Midnight Masquerade (23 page)

“Gone back to London, you say?” Charney asked, feeling the delightful shadow of offense descend on her. “Gone back to London without so much as a farewell, after being three days late for his own party? Were we invited here for the express purpose of being insulted, Lady Belami?”

“Indeed you were not! You weren’t invited at all. You wrote and said you would be happy to come, and you came. Of course I didn’t mean to insult you. I hope I never insult anyone accidentally. Dickie says it is vulgar to do so. You must only give offense intentionally.”

“Widgeon! Why has he gone to London? And more importantly, when does he plan to return?”

“Since you know he is gone, there is no point denying it. He said he would return soon. Between you and me and the bedpost, Your Grace, I expect he is giving you and Deirdre a chance to get away to Fernvale,
then
he will come dancing home fast enough.”

“Are you telling me he has shagged off on my niece?” Charney asked. As her head darted forth from the shadows she ceased to resemble a skull and looked instead like an angry mare, with her ears pulled back and her nose wearing a strained, snorting look.

“It has nothing to do with
me.
He did not speak to me about it, though he
did
say Deirdre had qualities. I was dreadfully afraid he might actually marry her. But no—he admitted she is cold. That would never do for Dick.”

“What does he hope to accomplish in London?” the duchess persisted.

“I’ve no idea. Perhaps Lady Lenore could tell us. Oh, don’t worry that she plans to meet him.
She
is going east to Dover; I heard her tell Chamfreys so.”

“Rubbish. You have certainly gotten it wrong. No one goes to Dover,” Charney replied.

“They do when they plan to go to Paris,” Bertie retaliated. “I always go to Dover when I go to Paris. It is where the ship stops to take you across, you see.”

“Aha! That explains it. The trollop is going to meet some man in Paris. That will be a relief to her husband, to have her carry on outside the country for a change. Can’t imagine why you asked the woman here at this time.”

“We had already invited her before you said you would come. One can’t very well ask a guest to stay away, Your Grace. I knew her mama—Cora Eversley before marriage. The world was amazed when she got Lord Pitticombe to marry her, though she was a very nice girl. One can only wonder how Lenore turned out so. Not that she isn’t pretty. Dickie says she looked like a French angel. It’s supposed to be a joke, I believe—or perhaps he said it was a paradox. I wonder if it is Dickie she is meeting in Paris. Surely not!” she exclaimed, frowning.

“Now it is beginning to make some sense,” Her Grace said. She had more than enough insults to keep her happy. “Leave me, and send my niece up at once,” she commanded.

“Delighted, my dear duchess. If there is anything you require to be comfortable here in your room, don’t hesitate to ask for it. I will be very happy to supply whatever you need to keep you up here. Where you are better off, I mean! The weather is dreadful downstairs, cold and drafty. I’ll send Deirdre right up to you. Would you care for a book as well? We have lovely books, in all colors. French novels and poetry—oh, and plenty of dull sermons too, if you prefer. Of course you would prefer a sermon. Doctor Donne, the very thing, as dull as ditch water. So very elevating.” She chattered her way out of the room, happy to know she had done as Dick would like her to do, being polite to the duchess. Only it was a pity she had let slip about London.

Within a very few minutes, Deirdre was mounting the stairs with all the enthusiasm of a victim on her way to the tooth drawer. She knew as soon as she opened her aunt’s door and saw the sharp, wizened face of her aunt, the eyes alight with schemes, that something had offended the dame.

“You sent for me, Auntie?” she asked, going into the room.

“Oh, is it you, Deirdre? I hardly recognized you, with your hair streaming over your shoulders like a street walker, and half a dozen ribbons stuck in it. What are you about, eh? Trying to impress Belami, are you? You’ll catch cold at that, my girl. You ain’t his style. His mama was just telling me so. He has gone off to make arrangements to take Lady Lenore to Paris.”

“Did Bertie say so?” Deirdre asked.

“She let it slip out, though Belami had instructed her to hide it. And by the by, you will not address your elders by their first names. I have been overly hasty in urging you to accept Belami’s suit, Deirdre. You’re hard up, to be sure, but you ain’t quite desperate. We shall return to London tomorrow and set about finding you another parti. Pity we let Twombley get away.”

“He will be back tomorrow,” Deirdre said. “I’m sure his mother has it wrong. Let us wait and see.”

“It takes longer than one day to arrange a trip to Paris, my girl. But in case he does come back for Lady Lenore, we shan’t be here. We shall leave today. I must be in London to arrange the payment for my diamond from his man of business.” This at least brought a smile to her hagged face.

“But I really don’t wish to leave just yet, Auntie,” Deirdre claimed, her chin jutting forth in unaccustomed opposition.

“I don’t recall asking what you wished, Deirdre. I shall do what is best. Well, I ain’t a complete tyrant. No doubt Belami will call on us in London. I’ll see he knows we are there.”

“I’ll tell the servants to start packing,” Deirdre said happily.

She was upset that Bertie thought Dick was going to Paris with Lady Lenore, but he would have a chance to explain it.

“Excellent. And Deirdre, perhaps you would just step into the corridor and see if Lady Lenore is up yet. If she is, tell her to drop in to see me.”

“Lady Lenore?” she asked, astonished that this blue-blooded lightskirt would be allowed to darken the duchess’s door, let alone receive an invitation.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Deirdre tapped on Lenore’s bedroom door and was asked in. The lady sat in bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows, with a breakfast tray before her. Even in the morning before her major toilette, she looked quite lovely. This is how Dick would see her in Paris, with her eyelids heavy from sleep, drooping languorously over her green eyes, with her hair just brushed from her face, to puff in an ebony cloud of waves.

“Good morning, Miss Gower. To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Lenore asked with a sardonic little smile.

“My aunt wished to see you, if you were up and dressed. As you are not, I’ll tell her.”

“What on earth can she want with
me?”
Lenore asked bluntly.

“I—I have no idea,” Deirdre said, conscious of the lie but unable to even hint at the truth.

“This is worth getting up for!” Lenore exclaimed, and popped out of bed. She threw a pink silk dressing gown over her shoulders, tucked a pin in its front to cover her bosoms, and went pattering down the hall, with Deirdre following fast at her heels.

“You may leave us, Deirdre,” the duchess said, her tone regal, her eyes flashing, her lips pinched into their most condemning scowl at the untidy spectacle before her. “Kind of you to come, Lady Lenore. Have a seat. I wish to speak with you. Run along, Deirdre,” she repeated when Deirdre showed a tendency to dawdle.

The meeting was brief. Within three minutes, Lenore opened the door and wiggled back to her room, tossing her head in amusement. What a Turk the old lady was, to be sure. But there was no need to truckle to her. She had not corroborated the charge that she was going to Paris, but she wouldn’t satisfy her to deny it either. If they thought to keep Belami on that tight a rein, they were sunk before they were launched.

“What did she say?” Deirdre asked, running into her aunt’s room as soon as she heard Lenore’s door close.

“Brazen hussy! She said she saw no reason to discuss her private plans with me. She said if I wished to learn Lord Belami’s plans, I should ask
him.
She would have denied the charge if it were untrue. She’s going with him certainly. I cannot tolerate this degree of dissolution in our family, Deirdre. Send Lady Belami to me at once.”

Bertie didn’t know whether she was angry or delighted when she fled the door ten minutes later, with her ears burning. But she knew it would be a wonderful relief to see the last of Her Grace’s strawberry-leafed carriage. She was happy to hear the engagement was terminated, but the manner of it would not please Dick. He was a bit touchy about being called a rake and a knave, and as to the charge of not being a gentleman—well, she would not tell him that one for a few months yet. It wouldn’t do for him to punch a duchess in the eye, especially not this particular duchess. She ought to have done it herself, though.

She took her revenge by not appearing to take leave of the duchess and Miss Gower. She left word with Snippe to tend to their wants, whatever they may be, but Her Ladyship was lying down and did not wish to be disturbed. She had her view of the departing carriage with very little disturbance, as her window looked on the drive down to the main road. There was a bad moment when it seemed the carriage was bogged down, but Bertie implored the Almighty, and her prayer was answered. The grooms got out and pulled the carriage over the rough spot.

Bertie’s attention span was not long. Within ten minutes there were other occurrences to distract her from the broken engagement and the duchess’s huffy departure. There was Uncle Cottrell and a few of the other guests deciding to leave too, in case the storm blew up again. There were cooks and housekeepers and other servants to consult with, for the remaining guests still had to be fed and entertained, even if the duchess had gone pelting off in a great pucker.

Pronto Pilgrim had taken the decision he would be jogging along to London, if the party was over. Neither guest nor hostess found anything ridiculous in his telling her he had had a wonderful time, the best party he’d been to in years, by Jove. Chamfreys was stomping around in an ugly mood, and Lady Lenore was pestering her for a timetable for the mail coaches east to Dover. Through all her turmoil she was visited, from time to time, by the sad-eyed image of Deirdre Gower, who sat twisting her fingers silently in the background while old Charney ripped up at her. And just at the end, Deirdre had accompanied her to the door and said ever so softly, “I’m sorry, Bertie.” That was thoughtful of her. Perhaps that was the quality Dick had seen in her. He had said she was cold, but he had begun warming her up.

Chapter 17

The duchess’s diamond was returned to her by Lord Belami, accompanied by a Bow Street Runner. By a quick stop at the
Morning Observer
before ordering her carriage to Belvedere Square, Her Grace had ensured that the announcement of her return to London appeared in the next morning’s paper, where Dick had read it with considerable surprise. Mrs. Morton also read it with surprise, but with more glee than anything else. She immediately called her carriage and had it slog through the streets, to relay her findings at the traveling agent’s office.

The only course open to a proud duchess in defeat was ennui.

“So kind of you to call, Mrs. Morton, but it is stale news to me. It is precisely the reason I have decided to terminate my niece’s betrothal to him. A sad rattle of a fellow. Even his own mother can do nothing with him. There is half the problem, to tell the truth. Lady Belami is not fit to run a house.”

It was a keen disappointment to Mrs. Morton, but she assuaged it by a quick call on half a dozen other friends, who were not so well informed.

When Belami entered half an hour later, he found Her Grace pouring over Debrett’s Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland in search of fresh quarry.

He sat at ease in Her Grace’s mustard-colored saloon, on a puce—her favorite color—sofa. “I was having my bags packed to return to Beaulac when I read of your arrival. Why did you not send me a message?” he asked, all unaware that he had sunk to new depths of disgrace. He directed his remark to Deirdre, but it was her aunt who replied.

“I have explained all that to your mama,” she said in her stiffest tone. “We have terminated the engagement, Belami. Thank you for returning my diamond. I shall take it to Love and Wirgman’s to make sure it is genuine. I never caught on the other was glass; I shan’t be so credulous again.”

“Terminated the engagement?” he asked, dumbfounded. So dumbfounded that he did not recognize even a trace of infamy in her decision to have the diamond authenticated. She had intended a prime slur in that remark, intimating that he had stolen it and replaced it with more glass.

“Deirdre, what is the meaning of this?” he asked, staring across the room to Miss Gower, who had seated herself in the shadows—no difficult place to find in that gloomy chamber.

“You heard my aunt,” she said in a small voice devoid of expression.

“But why?” he demanded, wheeling to stare at the duchess. “What caused this turnabout? You were eager enough to have me a day ago.”

“Eager?” the dame asked. “It comes as news to me that accepting an offer constitutes eagerness. I was most reluctant to give my consent and only did it conditional upon your behaving yourself. I may not have said so explicitly, but any man of sense knows that he must be on his best behavior during the period of betrothal.”

“But I
have
been on my best behavior.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” the lady said tersely. “When your best behavior includes what yours has included, Lord Belami, there is no point in thinking you will make a fit husband for a Gower. One trembles to think what your worst might encompass.”

“I had nothing to do with stealing the diamond. I got it back for you. I have apologized for being late for the party. Deirdre accepted my apology,” he said, looking to her for some verbal reinforcement. But she only sat pleating the skirt of her gown into neat folds with her fingers. She didn’t even raise her head to look at him.

“There are other things not necessary to be mentioned before young ladies,” the duchess said, and arose to see him out.

“May I see Deirdre alone?” Belami asked.

“No, sir, you may not. I do not run the loose sort of establishment your mama runs at Beaulac.”