Haggard (26 page)

He took her hands. Tell me.'

'Papa has secured us invitations to the Duchess of Devonshire's ball, at Almack's. Can you believe it, Mr. Haggard?' Her eyes glistened. 'The Prince will be there.'

'Damn and blast the thing,' Haggard complained, surveying himself in the mirror. 'I see no point to it. Especially in the summer.'

'Hit must be worn, Mr. 'aggard,' Simpson explained, carefully adjusting the wig for the third time. 'There is no 'elp for it. Now, sir, does that not look proper?'

Haggard sighed. The thing was at least straight. But it made him look absurd, and every time he moved his head a spray of powder scattered across the shoulders of his black coat.

'Hevery other gentleman will be wearing one, sir,' Simpson pointed out.

'I suppose you're right. My cane.'

"ere we are, sir. And the 'at.'

All brand new. There was a pun for you. Brand had himself seen to his future son-in-law's clothes. Now he waited while Simpson pulled the tails straight, gave a last brush to the shoulders—the only hope of keeping them
clean was for Simpson to attend him to the ball itself—and stood back. There we are, sir.'

Haggard descended the stairs, to where Brand was pacing up and down the hall.

'Ah, Haggard, there you are. My word, but you look splendid. Quite splendid. You'll be the sensation of the ball, I do declare. And 'tis important, mind. Important. Everyone has heard of you, not enough have seen you and talked with you.'

'I am surprised I am allowed in at all,' Haggard observed.

'Ah, bah, I told you that London society has a short memory for detail. You will take them by storm. Yes, indeed.'

Haggard found himself once again before a mirror, peering at himself. The wig was still in place, and by keeping his head very still he could reduce the powder landslide. But why did he bother? Why was he vaguely excited and why were there butterflies in his belly? He was John Haggard. If he really wanted to. no doubt he could buy Almack's itself, and impose his own rules upon their silly functions. If he wanted to. But it was necessary to remember that, or these haughty duchesses and their lackey-like followers would reduce him to a jelly with their stares. How Bridgetown society would laugh could they but know the truth of it.

if only the girls would be ready,' Brand grumbled. 'Ah, there you are, my dears. Come along now. You know we mustn't be late. Weil be turned away if we're late.'

For the first time that evening Haggard forgot about himself. Descending the stairs towards him was the most marvellous sight he had ever seen, Alison Brand wearing an ice pink evening gown, slashed in a low decolletage, and with her hair quite disappeared beneath the towering white wig in which was embedded a variety of precious stones, rubies and emeralds and sapphires—his engagement present to her. But even the jewels seemed irrelevant. The absence of hair from her neck and shoulders left them as well as her face quite exposed, and far more lovely than he had ever realised them to be. Suddenly he was almost afraid of her. All of that beauty, and soon to be his.

He hardly noticed Emily, wearing pale green, although he had supplied her jewellery as well.

'Am I suitable, for the future Mrs. Haggard?' Alison asked, and extended her left hand to allow the huge diamond to sparkle in the light.

Haggard kissed her knuckles. 'You are suitable to be the Queen of England,' he said.

She smiled at him. 'You'd best not suggest that to the Prince,' she said, 'or you might lose me.'

'Come along, come along, do,' Brand said. 'We shall be late. I know we shall be late. Turned away from Almack's. My God, what a disaster. We shall never hold up our heads in society again.'

Haggard followed him through the door. 'You forget I have already been turned away from Almack's, and am doing quite well at holding up my head.'

Brand did not reply, climbed into the coach even in front of his daughters; he was clearly very agitated, and in a curious way his concern soothed Haggard's own nervousness. He could sit beside Alison and enjoy the evening—it was still daylight—and enjoy too the sensation of possessing so much beauty.

He could even enjoy once again encountering the formidable Martin, as usual flanked by an army of footmen, all gold and green and powdered wigs, bowing as he took Brand's card.

'Colonel Brand, and the Misses Alison and Emily Brand, and . . . Mr. John Haggard,' he said. The information was hastily passed up the stairs, immediately in front of them, and was announced by the major-domo.

'Look at them,' Alison said, without appearing to move her lips, which were fixed in a smile..

Haggard surveyed the scene in astonishment. He had not supposed the ballroom could be so large—and it could only be a fraction of the whole area, for archways led away to other rooms in which there were tables laden with cold foods, other tables laden with champagne and chilled wines, and yet other tables covered in green baize and surrounded by chairs; clearly every possible taste was catered for here.

But for the moment it was the b
allroom which was the centre of
attention; this was packed, with women, every
one as magnificently
dressed as Alison, although not
one as good looking, with men,
the majority in black suits and
white shirts and cravats, like
himself, but with a smattering of red-coated and high-collared
army officers, and even one or two in the dark
blue and gold braid
of the Navy. He knew none of
them, although he had been told
Addison would be here—b
ut every head was turned in his
direction, and as he watched,
a woman came towards them, and
the whole room seemed to diminish in splendour. .

She was about thirty-five years of age, he estimated. Her natural good looks, and she must have been a rare beauty in her youth, were enhanced by her air of absolute confidence and indeed arrogance, as much as by her gown, which was in midnight blue with sequined hem and sleeves, or by her decolletage, which was breath-taking, or by her jewellery, which even Haggard's somewhat inexperienced eye—West Indian women seldom displayed much wealth—could be costed at several thousand pounds. She moved across the floor in a long glide, and allowed Brand to take her hand.

'Colonel Brand.' Her voice was a very gentle caress. 'How good of you to come. And your utterly charming daughters. Why, they grow more beautiful with every passing day.' She stood before Haggard. 'And this is Mr. Haggard,' she said, her voice slightly lowered. 'My evening is guaranteed success, Mr. Haggard. All London has been waiting to see you. And no one is going to be disappointed, I am sure. Allow me to introduce you.'

He realised that she was offering him her arm, and that she was escorting him down the line of ladies and gentlemen, rather as if he was visiting royalty, which he supposed he very nearly was. Their names flowed around him, their smiles seemed to bathe him, their jewels and their breasts winked at him, but he heard and saw none of them. His brain seemed suffocated by the scent and the aura of the woman on his arm. What misfortune, he thought, that I should have become engaged to Alison before meeting her; what an affair we could have had.

If she chose. But as they reached the end of the first row and she smiled at him, he could not doubt that she would choose.

‘I
must leave you now, Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'To greet my other guests. But be sure I shall find you again.'

'On the contrary, Your Grace,' he said, bowing over her hand, it is I shall find you, as soon as I may.'

'Why, Mr. Haggard,' she said,
‘I
had no idea our colonials were so gallant. I shall look forward to it.'

She withdrew her hand, and returned towards the head of the staircase. Haggard found himself surrounded by people he had apparently just met, eager to talk about Barbados—which they seemed to confuse with Jamaica or Antigua—about sugar planting, about which they knew even less, and about the new Hall he was building at Derleth, about which they seemed to know more than himself. He smiled at them, and made what he hoped were suitable replies, and was rescued by Addison, who gently eased him from the throng and obtained them each a glass of wine from a passing footman.

'Well, Haggard, your triumph, what?'

‘I
confess I do not understand it at all.'

'Society is like the mob, my dear Haggard. Fickle as a pretty woman. But while you please them, why, it is like living in perpetual sunlight. Miss Brand. How beautiful you look.'

Thank you, Mr. Addison. The Prince is arriving.'

They turned, with everyone else, and the ladies curtsied while the gentlemen bowed. Haggard found himself impressed. Prince George was just past thirty. Perhaps he was a trifle overweight, and his cheeks were too flushed as his nose was too large, but he was a splendid figure of a man, with the height to carry any stoutness, and a magnificent
air,
which quite matched Georgi
ana's.

'Does he come down the line?' he muttered.

'No, no,' Alison said. 'We are presented to him as the evening goes on. Those of us the Duchess chooses.'

'But you will be amongst them, Haggard,' Addison promised. 'No doubt of that.'

'The music,' Alison said. 'Will you dance with me, Mr. Haggard?'

'Wait for the Prince,' Addison warned.

But the Prince of Wales was already on the floor, the Duchess in his arms. Haggard led Alison out; certainly they made a marvellous couple, and he observed the Prince's head turning as they joined the parade. He had not danced for twelve years, since that disastrous night at the Boltons. But had it been disastrous? That night had set in motion a r
emarkable series of events. But
for those events, would he be here now?

Alison smiled at him as they parted, and was still smiling as they came together again. Her whole body seemed to be smiling. This was the life she truly appreciated, truly loved. Then he must be sure they enjoyed a great deal of it, at Derleth. The great room at the Hall might have been intended for dancing, indeed, he had created it with that half in mind. Alison would be in her element. And after his triumph tonight, Derleth would be the centre of all that was worthwhile in Midlands society.

The music had stopped, and he was escorting her back to where Emily sat with her father. 'You dance divinely.'

'As do you, Mr. Haggard. I am so happy.'

'Haggard. The moment is here.' Addison, smiling at him.

'You'll excuse me,' he murmured, gave Alison's hand a hasty-squeeze, followed his friend across the room, aware that he was being watched by everyone present.

The Prince was surrounded by his gentlemen, none of whom Haggard had met; but also in the group was the Duchess.

'Ah, Mr. Haggard,' she said, and took his hand. 'Sir, I would so like you to meet Mr. John Haggard, late of Barbados, but now of Derleth Hall, in Derbyshire.'

Haggard gave a brief bow, straightened, found the Prince staring at him. 'You're the planting fellow.'

'That is so, sir.'

'The slave-chasing fellow, what? Dicky Sheridan has been telling me about you.' 'Indeed, sir?'

'It won't do. Haggard. It won't do. No indeed. This is a free country.'

Haggard opened his mouth and then shut it again. He had been quite unprepared for such an attack. He could feel his cheeks burning, but it was nothing compared to the sudden burning anger in his belly.

'And then, this other business,' Prince George said. 'Turning your people out into the snow. Gad, sir, that was barbaric. Barbaric. You'll know one of them died.'

Haggard took a long breath. 'I did not know that, sir. Nor do I accept it.'

'You'd call me a liar?'

'Why, sir . . .' Fingers were closing on his arm.

'Sharp told me so himself, sir,' the Prince said, also very red in the face. 'One of the women just fell down and died. Gad, sir, it made my blood boil. Called you a damned scoundrel, he did, and I'm not sure I don't agree with him.'

The huge room was utterly silent. The men to either side of the Prince seemed paralysed. The fingers remained on Haggard's arm, but they no longer gripped. While Haggard could only stare at the florid face in front of him; the Prince was showing slight signs of embarrassment, as if he had not quite intended to go so far.

But he was the Prince,
‘I
am sure, sir,' Haggard said, 'that you must therefore find my company obnoxious. You'll forgive me if I withdraw.'

'Of all the damnable things.' Brand paced his own withdrawing room, waving his decanter of port.