trifle ponderously.

“Dash it all, Tom, you’ve stolen a march on me, too,” his brother accused. “I ain’t in the petticoat line in general," he apologised to Teresa. “Should have thought of flowers. The muslin company don’t expect such graces,” he added wickedly in a whispered aside.

 “How lucky you did not send any,” she teased, pretending she had not heard his last remark. “I could never have chosen between my cousins’ offerings and must have declined to wear either.”

Marco stepped forward, proud and handsome in his first evening breeches and black velvet coat. With a bow as graceful as John’s, if less elaborate, he handed his sister a small package.

“I hope it is right,” he said anxiously. “I asked Aunt Stafford what would be suitable.”

It was an ivory bracelet, intricately carved, that matched Teresa’s fan to perfection. She put it on at once, over her glove, and turned to Marco. He hurriedly backed away.

“No hugs!  You will crease my coat.”

“Never say my little brother is become a dandy.”  She laughed. “Thank you. The bracelet is perfect.”

“It is from China. Cousin John took me to Limehouse, down by the docks. There are hundreds of Chinamen there.”

From China. Teresa studied the entwined dragons with interest, trying to suppress a wish that it was she, not Muriel, who had the opportunity of going to the mysterious land with Andrew.

The guests arrived, forty for dinner followed by another two or three hundred for the ball. The duchess excused Teresa early from the receiving line so that she should not be too tired to dance. She went into the ballroom, dazzling with mirrors, the diamonds of the ladies, the gold chandeliers with their hundreds of beeswax candles. Her dance card was filled, all but the waltzes, long before the duke came to lead her onto the floor to open the ball.

The first dance was a quadrille. Concentrating on the complicated figures, Teresa forgot to be nervous and laughed with delight. The duke beamed at her.

“I wish Edward were here to see you,” he said. “And your mama, of course. You quite take the shine out of all the young ladies.”

Teresa agreed wistfully that it would be beyond anything great to have her parents present, but she could not really imagine them mingling with the haut ton. The hacienda on the volcano’s slope was in another world.

Lord Danville was waiting to claim her for the next dance. As she stood with him at the side of the room, Baron Carruthers approached them. She had seen him several times since her original glimpse in the park, but had never been formally introduced.

He bowed to her partner, his cold eyes appraising her. They reminded her of the jaguar. “Servant, Danville. I am come to beg a favour. Pray present me to your beautiful cousin.”

Lord Danville looked uneasy but found it impossible to refuse a direct request. Though Teresa curtsied politely to the baron, she did not hold out her hand. He bowed low and asked permission to sign her card.

“I am sorry, all the dances are taken,” she said in relief. There was something about him that repelled her, quite apart from her cousins; warnings and the rumours she had since heard about his dissipated way of life. He bowed again, his words of regret accompanied by an expression close to a sneer. He did not press her, and headed for the card room as Cousin Tom took her arm to escort her onto the floor.

When it was time for the first waltz, Teresa went to sit beside the duchess. Most of her friends had already made their débuts the previous spring, so the patronesses of Almack’s had long since granted them permission to waltz. Teresa watched a little sadly as the floor began to fill. She was enjoying her first ball more than she had dreamed possible, and it was a shocking waste of time to have to be a wallflower, however briefly.

Then she saw Andrew making his way towards her. In the crush she had missed his arrival. Sitting out a waltz with Andrew would be better than dancing it with anyone else, she thought joyfully.

He bowed to the duchess. “I have Lady Castlereagh’s permission to ask Miss Danville for the dance,” he said. “May I deprive you her company, ma’am?”

Her hand on his arm felt the muscles move as he clasped her waist and swung her into the dance. His blue eyes gazing down into hers drove all thought from her mind and she moved in a daze, conscious only of his closeness. Her lips parted in a half smile. His grip on her hand tightened and he drew in his breath sharply, pulling her a little closer.

“Teresa,” he murmured.

She did not answer. Words were unnecessary.

The next set was one of the simpler country dances, fortunately, since Teresa’s head was still in the clouds. She was not expected to hold a proper conversation with her partner, Mr Wishart, because the figures separated them often. Somehow she managed not to make any obvious mistakes.

 After that came the supper dance, which John had reserved, and his lighthearted friendliness brought her back to earth. They chatted merrily as they danced, then went into the supper room with Jenny Kaye and her partner.

At a nearby table, Andrew bent solicitously over Muriel, asking her what she wanted from the buffet.

Teresa fell silent, then embarked upon a lively flirtation with her cousin. If he noticed a quality of desperation in her mood, he did not mention it. He responded in kind, and more than one dowager nodded wisely and muttered dire warnings about marriages between cousins.

Chapter 14

The day after her coming-out ball, Teresa slept till past noon. She awoke with a slight headache, real this time, which she put down to overindulgence in champagne.

She remembered watching Andrew leave with Muriel, placing her cloak solicitously about her slender white shoulders.

She remembered laughing with Cousin John and drinking more champagne and dancing, dancing, dancing till dawn lightened the sky.

She remembered waltzing with Andrew—but on that memory she did not dare let herself dwell.

Today she had missed her morning ride with him, but the next day was the one set for her conference with the coffee merchants. Though she had been indignant when Andrew insisted on going with her, now she felt she  would be glad to have his support, as well as being simply glad of his presence.

* * * *

       On the morrow, they drove with Marco and Annie to the Gloster Coffee House in Piccadilly. It was indeed respectable as coaching inns went. Founded a century and more ago the coffee house had, like many another, become a gathering place for merchants and other men of business. Though it was now the London headquarters of the Portsmouth stage line, it was still frequented by dealers in coffee and tea.

       Lord Edward’s banker had invited seven of the most prominent importers of coffee to meet there that morning. He had not, however, warned them that a female hoped to do business with them. Enticed by his promise of something out of the ordinary, they were all waiting in a private parlour, set aside for their use, when Teresa arrived at the inn.

       The landlord ushered her into the parlour, followed by Annie, Andrew, then Marco carrying the little wooden chest of coffee beans they had brought from Costa Rica.

       “Good morning, gentlemen,” Teresa said. “I am Miss Danville. I hope to persuade you to buy coffee produced on my father’s hacienda in Costa Rica.”

       A small, skinny man in an old-fashioned long coat and tie wig snorted and marched out with a scowl on his face, muttering something about modern females not knowing their place. The other six remained, their expressions varying from astonishment through scepticism to admiration.

       “Delighted, I’m sure,” said a corpulent merchant, ogling her. “Out of the ordinary indeed!  Always a pleasure to do business with a pretty young woman.”  He winked.

       “I warned you,” Andrew whispered, then proceeded to demonstrate his estimable abilities as a diplomat. Without offending anyone, he put the stout cit in his place and convinced the sceptics that it would be worth their while to stay and try Teresa’s wares.

       She hurried to open the chest and soon they were all sniffing at handfuls of the roasted beans. She set Marco to grinding them in a mill provided by the innkeeper, who had also set out one of the new Biggin coffeepots with a built-in filter. Teresa sent Annie to the kitchens to fetch boiling water and soon the delicious aroma of brewing coffee filled the room.

       The merchants sipped her brew, compared it to the best varieties served in the coffee house, tasted again, scribbled notes.

       “’Tis as rich as Jamaica Blue Mountain,” observed one, impressed.

       “Better,” said another.

       They besieged Teresa with questions about quantities, shipping routes, agents, and political complications. Oscar had prepared her well during the voyage from Limón to Port Royal and she managed to answer all queries to their satisfaction. She shot a glance of triumph at Andrew, who nodded encouragement, grinning.

       Finally, all six merchants promised to send draft contracts for her perusal. She gave them her direction at Stafford House, thanked them, and took her leave. They all bowed low as she swept out, followed by her retinue.