Damsel in Distress (11 page)

“Good evening, Lady Winbourne,” she said, dropping a small curtsey. Mr. Newton received an even smaller smile and curtsey.

“A great pleasure, Lady Helen,” he said, bowing low, as if she were Queen Charlotte. “I have been looking forward to tonight. That is, to the ball. Standing up with you.” He struggled through the greeting as if it were a bramble bush.

Lady Milchamp was also with them. She was an older lady, plump, smiling, and complacent, in a puce gown and satin turban with three short ostrich feathers. She had made her own debut thirty-odd years before, married, and removed to the country.

It was not until the death of her husband ten years ago that she had returned to London for her own daughter’s debut. She had bounced her bran-faced Amelia off with such stunning success (a marquess with twenty thousand a year) that she was much sought after to chaperon motherless debs. Lady Milchamp would accompany Newton and Lady Helen in Newt’s carriage, leaving Dolmain and Caroline to use his rig. They all had a glass of wine, then left for Lady Sefton’s ball.

“You are in high feather this evening, Caro,” Dolmain said, when they were on their way in the carriage. ‘“Very distinguished. I like that hairdo.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“We can drop in at Addie’s later in the evening for a quick visit, if you like.”

“I am not a veteran gambler,” she said with a touch of asperity. “Everyone who matters will see me at Sefton’s.”

Dolmain stiffened at her curt reply. It sounded as if she was only going with him to reclaim her reputation. The drive continued a moment in silence. He had been looking forward to the evening, and wanted to clear the air. “Have I inadvertently done something to offend you, Caro?” he asked.

She would not charge him with having her followed, but she decided to mention Newton’s discovery. “Newt saw your daughter today at Hyde Park,” she said, and told the whole story.

“I am sure there is an innocent explanation,” he replied. “Helen often mentions Bernard. She and Miss Blanchard help to raise funds for the French émigrés. Bernard is the secretary for the group. Very likely this woman they spoke of is some émigré they are helping, now that I think of it. He could have called on Helen at home. He does not run tame there, but he is allowed to call on her, with Miss Blanchard present.”

“I thought I ought to mention it,” she said. His explanation jibed with what Newt had said, that it was not a romantic tryst.

“I appreciate your keeping an eye on Helen for me,” he said warmly.

The ball achieved its aim of removing any shadow from Lady Winbourne’s character, but it achieved nothing else. Caro was on pins and needles with Dolmain. Every word he uttered was examined for a second meaning. She tried to behave as if she cared for him, but human nature can only be pushed so far. Dolmain sensed her reserve, and was impatient with it, and her.

Newt’s evening was even worse. It was plain as a pikestaff that Lady Helen had no use for him. She did not care much for horses, her speech was liberally peppered with French, and after standing up with him for the first set, she joined a younger group and ignored him until supper was served. When Newt and Helen joined Dolmain and Caroline at their table, further unpleasantness ensued.

Caroline made a few efforts to engage the chit in conversation, but received only monosyllabic replies. Yes, she had her court gown already prepared. When asked to describe it, she said only, “It is white silk.”

This was a definite snub, and the other guests at their table knew it. Any deb could rave for hours over her presentation gown. Dolmain tried to cover her rudeness by making a joke about how much it had cost him, but it fell flat.

“You told Aunt Milchamp to do it up in style,” his daughter snipped. “You know I would have preferred to give the money to charity, Papa. Comte Edouard de Lyons
—
so talented
—
is practically starving in a garret. Many of the aristos are suffering. Mama would prefer that the money be spent to ease their poverty and so do I.
Ça va sans dire.”

“If Comte Edouard is still starving in a garret after being in the country for over two decades, it does not say much for his ambition,” Dolmain retorted sharply.

Caroline sensed that this was an old argument between them. She was surprised that Helen spoke of her mother as if she were still alive, and that Dolmain showed so little sympathy for his late wife’s countrymen.

“He is a poet,
”
Helen said, tossing her curls.

“How long does it take to dash off a sonnet?” Dolmain asked.

“He is writing a tragic epic poem on the revolution,” Helen replied. “It takes years of research.”

“A poet, eh?” Newton said, and stored up this nugget. He might turn his hand to scribbling up a poem, if that was what Lady Helen liked. And it would not take him two decades either.

When he expressed interest, Lady Helen condescended to inform him that the comte’s epic was being written in the heroic style with rhymed couplets.

“I should like to read it, by Jove.”

“It is in French, Mr. Newton,” Helen said with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Vous ne parlez pas français, je crois?”

“Eh? Daresay someone will translate it, if it is any good. They translated Homer and all those other foreigners.”

“Good? It is superb. I have read it. I am the comte’s sponsor. He will dedicate his epic to me.”

“A good-looker, is he?” Newt asked.

“His face is ugly and his back is humped. It is his brain that is beautiful.”

Having no luck with the lady, he turned his attention to the lobster patties instead and snabbled down half a dozen.

The evening was going so poorly that when Lady Helen announced she felt a migraine coming on, Caroline suggested they all leave. Caro and Dolmain left in his carriage while Newton had the ladies driven to Curzon Street.

“The evening is still young. Do you want to go to Addie’s for an hour or so?” Dolmain asked.

“No, thank you, I would like to go home, but if  you want to play faro, you can go on after you let me off.”

“I do not particularly want to play faro,” he said through thin lips. “My hope was to provide some entertainment for you this evening. I have not seen any smiles so far.”

To cover the true cause of her chagrin, she replied, “I take no pleasure in being snubbed by a schoolroom chit. If you hope to see Lady Helen make a suitable match, I suggest you teach her some manners.”

“She is not usually rude. I don’t know what ailed her this evening.”

“Perhaps she shares the common misconception that I stole her necklace.”

“I doubt it. And by the by, the necklace is not hers, it is mine, entailed on the estate. Caro, let us take a spin to settle your nerves.”

In other words, he planned to take her to the infamous Hound and Hind again. Such a swell of fury rose up in her that she could no longer hold her tongue. “Why should
she
not think it, when you believe I am a thief? You had me followed, Lord Dolmain. Don’t trouble to deny it. The carriage that was dogging me yesterday reported back to your house.”

To his credit, he fought down the urge to deny it. “That was before I
—
we
—
before I knew you were innocent.”

“You let me believe you were trying to draw the man out by that drive out the Chelsea Road last night. You knew all the time who he was. You lied to me. It was just an excuse to take me to that horrid place, the Hound and Hind.”

“It is not a horrid place. Everyone goes there. It is perfectly discreet.”

“Yes, discreet for men and their mistresses. If we had been seen, you know what people would have thought.”

“I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while. I prevaricated because I felt badly about having hired Smith. I made the arrangement after visiting Lady Castlereagh that first morning. And no, I did not tell her I was doing it. There seemed some evidence that you
—
”

She shot him a baleful glare.

“Well, you were the only one who was actually sitting with Helen on that settee in the corner, just minutes before the diamonds disappeared. What was I to think? I called the man off last night when he reported to me.”

“Kind of you!”

“So that is what has been bothering you all evening?”

“Yes, when a person I consider a friend sets a spy to dog my tail, I take it amiss. In my opinion, you would be better advised to set your spy to watching Pierre Bernard.”

“How could he have taken it? He was not at the ball.”

Caroline could think of no reply to this, so she resorted to a stony silence. She was still sulking when the carriage reached Berkeley Square. He accompanied her to her door.

“I am sorry the evening was not more enjoyable,” he said. “Helen will apologize tomorrow. And I apologize now.”

She gave one short, defiant look at him. “You have done your duty, Lord Dolmain. No one cut me dead this evening. I have not received any notes asking me to please stay away from future parties. In fact, Lady Jersey condescended to visit me this afternoon, so I assume that even Almack’s has forgiven me. Your escort will no longer be necessary.”

His eyes narrowed to angry slits, and his heart pounded hard. “Am I being given my congé, Lady Winbourne, now that I am of no further use to you?”

“If you choose to take it that way ...”

“I don’t. I refuse to believe you could be so cunning and underhanded and treacherous as to make love to me, only to achieve your own selfish ends. Tell me that is not what last night was all about.”

She looked at him, with her mouth open in shock. He was accusing her of what he had done himself. “You dare to say that to me!” she exclaimed.

His tense face relaxed. An audible sigh of relief echoed on the air. “Forgive me that unconscionable piece of impertinence, if you can, Caro,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips. “You gave me quite a fright, my girl. I shall do myself the honor of calling on you again soon, after you have recovered from your little fit of temper. Until then, good evening, and thank you for ... last night.”

He bowed and strode back to his carriage. Caroline went into the house, nodded to Crumm, and went straight up to her bedchamber. Georgiana had already retired. Caro sat on the side of the bed, reliving those last moments before Dolmain departed.

He had seemed genuinely concerned, and wonderfully worried at the possibility that she did not care for him. Was it possible she was mistaken, that he truly cared for her? Suspicion did point to her; there was no denying that. Was it so bad that he had hired a man to follow her? He had called off the man now, and apologized.

Her anger melted away. But as she lay in bed, she knew that nothing could be settled until the necklace was found. Society had been coerced into pretending to believe her innocent, but Lady Helen’s rudeness had raised doubts again. The notion had been growing that Helen had stolen her own necklace, hidden it somewhere, and told her papa it was stolen, but the girl’s cold behavior that evening suggested that she thought Caroline had it. What other reason could Helen have for being cold and rude to her? The girl would have been acting guilty if she had taken it herself. No, someone else had it, and she had to find it.

Caroline was tempted to refuse Lady Helen’s invitation that arrived the next morning, for she sensed that Dolmain had forced her to write it. Helen apologized for her fit of the sulks the evening before, blaming it on her migraine. She asked if Lady Winbourne would do her the honor of accompanying her on a drive that afternoon.

Curiosity and a hope to learn more about Pierre Bernard inclined Caroline to accept. She suspected Dolmain was trying to confirm in the public eye that she was on intimate terms with his family, and was pleased with him. When Newton arrived and expressed the keenest interest in the trip, she wrote back accepting the offer.

Dolmain’s stately crested city carriage duly arrived at the door at three
—
his best carriage. Was this a compliment to her, or to his daughter? Lady Helen did not condescend to alight, but sent her footman to summon Lady Winbourne, who was highly incensed at this piece of impertinence.

“Rag-mannered! I am tempted to say I have changed my mind,” said Caroline, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Newt’s reply was to hand her her bonnet. “Cutting up your nose to spite your face. You might discover something. I could not get word one out of her last night.”

Caroline arranged her fashionable high poke bonnet with a cascade of curled feathers falling over the brim and said, “If she says one rude thing, I shall give her a piece of my mind.”

“She won’t,” Newton assured her, on what evidence, even Caro could not imagine. As they left the house, he said, “There is a day for you. Not a sky in the clouds.”

Glancing up, she saw that he had inadvertently given a correct description. London was blanketed by a solid gray cloud with no patch of blue visible.

It was soon clear that Dolmain had spoken severely to his daughter. Helen smiled and offered her hand, covered in a dainty blue kid glove, to them both.

“It is very kind of you to join me, Lady Winbourne,” she said, while her sharp eyes trotted from Caroline’s stylish bonnet to her equally elegant violet walking suit. “I thought we might visit Bond Street. Where did you buy that bonnet? It has a French look to it.”

“At Madame Lanctot’s, on Bond Street. I should be happy to accompany you.”

It was hardly an outing to suit Newt, but he said, “Lanctot’s it is.” He then steeled himself to peer at Lady Helen and said, “Yours is nice, too
—
your bonnet.”

She inclined her head gracefully. “Merci, Mr. Newton.”

“Pass doo toot.”

Conversation was stilted during the drive to Bond Street. Once the occupants descended to stroll along the street, the shop windows provided easier conversation. Lady Helen bought a painted muslin fan bearing a picture of the Ponte Vecchio. They stopped at Lanctot’s, where she tried on a dozen bonnets of a style much too sophisticated for her. Newton’s ingenuity was stretched to the limit to vary his compliments on them all, and Caroline’s to let the girl know they did not suit her, without sounding like a shrew. Lady Helen did not buy a bonnet, but it was not due to Caroline’s advice.