Cinders & Sapphires (6 page)

They came by special railway carriage and motorcar. The men wore top hats and the women satin and lace veils, their spotless gloves offered daintily to the footman who helped them squeeze their vast hats, decorated with the plumes of birds of paradise and ostriches, into the carriage sent to collect them from the station. They came from the House of Lords and from the great country estates, from the Foreign Office and the Home Office and the salons of London society. They stepped down before Somerton, looked up at the colonnades, and smiled. “Exquisite,” they murmured, “simply charming,” as they entered the great main doors and smelled the orange blossoms Rose had pinned to the arches, and saw the huge bouquets of orchids and lilies Mrs. Templeton had ordered from London and arranged in the great crystal vases Lord Westlake’s father had collected in Rome. They passed James and Roderick, motionless and mighty as Greek gods carved in stone, if such gods had worn knee breeches and an expression James himself had described as “constipated pig,” and were ushered through the house into the conservatory, following the sound of treble singing voices and the scent of roses and lilies. Although all had been to countless society weddings before, not one of them could repress a gasp of admiration as they saw the way the conservatory had been transformed. The autumn sun poured through the glass, and bathed the ropes and loops of wreathed roses and foliage that festooned the columns. At the far end, a bower decorated solely with Averley Pearl roses had been created. The priest stood there, with a lectern before him upon which the family Bible, which dated from the reign of King James, rested. The piano, strewn with flowers, was set up and ready, and a choir of small boys sang “O Perfect Love” as the footmen ushered the guests to their seats.

Ada, seated in the front row, fanned herself. She was filled with a mixture of dread, nervousness, and excitement. She knew Douglas Varley would be attending the wedding, expecting an answer to his proposal. But would Ravi be accompanying him? Did he know of Mr. Varley’s proposal? Ada’s fingers went unconsciously to her lips and she colored as she remembered their kiss. Again.

At least she thought she was looking attractive. Fiona had chosen matching dresses for her, Georgiana, and Charlotte, though it was not usual for a second-time bride to have official bridesmaids. They wore tunics of rose-pink chiffon, richly beaded with real diamond dewdrops and draped elegantly over sheaths of ivory silk. The effect was breathtaking. Fiona might dislike her, Ada thought, but she would not suffer anything at her wedding to be in bad taste.

The guests murmured as Lord Westlake approached.

Georgiana took her seat at the piano, looking nervous. As Fiona appeared at the end of the aisle, smiling, with Sebastian by her side, Georgiana struck up the “Nuptial Chorus” from
Lohengrin
.

Ada had to admit that Fiona had made a great success of herself. She looked beautiful and hardly a day over thirty, and showed no signs of nerves. She walked up to the priest as demurely as befitted a widow, in mauve French lace by Worth and a cream toque, and knelt with her groom upon the satin cushions provided for them, smiling as she said the vows that turned her into the Countess of Westlake. Ada smiled bravely, trying to conquer her nerves, and was glad to see how happy her father looked as he slid the ring of Welsh gold onto her stepmother’s finger.

After the wedding, Lord and Lady Westlake stood before the open doors to the ballroom, smiling with their children as they formally received their guests. Ada smiled until her face hurt, all the time wondering when and if she would see Ravi. She did not know if she feared it or longed for it.

“Lord Sandringham! How delightful to see you,” Lady Westlake said, and she sank into a deep curtsy.

There were so many people in the hall, it was hard to see who was coming next, but Ada heard a familiar voice say to Charlotte, “Ladies, your beauty puts the three Graces above you to shame.” It was Douglas Varley. He had glanced up at the frieze that ran around the dome.

Ada felt a stab of annoyance. The classical women in the frieze were not the three Graces; they were three Greek goddesses, Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena. It was a scene from the story of the Trojan war: the judgment of Paris. Asked to judge the most beautiful among the three, he had chosen Aphrodite. In return she promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Troy—and so the bitter ten-year war began.

“In fact,” she began, “the women portrayed are…” but no one was listening. Varley’s eyes were on her, but his attention was taken up by Lady Westlake.

“As Lady Ada was saying,” said a familiar voice, “I believe the frieze shows the judgment of Paris.”

Ada felt a thrill. It was Ravi. Of course he would have known what the frieze showed. She met Ravi’s eyes and her heart flew up like a bird bursting out of a cage. The memory of their night together washed over her and she was helpless.

“It isn’t the most promising allusion for a wedding day,” she found herself saying. “I mean, Paris and Helen—the ten-year war…” Fiona was staring at her coldly, and she swallowed and blushed.

Douglas Varley bent over her hand, and Ada’s heart sank as readily as it had soared a moment before.

“How delightful to see you,” she managed. As he bent over her hand, she was left looking full into Ravi’s eyes. There was nothing between them but a foot of air, air that she could not draw into her lungs because he was smiling at her. It barely touched his lips, but the smile was in his eyes like reflected stars. And once again she had the feeling that she was standing on the brink of the whole universe, and nothing held her back. Then Douglas Varley straightened up, and came between them again. He pressed her hand and smiled, too—but a very different smile. This one had the calm self-satisfaction of one who knows a by-election is in the bag. He leaned in closely to her.

“There’s no need to reply now. I can see you are overwhelmed. I hope to hear your answer after the wedding,” he said in her ear, and passed on to Charlotte, who was staring with open curiosity at them. To Ada’s relief, she had to look away as Mr. Varley greeted her. Then Ravi took her hand and drove all thought out of her mind.

“I didn’t know you would be coming,” Ada said. Her voice felt as if it came from far away. She became aware that something was pressing into the palm of her hand. A slip of folded paper.

“Nothing could have kept me away,” he replied, just above a whisper. It could have been a compliment to the occasion, but Ada knew he meant it specially for her.

Douglas Varley had moved on, and then Charlotte was smiling at Ravi. He let go of Ada’s hand and she let it fall to her side, the folded paper in it. She turned aside as if to adjust her gloves, and slipped the paper inside one of them. Then she turned back, her heart pounding so loudly she worried it would echo around the dome above her, and smiled with the courage of an Averley at the next elderly gentleman who bowed above her hand.

The ballroom was hot, crowded, and noisy. Ada moved through the crowd, attending to the needs of the guests, summoning footmen with more champagne and petit fours. All the time, Ravi’s note felt like a burning promise on her wrist. She tried to distract herself by watching the way Charlotte flitted from man to man like a hummingbird, industrious and efficient. She had a way of throwing back her head to laugh that showed off her alabaster-white throat and a little too much of her décolletage, in the valley of which a diamond hung, as tempting as the fly on a fishing line. And some of these gentlemen were very fat fish indeed, covered in titles and estates like scales.

Georgiana wove her way through the crowds. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. “Isn’t Michael such fun?” she exclaimed. “I hope he doesn’t get packed off to school again. It would be so much more amusing to have him here.”

“Amusing?” Ada looked at her in astonishment. “I wouldn’t have chosen that word to describe his company.”

Georgiana shrugged with some defiance.

“You simply have to get to know him….”

“Well, from what his mother says, there’s no school left that will have him, so you may get your wish.”

“Oh yes, I know it looks bad to be expelled, but it sounds like Rugby was so stuffy and boring. I can’t believe they made all that fuss about a mere fire. It didn’t even spread. And it was a dare, after all. Of course he had to do it if it was a dare.” She craned to see through the crowd. There was a look on her face, and her lips were parted in a way that frightened Ada. She saw something in the look that she had felt herself—and what kind of example was she to her younger sister?

“Georgie, please don’t make a fool of yourself over that boy.” The words were out before Ada had thought them through. As soon as she saw the hurt on Georgiana’s face, she wished them unsaid.

“I don’t see why you have to be so cruel. I might not be making a fool of myself. People can love people even if they’re not beautiful.”

Then she was gone, threading through the crowd. Ada started after her, but the Duke of Brentford blocked her way, offering her congratulations on her new family.

“Delighted to see so many here,” he went on, surveying the room.

Ada nodded and smiled. The meaning of his words hit her only after he had walked away, and Lady Fairfax had replaced him. She was less tactful.

“I was so sorry to hear of your father’s trouble,” she said, her eyes flashing with eagerness for gossip. “But it doesn’t seem to have affected the attendance, does it?”

Of course, Ada realized. Half the conversations in the room were likely revolving around her father’s resignation.

“He has done nothing to be ashamed of,” she said firmly.

“Certainly not! But it is dreadful, isn’t it, how rumors spread? We heard he had simply gone native, assisted the rebels in Bengal…?” She trailed off hopefully, but Ada was not prepared to give anything away.

“I must find my sister,” she said, excusing herself.

But as she made her way through the crowd, only half her mind was on Georgiana. The rest was given to listening to the conversations around her. The words
shocking
and
shameful
and
resignation
buzzed around her like mosquitoes. And a number of people fell hastily silent as she passed by.

Ada held her head high and continued across the room. She had nothing to be ashamed of and she would not let them make her blush—and then she saw William, part of a group of men that included Ravi and Douglas Varley. He was talking loudly, red-faced, gesturing with his glass of sherry so the liquid spilled out.

“I know the old fox has been up to something,” he went on. “And then he comes here to moralize at me. Well, we’ll see about that.”

Ada closed her eyes in horrified embarrassment. The expression of contempt on Ravi’s face burned into her mind. What a fool William was! Couldn’t he see he was exposing not only her father but himself? She opened them again just as Douglas Varley cleared his throat and interrupted William.

“I think Lord Westlake has been badly misrepresented,” he said.

A rush of gratitude overwhelmed Ada, and she smiled at Varley as he looked up and caught her eye. She wanted to go up and join the conversation, but at the next moment the dressing gong sounded.

Ada ran up the stairs, her dress flying around her like a cloud, and out of breath, put her back against the door and ripped off her gloves. She unfolded the note and read it as it trembled before her eyes.

I have to see you. I looked for you everywhere on the Moldavia. I don’t wish to embarrass you but I must see you.

And then, in a passionate, almost angry scrawl—

Nothing in my life has meant more to me than that evening.

R.S.

She read the note over and over again before it sank in. She pressed it to her chest. He didn’t despise her. It was quite the opposite. A smile spread over her face. The note clasped in her two hands, she moved across the room. “‘Nothing in my life has meant more to me than that evening.’” She whispered the words to herself, gazing into her mirror. He wanted to see her…and her smile faded. But it was impossible.

It had been unforgiveable of her to let herself go so far with a stranger, a foreigner no less. Meeting him again would only compound the offense. What could they say to each other, anyway? This was not the
Moldavia
; this was Somerton, the heart of respectability, of her family. His patron had proposed to her. If they were caught meeting clandestinely it would be catastrophic for them both. The proper thing to do was to burn the note and pretend it had never existed.

The fire crackled behind its guard. Ada folded and refolded the note in her hands. She gazed into the mirror but she didn’t see her own reflection, her intense dark eyes or the heightened color in her cheeks.

She ought not to meet him. But wasn’t it her duty to explain to him exactly how impossible things were? Somerton was a big house; no one could watch every corner of it all the time. It might be possible, but she would need help. But who would help her? Georgiana could not know, she could never drag her sister into something this shameful. Charlotte Templeton—everything about her revolted from the idea of Charlotte knowing her secrets. She did not even consider her stepmother. But she had to decide soon. Rose would be here in a moment to help her dress, and… She hesitated.

Rose. A lot had changed since they had been little girls playing in the gardens, but perhaps she could trust her. But that meant telling her—telling her what was going on. Ada felt sick with fear at the thought.

It was a huge risk. Did she dare to take it?

There was a knock at the door. Ada started. But of course, it was time to dress for dinner.

She folded the note from Ravi in her fingers, but instead of putting it on the fire, she slid it into her jewel case.

“Come in,” she called, her voice trembling.

Rose paused to catch her breath and smooth her hair before pushing open Lady Ada’s door. The evening light was flooding in through the sash window, and for a moment she thought that one of the pink-and-gold clouds had come in through the window and was lying across the chair. Then her eyes grew used to the light and she saw it was Lady Ada’s evening dress.

Lady Ada herself stood before the long mirror, twisting her sash over and over in her hands. The silk tightened and pulled between her slim fingers, but she didn’t seem to notice it.

Wordlessly, Rose began undressing her. Her heart thumped with nervousness. This was the first time she had dressed a lady in an evening gown, and she was afraid in case she did it wrong. But Lady Ada didn’t seem to be paying much attention, and that relaxed her. She deftly unlaced the corset strings and settled the petticoat correctly around Lady Ada’s waist and hips. She smoothed the fabric down, kneeling to arrange it correctly, and looked up to see her reaction. But the question “Are you comfortable, my lady?” died on her lips as she caught Lady Ada’s eye. It was filled with pleading.

Rose dropped her gaze instinctively and went on smoothing the petticoat. Her hands trembled slightly. She did not know what to say. Lady Ada’s expression had been so desperate. As if Rose—of all people—were her last hope.

I must act as if I haven’t noticed anything, she thought. It would be an unpardonable liberty to ask her what the matter was. Servants did not comment on what ladies and gentlemen felt or said. They developed eyes, ears, and speech only when instructed to do so.

But Lady Ada was different from the other ladies and gentlemen. They’d been friends once, long ago.

She looked up. Lady Ada’s lips were pressed hard together as if she were trying not to cry.

Rose dropped the hem of the petticoat, stood up quickly, and placed a hand on Lady Ada’s shoulder. She found herself saying, “My lady, can I—can I help?”

Ada visibly swallowed and Rose could see her forcing herself to breathe calmly. Whatever Lady Ada was about to say, it was important.

Ada blushed and could not meet Rose’s gaze as she said, “If I were to—” she began. “If we were—If I needed to meet someone, Rose, and no one was to know, and he was in this house, and…”

“He?” It escaped before Rose could stop it. Lady Ada wanted to meet a man?

The startled expression on Ada’s face made Rose realize that she had never before interrupted a lady. It was a terrible breach of etiquette. But Lady Ada did not seem to take offense, instead she pressed on. “I wondered if you could tell me, how I could meet Mr. Sundaresan—privately?” Ada’s voice curled up at the end of the sentence.

Rose was speechless for a second.

Oh dear, she realized. Lady Ada was in love—and with, of all people, that Indian gentleman. She could not help feeling sorry for her. It was so clearly impossible and improper.

“You see, I—we—” Lady Ada stumbled.

Rose realized that her mistress was about to blurt out her feelings. Instinct told her that, for her own sake, she could not be allowed to do that. If she did, she would regret forever that she had allowed her maid to know her vulnerability, and the consciousness of it would come between them. No, they would have to play charades.

Rose darted behind Lady Ada’s back, to hide the shock on her face, and began lacing up the corset. Lady Ada, the back of her neck still pink with blushes, began to speak again, and Rose quickly jerked the strings of the corset. Lady Ada gasped.

“Oh—sorry, my lady—if you’ll just breathe in now.” Rose pulled the whalebone tighter, the laces biting into her fingers. Her mind worked rapidly. All she needed to do was prattle on, as Martha did. How hard could it be? If Lady Ada had any sense she would play along.

“I do the gentlemen’s rooms.” She wished her voice didn’t sound so shrill. She went on, sewing the laces in and out of the eyelets: “I’m in and out of there all day. If anything were to slip out of my pocket, I’m sure someone would—would find it.” Was that too obvious? she wondered.

There was a brief pause. When Lady Ada spoke again, she was slightly breathless from the pressure of the corset, but she had grasped the game perfectly. “Yes, of course.”

“I daresay I’ll be popping into the rooms during dinner, to just…tidy some things up.” I’m sure I’ll think of something to tidy, Rose thought. Gentlemen are always needing buttons sewn on and suchlike. She tied the strings in a double bow and stepped back. Lady Ada’s silhouette was perfect.

Ada’s eyes went to the scented notepaper on the dressing table. Rose turned away, and as she busied herself over arranging the dress, she heard the rustle of petticoats and the scratch of a pen.

“I’m ready for my dress now, Rose,” she heard Lady Ada say.

“Yes, miss.” Rose turned around. Lady Ada stood, the silk sash clenched between her hands, her eyes wide and nervous. “Allow me, my lady. You’ll tear it,” Rose said gently. She reached out and took the sash from Lady Ada’s hands and felt the note folded behind it.

She turned away and slid the note into her pocket. Then she lifted the silky weight of the gown and stepped onto the footstool. For a moment it felt as if she were holding the sky above Lady Ada’s head.

“Please raise your hands, my lady,” she commanded.

Lady Ada raised her hands and Rose slipped the gown over her head. Lady Ada vanished, and then emerged like a magician’s trick, her cheeks flushed. The dusky pink and dull gold silk fell obediently into place over the frame of the petticoat and corset, and under Rose’s hands sorted itself into curves as elegant as those of a wildflower. Rose buttoned up the back.

“It’s beautiful,” said Lady Ada. She sounded startled.

Rose smiled and knelt to straighten the hem. As soon as she was kneeling, her smile disappeared. You’re a fool, Rose Cliffe, she thought. If Lord Westlake found out, she would get the sack, and so would her mother, perhaps, and there would be no reference to find another place. But what could she do? Lady Ada was distraught, anyone could see that. You would need a heart of stone not to help her if you could.

She straightened and watched Lady Ada nervously adjusting her dress before the mirror, and as she did so, another thought, unwelcome as a worm in an apple, crept into her mind. Stella’s proudly tilted chin, her cold voice as she said,
You never know what you’ll do until you have to.