Cinders & Sapphires (14 page)

Michael swore and thumped the roses against his leg angrily. Petals flew. He’d been following her for ages, trying to get up the courage to speak to her, and the roses had seemed like a good idea at the time. But then he had bumped into her, like an idiot, and of course she had been startled, and there had been no chance to give her the flowers. She was so beautiful. So naturally graceful and elegant—

“Michael!”

He looked up. Georgiana was standing before him, beaming, twigs in her hair, smudges on her face, and a large grass stain down her dress.

“Georgiana! You’re up.” He looked her up and down. “But what have you been doing? You look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”

Her smile faltered, and she glanced down at the grass-stained dress as if she had only just seen it.

“Oh dear. Does it look that bad?”

“Pretty bad. Good job Mother’s not here; she’d give you a scolding.”

“I just wondered what you were doing here?”

“Here?” Michael looked around. “Oh, just…exploring.” He remembered the roses he was still holding. Well, since he’d missed his chance to give them to Priya. “Want some roses?” he said glumly, thrusting them at her.

“Oh!” Her smile lit up, and he was pleased despite himself. Good old Georgie. She might be a bit of a scatterbrain but she was full of pluck and good humor. It was nice to be able to make her smile. And…the thought struck him suddenly. Of course. That was the other good thing about her. She was a
girl
. Easy to forget it, she was such a tomboy, but she was an actual girl. Didn’t girls have some kind of shared bond? Wouldn’t she be the best way of getting to Priya?

He beamed at her. “Come on, let’s have a game of cricket. It’s been ages—I’ve missed you!”

He clapped the delighted Georgiana on the shoulder, and they went out of the kitchen garden toward the lawns.

Sebastian walked back toward his room after a tedious lunch with the dean, along cobbled streets and past the sun-dappled stone of the ancient colleges. He was thinking of Oliver. His conscience twinged as he thought of the way he had acted the other day. Of course Oliver would have been upset; anyone would. It must have looked as if he were flirting with Ravi, when in fact he simply found him interesting and a challenge. It was provoking not to be admired, and he knew that Ravi did not admire him. But Oliver must have had a boring day of it, handing out champagne without being able to taste a drop himself, of course. Sebastian had been a little drunk, or he would have been more sensitive. He would have to make it up to Oliver. Perhaps, he thought as he climbed the stairs to his rooms, they could go for a picnic, or something similar. The devil of it was, it was hard to find an excuse to go gallivanting with one’s valet without exciting suspicion. Perhaps if he could get invited to a country-house party this weekend… He opened the door and went into his rooms.

“Oliver,” he began, and then stopped dead. The letter lay on the mantelpiece, insolent as an intruder. Even from here he could see the handwriting was Simon’s.

He crossed and picked it up, his hands shaking. There
was
no more money. Simon had to be sensible, he had to understand. But he tore it open and read what was inside it, and his heart sank in despair.

Mr. Sebastian,

I think you must be making a mockery of me. I know you are a rich gentleman and can pay whatever I ask. I think it is not too much to ask two thousand pounds to keep your name out of the papers. I have met a very pleasant gentleman from The Illustrated Reporter who is very interested to hear about you and I. Of course I wouldn’t tell him a thing before hearing from you. I am sure you will see sense and let me have it for old times’ sake. If not, the story will run this weekend.

Your humble servant,

Simon Croker

“Two thousand pounds!” Sebastian burst out furiously. The man had to be mad. He could never get such a sum. His mother held the purse strings too tightly and he could not ask her for such an amount with no explanation. And before the weekend!

It was impossible to approach Lord Westlake again. He had made it clear that the so-called investments should show a profit before he would put more money into it. And to threaten him with the papers…some American rag, no doubt, but the story would be picked up in London too. Unfortunately, there was enough evidence to support it. He had been seen and photographed frequenting too many parties with the Set to hope to pass anonymously.

“Sebastian?” Oliver came in. Sebastian could not answer his timid smile. Oliver stood there in his valet’s uniform, and that reminded him of Simon. He’d trusted Simon. He’d been a fool. Perhaps no one could be trusted.

“When did that letter come?”

“Yesterday. It was pushed under the door—”

“Yesterday! Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?”

Oliver looked startled and didn’t answer. Sebastian swore.

“Pack my things. I’m going to London, alone.”

If he had expected Oliver to make a scene, he was disappointed. Oliver hesitated, then turned away, his face impassive. The perfect servant, Sebastian thought bitterly. Perfect at hiding his feelings, and no doubt talking behind his back. It was unbearable. He shouted after him. “And be quick about it—I mean to have fun tonight!” It was childish but he didn’t care. If only Oliver had showed some emotion, some flicker of feeling. But he was as cold as Simon, as able to turn his emotions on and off.

Sebastian snatched up the suitcase without looking at Oliver and stormed out. If he was quick he would be able to catch the last train to London.

“Here.” Sebastian spoke to the cab driver, who clicked his tongue and whoa-ed his horse to a standstill. Sebastian paid him with his last coins and stepped out of the cab into the darkening evening, where the men were lighting the gas lamps. The old horse tossed its head and trotted off, and Sebastian was left staring at Featherstonehaugh House, iceberglike in front of him.

He realized at once that he had not thought this through. There was a motorcar in front of the house and servants in livery were standing at the open door. Clearly Simon’s employer was on his way out for the evening. How had he imagined he would get to speak to Simon, anyway? One could hardly call at a gentleman’s house and ask to speak to his valet. The back door was a possibility, but there would be questions asked.…

As he stood, irresolute, a tall young man in evening dress, top hat and cane, came out of the front door, and with a nod to the butler, hurried down the steps toward the motorcar. Behind him came Simon.

Sebastian gasped sharply and headed across the road before he thought of what he was doing. As he drew close to the motorcar the man looked up at him with a curious expression. Sebastian realized he knew him. It was Lord Fintan. He had been there at the shooting party—of course, Sebastian realized. He really had seen Simon there; he hadn’t imagined it. He faltered in his pace—damn, this was going to be difficult to explain—and lifted his hat with an awkward smile.

Lord Fintan tipped his own hat and smiled with an inquiring look.

“My dear Sebastian—it is Sebastian, isn’t it? Were you looking for me?” he said. He sounded uncertain, and Sebastian could hardly blame him. He must have presented a very odd appearance, hesitating as if he were afraid of being seen. Behind Lord Fintan, Simon’s face registered wary surprise; then the mask of the professional servant froze over it. He stared right through Sebastian.

“I…” Sebastian had no idea what to say. If he said not, he would have to walk on and miss the chance of speaking to Simon. If he said he was, he would have to produce some excuse. And since he had only the smallest of acquaintances with Lord Fintan, and no reason to speak to him, that would be difficult.

“Only I am rather late, for an engagement with the Wellingboroughs…” Lord Fintan gestured to his pocket watch. “My mother is inside and I am sure she would be delighted to see you.”

That settled it. “No, I thank you. I was just…taking an early evening walk.” Sebastian replied. He was angry at the shameful need to lie. Simon’s face remained impassive. Sebastian, with an abrupt bow to Lord Fintan, walked past.

“Odd chap,” he heard Lord Fintan say to Simon as he stepped into the motorcar.

“Quite, my lord.” Simon replied. Sebastian heard him closing the door close behind his master.

Damn, damn, damn, thought Sebastian as he walked along the road, swinging his cane. It was clear there was no talking to Simon. Fear was like a knotted rope around his throat. He had to do something, and fast. But he was almost out of money, and nothing else would make an impression on Simon. He paused and opened his pocketbook under a lamppost, careless of the pickpockets who swarmed the streets of London. It was empty, practically moth-eaten, save for his return ticket to Oxford—and two other small slips of paper.

Sebastian opened them, wondering if they were pawnbrokers’ bills. But they were not. He remembered them as he looked at them: earlier this year, just after receiving his allowance, he had bought two tickets for Vronsky’s solo performance at the Albert Hall, when he would be premiering a piano arrangement of
The Firebird,
composed by Stravinsky. It was the most hotly anticipated musical performance of the year. The new Russian music had influenced everything from interior décor to clothes. It was a mark of how worried Sebastian had been that he had forgotten all about the tickets.

Still, he was in no mood for music. He was about to tear them up when he paused. Fight fire with fire, they said. It was a good scandal story, that Sebastian Templeton, the urbane man about town, committed the unspeakable vice of the Greeks, as his don called it. But there could be a better story. For months the gutter press had been trying to fix him with a woman, one of the Set. He had laughed at the time. But what he needed now was exactly that: a woman. A woman to escort to the concert
,
a woman who would help him prompt a story for the papers that would make Simon’s look ridiculous, unpublishable. Better, a mysterious woman. A beautiful woman. A woman who had never before been in the papers…

“Ada,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “Cab!”

The sun came in through the large Georgian windows of Milborough House, and shimmered on the three dresses that lay in clouds of tissue paper across Ada’s bed. Ada herself, still in her tea gown, paced back and forth across the room.

“Lady Ada, do stay still for a moment and decide which you’re going to wear tonight to the Wellingboroughs’,” Rose pleaded.

Ada reluctantly stopped pacing and looked at the dresses that lay on the bed. Beside La Vague, she had acquired two others. Her favorite was a long, shimmering, intricately ruched gown from Fortuny called Delphos. It was said to have been inspired by the moonlight on Grecian marble ruins, and it shimmered with a mysterious color that seemed somewhere between blue and silver.

“This is such an elegant shape,” Rose said, as if echoing her thoughts. “You’d need to wear the new straight-line corset, my lady, but I’m sure it would suit you.”

“I’m not sure…” Ada hesitated. It was a beautiful dress, perhaps even more beautiful than La Vague, but she couldn’t concentrate on dresses now. She was feeling oddly nervous about seeing Ravi. It had been such a long time since their last communication.

“Or what about this lovely kimono style?” Rose went on, smoothing the vivid silk of the third dress. “It’s daring, I know, but the colors—”

“They’re truly beautiful,” Ada agreed. Bright, Eastern-inspired colors, lavish embroidery, and exotic shapes were so much of the moment, with the fashion for Russian music and dance.

“Won’t you try it on, my lady?” Rose suggested, holding the dress out to her.

Ada hesitated. “Perhaps later.” She simply had too much on her mind. She went toward the door. “I must have a walk before I decide, to—to clear my mind.”

She opened the door to the startled face of a maid, who had been just about to knock.

“Oh!” She searched for the maid’s name; the Milborough staff were still strangers to her. “What is it, Polly?”

“Oh, I—” The girl blushed, clearly not accustomed to speaking directly to a lady. “There’s a visitor for your ladyship. Mr. Sebastian Templeton is in the drawing room.”

“Sebastian? Here, to see me?” Ada was surprised; she had thought him in Oxford. “I will be down instantly.”

She hurried down the stairs and across the marble floors to the drawing room. Not for the first time, she thought how smart and fashionable Milborough House was—yet it felt somehow unlived in, not like Somerton. Perhaps she had finally come to think of Somerton Court as her home.

Sebastian turned toward her as she opened the drawing room door. Ada thought he looked tense; his face was pale and red spots burned in his cheeks.

“Sebastian!” she exclaimed with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Sebastian looked at her with relief. “I’m glad to find you alone. I must have a word with you.”

Ada, startled, nodded. “Of course.” She looked inquiringly into Sebastian’s face. “What’s the matter? You look quite pale.”

Sebastian forced a laugh. “Do I? It’s just the cold. Ada, how would you like to see the artistic event of the year?”

She frowned, and Sebastian brought the tickets out of his pocketbook. “Vronsky’s folk ballads recital. I quite forgot that I had tickets, but it seemed a shame to waste them.”

Ada laughed in amused astonishment. “So you came down from Oxford today? Sebastian, you are extraordinary!”

Sebastian laughed, but it sounded forced. “Yes, another one of my freaks. But what do you say? You are so fond of music, I thought that it might amuse you to go.”

Ada’s face fell. “I can’t, Sebastian. I’m very sorry, but we’re all engaged for dinner at the Wellingboroughs.”

“That will be a political thing, won’t it? It sounds like a terrible bore. Can’t you throw them over?”

There was something desperate in Sebastian’s voice. Ada looked at him in surprise. “No, impossible.”

“But if your father and my mother and Charlotte are all going—”

Ada shook her head. She was thinking of Ravi. “I’m terribly sorry, Sebastian. It was very good of you to think of me…” She hesitated, and a thought suddenly came into her head that made her flush with excitement.

“I may have a solution!” she burst out. “Sebastian—would you consider taking someone else instead of me?”

“Who do you have in mind?”

She beckoned him forward and whispered. “How about Rose?”

Sebastian stared at her in astonishment.

“Rose? You don’t mean your maid?”

Ada nodded and blushed. She dropped her voice even lower. “Sebastian, you mustn’t tell anyone, but that isn’t me practicing the piano, it’s her. You have no idea what a talent she has, but she’s never had the chance to cultivate it. If she could go to this performance it would mean so much to her.”

“I—but—” Sebastian was left speechless. He had thought he was up for anything, but it seemed his perfect lady of a stepsister was beyond him in audacity. Still, a maid is a woman, isn’t she? Rose had grace and elegance, and she was very attractive even in a maid’s uniform. And certainly no one would know who she was. The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. A smile spread across his face. Stake everything on one throw of the dice, that was his style.

“I’ll ring for her at once.” Ada had been watching his face, and now she swiftly rang the bell.

Rose was startled to find not only Lady Ada but Master Sebastian waiting for her. She bobbed a curtsy, wondering why both looked so embarrassed and excited.

“Rose,” Lady Ada burst out. “You would like to go to a concert, wouldn’t you?”

“A—a—?” Rose tried to imagine what a concert could be like. She had heard of such a thing, of course, but never imagined going to one.

“Sebastian would like me to go to hear Mr. Vronsky tonight, but I can’t, of course, as you well know. But I thought of you. I know you would enjoy it. The music is said to be exceptional—and exactly the kind of thing that would inspire you.”

Rose had understood barely one word in ten of Ada’s speech, but one objection stood out clearly.

“I couldn’t, my lady. I wouldn’t know what to do or how to behave—”

“I would take the greatest care of you,” Mr. Sebastian said at once. “You needn’t worry, Rose. No one would suspect that you are not—not—used to attending concerts.”

“But I don’t have anything to wear to such a thing.” Rose was thinking of her wardrobe. Her one smart dress was sober and respectable, but she knew that it wasn’t the thing to wear to a proper concert, with ladies and gentlemen there.

“Well, that is no problem!” Ada said triumphantly. “We’re about the same height and the same size. You can wear something of mine—in fact, of course! You can wear one of my new dresses!” She clapped her hands. “Perfect!”

Rose opened and closed her mouth, but no words came out. Wear Lady Ada’s new dress? Go to a concert? The one idea filled her with horror, the other with longing. She looked from Lady Ada to Master Sebastian.

“I—I—I’m not sure. I—”

“Oh, Rose, please, please don’t argue! This is the most wonderful chance for you.” Ada ran forward and took her hand. “Come with me and we’ll arrange it all. Sebastian,” she flung over her shoulder, “be ready to keep the coast clear.”

Sebastian went after them and caught Rose’s arm. He pulled her back and said, softly and seriously, “Rose, I must tell you, this is not a favor I am bestowing upon you. I am begging you—quite honestly—to be my companion for this evening. If you only knew it, you are my last hope.”

Rose only had time to stare at him in astonishment before Ada came back to get her.

“I don’t feel right about doing this.” Rose looked nervously in the mirror as Ada helped her dress. “Your beautiful new gown…”

“Nonsense, Rose, it’s a wonderful opportunity.” Ada’s cheeks were pink as she helped Rose undress. She was so pleased at the idea of Rose seeing the man who had praised her composition that she was determined to overrule any objections. “If you can bring yourself to introduce yourself as the composer of that tune he enjoyed so much at Lady Fairfax’s—”

“I couldn’t, my lady!” Rose blushed bright red.

“I understand—but you’re really too modest.” Ada sighed. She turned back to the dresses. “Now which one would you like to wear?”

Rose shrank back.

“Then I will choose for you.” Rose held up the three dresses one by one, her head cocked to one side as she considered them.

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed as she looked at the Poiret kimono. “Rose, the rich blue makes your eyes simply sing.”

“But it was so expensive—”

“All the more reason to get as much wear as possible out of it, then! Now, here we have an extraordinary object.” She held up what looked like a very short bodice. “The salesgirl called it a
brassiere
. It is to be worn beneath the kimono instead of a corset, in order to preserve the shape.”

Rose made a face. “It doesn’t look very decent.” She managed to get it on. “I don’t know what my mother would say.”

“She won’t know; no one will.” Ada laughed.

She helped Rose dress, and turned her to the mirror to see herself. Rose’s eyes widened and a smile broke through her worried expression. She looked like an exotic orchid, her dark hair piled delicately upon her head.

Ada twirled Rose around gently. The silk swung and swished while still seeming elegant, and it suited Rose’s slim, young figure perfectly. Her neck seemed long and white, and her large blue eyes were set off to perfection by the shimmering colors. Ada gazed in the glass and laughed as the resemblance between them struck her.

“Why, we could be sisters!” she exclaimed. “No one would ever guess you did not wear dresses like this every day of your life, Rose.”

“You—you don’t think I’m getting above my station?”

“I think your station is music,” said Ada firmly. “I think nothing can be wrong that allows you to follow your dreams. And I think you deserve a beautiful dress for once in your life.”

Rose nodded. “I love it, my lady,” she said happily.

Ada squeezed her hand. “Come along, then—let’s not keep Sebastian waiting.”