Cinders & Sapphires (16 page)

Ada jumped in: “But it is such a beautiful, enchanted country.” She didn’t know if what she was saying was sensible or not; she just knew that she wanted Ravi to speak to her.

“To an outsider, perhaps.” He regarded her coolly, and she blushed. “But our problems are quite practical, as practical as those of the United States before the revolution there.”

There was an awkward, embarrassed silence. Ada shrank inside. How could he say something so provocative in such company? Beside her, Mr. Varley stiffened and sent a warning look at his protégé.

“I hope you don’t have privileged information, Mr. Sundaresan,” said Lord Fintan with a smile. “Is there trouble in store for the foreign secretary?”

Ravi shrugged and returned Lord Fintan’s smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He had hardly touched his food. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.”

“Lord Fintan,” Charlotte broke in, her cheeks pink, “I wondered if you had returned to Gravelley Park since last season?”

“I cannot say I have,” he replied, the hint of a frown crossing his face.

“There were so many memories there—so many intimate connections made—” She leaned across the table, her diamonds dangling in her bosom, the candlelight sparkling from the intricate beading around the neckline. Lord Fintan did not take the bait. He looked directly into her eyes and said, “How true.”

Charlotte pressed her lips together and drew back. It was hard to see in the candlelight, but Ada thought she was blushing.

“I think it is a shame,” Ada said, her voice sounding high and nervous, “that so many Indians jump to conclusions about the intentions of the English.”

“Ada is terribly political,” Charlotte said in a voice of repressed rage.

“Then she’s sitting next to just the person to appreciate her,” Emily said with a wicked smile and a glance toward Lord Fintan. Charlotte breathed out hard and stabbed at the lobster on her plate as if she wished it were Emily’s head. Lord Fintan cast Emily an amused, warning glance. Ada watched Ravi’s gaze flick between the three of them, and knew from the expression in his golden-flecked eyes that he was taking everything in.

“I would not call it jumping to conclusions. I would call it coming to an…understanding of the situation based on the very good evidence before my own eyes,” he said to Ada, his voice still cool.

Ada felt her face grow warm. The remark was pointed. She knew he meant that he had observed her behavior with Lord Fintan. She was upset, but she was also angry. How could he judge her without hearing her side of the story?

“It’s true that we are not in India, and cannot judge these things,” Lady Wellingborough said, her intelligent gaze passing over the table. Ada had the sense that she knew something was going on, but was not able to tell exactly what.

“But I have spent several years in India,” Lord Westlake said. “And I cannot approve of the way that certain bodies—this hot faction of the INC, for example—recklessly cast the British as their enemies. True, some situations have been…poorly handled, but you cannot deny we have brought many benefits to the country—schools, a railway system…”

Ravi gazed back at him steadily, his eyes cold. “And would you call the Partition and the famines benefits?”

Lord Westlake frowned. “Of course not. I was vocally opposed to the Partition and assisted in the famine relief myself.” He shifted in his seat. “You are young,” he said stiffly. “Of course you feel passionately about these things.”

“I am young, sir, but I am not blind.” Ravi’s voice was mild, but Ada sensed the fervor behind it. “I, too, have spent several years in India—my entire life, as it happens—and more than this, I
am
Indian. You must allow me a different perspective on its government by the English than you might have.”

“But my dear boy,” Lord Wellingborough said, seriously, “do you really think the poor masses of your country fit to rule themselves? They are so divided.”

“So was Britain, until late in its history, and if we consider the Irish question…But I think that is irrelevant, if you will forgive me. The question is whether it is just for a people to have no voice in the government that rules them. I cannot think that it is.”

Lord Fintan laughed uncomfortably. “Steady on, old chap. You’re beginning to sound like quite a rebel.”

Ravi cleared his throat, glancing at Mr. Varley. “I could certainly not betray a country that has given me so many opportunities. But I’m sure we can agree that little treacheries have been committed by both sides, can we not?” He met Ada’s eyes.

Ada bit her lip angrily. “There is no question of treachery where no allegiance is owed,” she said. How dare he imply such a thing? They had agreed to be just friends. She owed him nothing. She could flirt with whomever she wanted.

She was rewarded with an unmistakable flash of pain in his eyes. She was briefly triumphant, and then miserable.

Lord Fintan raised an eyebrow as he glanced between her and Ravi. As the third course came around, he said, as if to no one in particular, “Well, I confess I’m not up on India. But I see it has its fascinations—for the ladies especially.”

Rose shivered in her cloak as they went out into the frosty street, where cabs and cars were jostling for space to collect the patrons. It had begun to snow, and flakes whirled down, dizzying as the bubbles in the champagne, polka-dotting the gentlemen’s top hats for a moment before they melted. Rose turned her face up to them, remembering how she had spun and danced in the snow as a child, trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue. She was aware of some admiring glances, and smiled, flushed with sudden confidence in her own beauty. Then, as she looked down, she saw Mr. Vronksy.

He was coming out of the stage door, surrounded by a knot of admirers. His lanky shape stood head and shoulders above the top hats and fox furs, and there was a benign smile on his face.

Rose stared at him. She would never have another chance to speak to him. It was out of the question to tell him who she was, but she could thank him, at least, from the bottom of her heart, even if he didn’t understand why she was doing it. “Mr. Sebastian—please—could we speak to him?” she burst out.

Sebastian looked around. “Why, of course.” He tucked her arm into his own and led her toward the crowd. Rose would never have been able to make her way through the press of people alone, but Sebastian’s confidence seemed to part them like a sword.

“Excuse me, please. This young lady is anxious to speak to you, Mr. Vronsky—she enjoyed the concert very much.”

Rose found herself looking up into Mr. Vronksy’s face as the crowd surged behind her. “It was magical,” she blurted out. “Oh, sir, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Some of the fashionably dressed ladies next to her tittered behind their hands, and the gentlemen in their silky top hats covered their mouths to hide smiles. Rose faltered. She had been too enthusiastic—oh, and she should never have called him sir. What could make her look more like a housemaid?

She became suddenly aware of herself, frightened and awkward in a beautiful, borrowed dress, aware of her work-hardened hands inside the kid gloves. She had tried so hard to behave well. She barely spoke; she did exactly what Sebastian told her…and now she had ruined everything.

She backed away. The spell was broken.

But before she could escape the crowd, a commotion behind Mr. Vronsky arose. One of the gentlemen had brought out a camera.

“Mr. Vronsky—the press, if you please. A photograph? Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Churchill would care to be in the frame? Oh! And Mr. Sebastian Templeton and his lovely companion, of course.”

“Very well.” Mr. Vronsky smiled and stepped back to give the photographers better room.

“Oh no—” Rose shrunk back, but Sebastian urged her forward. “I don’t want to—”

“Please, Rose. For me.”

She was startled by the desperation in Sebastian’s whisper. She allowed him to maneuver her into the photographer’s frame, although all the time her heart was beating with terror. She had never been photographed before.

She tried to duck her head, but Sebastian was pulling her around to face him. She saw his face, set as if he were about to do some dreadful act of heroic courage.

Then he kissed her, just as the flashbulb popped.

Rose had never been kissed before. It seemed to whirl over her, like a blizzard. For a few seconds she had no idea what was going on. Sebastian’s lips pressed hard against hers. She heard Mr. Vronsky exclaim something in Russian, and laugh. Other people gasped. More lights flashed and popped. Then Sebastian released her and, his arm around her protectively, hurried down the steps to the waiting cab.

Rose, too shocked and confused even to be angry, found herself bundled into the cab. It was only then that the idea of screaming came to her. She managed a small, very quiet shriek.

“Oh please don’t!” Sebastian said in anguish, leaning forward to her. “I’m sorry, Rose. I shouldn’t have done it, I know. But I had to.”

Rose gasped at him. The cab rumbled across the cobblestones. The thought came to her that she might be being kidnapped for terrible purposes. But if so, it was not a very discreet kidnap—everyone had seen them leave. Everyone had seen the kiss. The thought made her blush bright red in horror.

“Mr. Sebastian—sir!” She burst into tears of shock.

Sebastian groaned. “I truly apologize. I had no intention of upsetting you.”

“No intention—no intention—I thought you were a gentleman, sir! Where are you taking me?” She lunged for the door handle, but Sebastian grabbed her hand.

“No, no, Rose, you’ve got it all wrong. We’re just going home. I—” He ran a despairing hand through his hair. “I know what I did just then must seem, well, insane.”

“I never thought you that kind of man, sir,” Rose sobbed. “I
liked
you!”

“I’m not. I promise I’m not. I have no dishonorable intentions toward you.” He added wryly, “Or honorable ones, for that matter. I’m very sorry, Rose. Call it one of my freaks, call me insane, call me anything, but please forgive me.”

Rose slowly wiped away her tears. There was no mistaking the honesty in his tone.

“Then what did you do it for? Was it to make a mock of me?” She was angry now. “I never thought you would do such a thing, sir.”

“I would never mock you, I promise. Please don’t think that.” Sebastian dropped his head in his hands. “I had no choice,” he repeated miserably.

Rose gazed out the window, unable to think of a word to say. She had to believe him, she realized. He was too clearly upset by what he had done. But what did he mean, he had no choice? Was he insane? There didn’t seem to be another explanation. If her mother were here, she would say
I told you so
. This was what came of getting above your station.

As soon as the cab pulled up at Milborough House, she jumped out and fled to the door, ignoring Sebastian’s anxious calls. She slipped in, using the key Ada had given her, and tiptoed up the stairs, shoes in hand. She was far too tired to notice that Stella’s door was ajar, and that light still shone out through the crack of it. She managed to undress and then fell into bed, forgetting completely that she was meant to wait up for her mistress.

Dinner was finally over, and Ada rose to retire with the ladies. As soon as she reached the drawing room she went to the window, gazing out at the falling snow, trying to cool her cheeks and calm her miserable thoughts.

Emily touched her on the shoulder. “Are you quite well, Ada?”

“Yes—yes. I’m just so terribly hot.” Ada looked out across the garden of Featherstonehaugh House. Dark box hedges loomed in front of her, and the snow made the steps down between them gleam. She was furious with herself, and furious with Ravi. How could the evening have gone so wrong?

“You think me cruel to Charlotte, I’m sure.” Emily was speaking in a low voice, and Ada had to bring her thoughts back to the moment. “But if you knew what happened at Gravelley Park last season, you would understand.”

“You won’t tell me?” Ada was curious despite herself.

“No, I can’t. That would be too indiscreet even for me. Suffice it to say that it was a very eventful Saturday to Monday.” She smiled without humor. “And that Charlotte ensured certain things happened that made me very unhappy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ada, touched. Emily always seemed so lively and cheerful, Ada had not imagined she had a tragedy in her past.

“No matter. I make a point of never dwelling on seasons past.” Emily smiled. “Tell me, did you get the book I sent?”

“I did. I liked it very much.”

“So you will come to Oxford, then?”

“If I can.” Ada answered absently. She had seen a figure cross the path, walking between the gardens. It was impossible to tell, in the darkness, who it was, but then a match flared, illuminating his face as he lit a cheroot. It was Ravi. His face was set and moody. She moved instinctively closer to the window. If only he would look up, look through the glass, and see her.

Emily moved forward too, curiously following her gaze. “Oh…and of course there may be more than one good reason to visit Oxford,” she said meaningfully.

Ada drew back, her heart thumping at the knowledge that Emily suspected something. Emily met her frightened look with a smile.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t see a thing,” she said under her breath, and moved away.

Ada stood, indecisive for a moment, by the window. When she turned back, Ravi had gone.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze. She only came to life when the gentlemen joined them, starting as if she were about to get up, when Ravi entered the room. But there was no chance of speaking to him. He kept his distance, and she was too nervous to approach him. Instead, she smiled at compliments and laughed at jokes. Lord Fintan also stayed away, and she wondered if he too suspected something. She could not bring herself to be miserable about it if he did. Her mind was in too much turmoil. One moment she determined she had to speak to him, they could not part like this; the next she was angry and felt that she never wanted to speak to him again. And then it was time to go home.

Unhappily, she followed her father and Fiona out into the hall. Lord Fintan paused before getting into his motor, to bow over her hand.

“It was a pleasure, as always,” he said. Ada managed a smile.

Emily kissed her warmly on the cheek. “I hope to see you before too long,” she said meaningfully. She exchanged frosty smiles with Charlotte, and went out to her carriage.

Ada, wrapped in her furs, stood close by the doors. Her family was in conversation with the Wellingboroughs, and no one was looking in her direction. On a whim, she stepped out into the flurries of snow—and felt her arm caught tightly.

She barely had time to gasp before she was pulled into the shadows beside the door. She knew at once it was Ravi who held her. “Let me go!” Furiously, she shook herself loose.

“With pleasure,” he said coldly. “I thought—but never mind; I was clearly mistaken.”

“You
are
mistaken.” Her anger cooled as she remembered how she had behaved. A note of pleading crept into her voice. “It is not fair to accuse me of treachery. You don’t know—”

“What is there to know? I saw everything. I suppose you have known Lord Fintan long?”

“Not particularly, no.” She held her head high. “But it should be no concern of yours whether I have or not.”

“Of course. My apologies,” he said ironically. “As you said, you owe me no allegiance.”

“I didn’t mean—” She stopped, trying to control her frustration and anger. It did not help that she longed to kiss him as much as ever. The lingering scent of his cheroot took her back to the
Moldavia.
“We agreed we would just be friends.”

“Again, you’re correct. I have no right to feel this way.”

“You don’t understand, I feel it too, but—”

“But what?” he shouted, suddenly. “But I am not quite the kind of man you could see yourself marrying. Lord Fintan, on the other hand—”

“That is not fair!”

His eyes flashed fiercely, and he stepped closer, drawing breath for a retort. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, and his lips were pressed passionately onto hers. She gasped, her head whirling, feeling out of control again. The falling snow bit into her bare skin as her furs slid from her shoulders. She felt his warm, smooth hands caressing her arms, and pressed her body closer, every care of the evening wiped clean from her head. She could go on kissing him forever. But they were right by the door, and at any moment her father could step outside, or the car could draw up. It was intolerable that he was risking her exposure like this, and terrifying that he had such a power over her, power to make her forget herself, her family, her station in life, her ambitions—everything except the terrible joy of kissing him. It could not go on.

She managed to pull herself free. “We must never meet again,” she said, her voice shaking. Then, before she could change her mind, she hurried down the steps just as their carriage pulled up. She followed her family into the carriage in a daze, her eyes blurred with tears as if by snowflakes. In the carriage, she sat back and closed her eyes, murmuring something about a headache.

Stella dozed in the chair before the fire, waking with a start now and then. Waiting up for Miss Charlotte was her least favorite duty. When the door finally slammed downstairs, and she heard the voices of the family in the hall, the clock showed three o’clock in the morning.

Stella jumped to her feet and wiped the sleep from her eyes just in time as Miss Charlotte opened the door and flounced in. Stella could see at once, from her expression, that the night had not been a success.

“Stella,” Charlotte began without hesitation, as she stood before the mirror, “I want you to find anything you can against Ada. I don’t care what it is. She must have done something to be ashamed of at some point; no one could be so horribly innocent as she seems to be. I want to know what it is. I want to know her secrets.”

Stella hurried to undo her mistress’ buttons and help her with her jewelry. She was startled but not surprised. It was clear that Miss Templeton was jealous of Lady Ada, but for her to come directly out and instruct her like this, instead of dropping hints, the hatred must run very deep.

“I’ll do whatever I can, miss,” she said. She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Charlotte about the near miss with the letter. If it had not been for the interfering nursemaid, they might have had solid evidence to get Rose sacked by now. “And against the maid, too—I’m hopeful of getting information very soon.” She finished undressing her and held out the peignoir for her to step into.

Charlotte made a gesture of angry dismissal and shrugged on the silken dressing gown.

“I don’t care about the maid. But I want Ada ruined.” She barely troubled to conceal the venom in her voice. “Just see to it, will you?”

“My dear Fiona,” were Mrs. Verulam’s first words as she entered the drawing room of Milborough House the next morning. “Who on earth is this mysterious lady at the center of Sebastian’s latest scandal? As his mother, surely you must know.”

Ada looked up in surprise from the thank-you note she was writing to the Wellingboroughs. Charlotte, who was leafing through the latest
Bon Ton
magazine, looked as startled. The parlormaid, who was laying out the tea things, started and chinked a porcelain cup against a saucer.

Fiona raised her eyebrows as Mrs. Verulam placed a decidedly gaudy-looking piece of newsprint in front of her. Ada could see at a glance it was not one of the more reputable papers.

“What on earth is this? Something from the servants’ hall?”

“Yes. Baines, my butler, is kind enough to keep it for me.”

Charlotte walked across the room and looked over her mother’s shoulder.

“The
Illustrated
?” she said with a shocked laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Verulam, you don’t read that dreadful rag, I’m sure.”

“Oh, are you?” Mrs. Verulam turned a piercing eye on her. “I most certainly do. How else is one supposed to know what one’s friends are up to?”

The parlormaid stifled what seemed to be a cough and hurried from the room, her shoulders shaking. Ada put her own hand to her mouth to cover a smile.

Fiona sighed and picked up the newspaper. “What has the wretch done now?” she said indulgently, although there was a note of concern that she could not quite hide.

“Turn to page nine, that’s where the society news usually is,” said Mrs. Verulam.

Ada watched nervously, aware of the unwritten law that a lady should have her name in the papers only three times: at her birth, marriage, and death. She hoped Sebastian had not done anything that would reflect poorly on the Averleys. And for the first time that day she thought of Rose. Knowing Rose would be tired, Ada had not woken her when she got in, or in the morning. She had contrived to dress herself. It had given her a delightful feeling of independence.

Fiona gasped as she looked at the newspaper. “Well!”

“Isn’t it exciting?” Mrs. Verulam whisked the paper from her hands and showed it to Charlotte. Ada could no longer control her curiosity and hurried over. “At least he was caught
in flagrante
with a
woman
—”

“Mrs. Verulam!” Fiona’s voice was icy.

“—who is both well-dressed and beautiful, I was going to say,” Mrs. Verulam finished calmly.

Ada stared in horror at the photograph. There was no mistaking it. From the center beamed the tall figure of the Russian pianist, on either side of him stood the Churchills, and to one side—unmistakably—were Sebastian and Rose, caught in the moment of kissing.

“Oh my goodness,” she said faintly. What had happened? Why had Sebastian done this? She looked up and saw from Charlotte’s and Fiona’s faces that they had recognized Rose instantly, too.

Mrs. Verulam took a piece of cake and nibbled on it daintily. “Now people are saying she must be a Russian princess of some kind. She doesn’t look Russian to me, but then what can one tell from these pictures?”

Charlotte found her tongue. “I wouldn’t have thought she was any kind of princess. More likely some woman of the town he paid to accompany him.”

“No, no, impossible. I know people who were really there, and they said she was a perfect lady. That kind of thing, you know, cannot be faked.” She picked up the paper again and surveyed it closely.

Ada swallowed. She did not want Lady Verulam’s clever nose sniffing out more than it should. If she gained so much as an inkling of the truth, friend of Fiona’s or no, it would be all over town by lunchtime. Her fingers itched to whisk the paper out of her hands and into the fire.

To her horror, Lady Verulam said, “Ada, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to speak to your ladies’ maid. I understand that she trimmed that hat of yours I liked so much at the reception, and I would very much like Dobbs to do something the same with my blue silk. Would you mind?”

“N-no,” Ada managed. Charlotte and Fiona were looking at her in horror, but there was nothing else she could say. “Of course not. I’ll…ring for her at once.”

As she crossed to the bell, Charlotte and Fiona burst out together, “Really, is it necessary?”

“Perhaps Ada could send over the instructions later on, or—”

“Oh nonsense, why should I put Ada to so much trouble? It will only take a moment,” Lady Verulam replied.

Ada rang the bell, feeling as if she were summoning Rose to her execution.

Rose hurried down the stairs, her stomach knotted with nerves. She was still exhausted from the night before, and she had almost begun to think—to hope—the kiss had all been a dream. She was just glad that she had not had to see Lady Ada since the kiss. She did not know how she could face her—but now she had to.

She paused to catch her breath and smooth down her skirts, then knocked and entered the drawing room. She saw Ada looking at her in what seemed like terror and pity, Charlotte and Fiona fairly glaring at her from the sofa, and Mrs. Verulam beaming encouragingly from her chair. Rose dropped to a curtsy.

“Come here, dear, no need to be frightened. I just want to speak to you about the trimming you made on your mistress’ ivory cloche.” Mrs. Verulam beckoned her over. “Goodness, she is young, isn’t she,” she added to Ada. “Well, she always makes you look perfectly turned out, and that is the important thing.”