Nine Buck's Row (20 page)

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“This has been one of the nicest days I've ever had.”

“Good,” he said brusquely.

I wondered if he had just done it out of a sense of obligation. He had been a different man today, a man I could feel comfortable with. Would he have done this if Maggie hadn't urged him to? I doubted it, but I was far too happy to quibble. I was eager to open the packages, eager to try on the dress when it was delivered, but that was only part of it. I realized with a sense of surprise that the main reason for my contentment was the man who was sitting across from me. If only he would allow himself to relax more often, if only he wouldn't retreat behind that wintry facade.

The dress was delivered two days later, and the next night I was in my bedroom, nervously adjusting the bodice, examining myself in the mirror. We would be leaving for Belmount House in just a few minutes, and I was so excited I could hardly breathe. Maggie fluttered around me, as excited as I was, a chattering fairy godmother with outrageous red ringlets. It was hard to believe I had ever been despondent. I felt exactly like Cinderella. Life
was
full of surprises.

“Does it fit all right?” I asked. “This hoopskirt feels so strange. I hope I don't trip.”

“It fits perfectly. I've never seen such a gorgeous gown! Nicky picked it out himself? I shouldn't have thought he'd have such taste. Stand still, Susannah. Let me
look
at you.”

The gown had narrow, puffed sleeves, a tight, modestly low bodice, and the skirt belled out over a flexible hoopskirt, yards and yards of cascading white muslin scattered with tiny blue satin roses. My hair was pulled smoothly over my head, fastened with a bunch of blue satin flowers in back, long golden brown ringlets dangling down to touch my shoulders. I stared at my reflection. My eyes sparkled. There were spots of pink on my cheeks. I couldn't believe I was looking at Susannah Hunt.

“You've got such a small waist,” Maggie said. “The men are going to take notice, I assure you—my nephew included.”

I moved around the room, trying to get used to the hoopskirt. Scrappy was perched on the bed, watching with absorbed interest. He made a sudden leap and tried to snatch one of the tiny roses. Maggie gave a cry of alarm and seized him in her arms, and then we both began to laugh.

“I'd better go take him out,” she said, smiling warmly.

After she left I took down my wrap and then, on impulse, opened the bureau drawer and took out the diamond bracelet. It would be the crowning touch, I decided, fastening it on my wrist. The stones sparkled with shimmering violet-blue fires. I held out my wrist, admiring them. I wondered if Nicholas Craig would notice.

There were footsteps in the hall, and he stepped into the room, an indulgent expression on his face. He was wearing the same resplendent clothes he had worn to the theater, the long cape around his shoulders. He stared at me, one dark brow arching, and I felt a surge of pleasure. He was impressed, very impressed. He might make no comment, but that look of masculine appreciation in his eyes was all the reassurance I needed.

“Aren't you ready yet?” he asked dryly. “I know it's fashionable to be late, but this is absurd. I've been waiting—” He cut himself short, noticing the bracelet for the first time. “Where did you get that?” he asked sharply.

“It was Marietta's,” I said. “I thought I'd wear it to the ball. All the ladies are bound to be wearing jewels, and—”

The expression on his face made me hesitate. He moved across the room and took hold of my wrist roughly, removing the bracelet. Holding it in his palm, he stared down at the glittering stones.

“They're real, aren't they?” I asked nervously.

“Where did she get them?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Why wasn't I informed about this? These stones should be in a bank vault!”

“A man gave them to her. I—I don't know who he is. She wouldn't tell me. She said he was someone very important. She was going to meet him the night—the night it happened.”

“Try and be a little more specific,” he said grimly. “I want to know everything you can tell me.”

He looked stiff and forbidding, his cheeks pale, and I could tell that he was alarmed. I told him all I could remember about that last night with Marietta, trying to recall everything she had said, and Nicholas listened with dark, impassive eyes. My voice broke several times.

“You don't believe me, do you?” I said. “Sir Charles Warren didn't either. He said the stones weren't real. I—I don't think he even believed Marietta had an engagement that night.”

“The fool,” he muttered. “The bloody fool!”

He scowled darkly and slipped the bracelet into his pocket. He looked ashen, as though he'd just sustained a great shock, and I knew that he did believe me, that he believed the man who had given Marietta the bracelet had something to do with her death. All the festive emotion I had felt earlier vanished. I felt absurd in the gorgeous ball gown, and my body seemed weak, boneless. A shadow had fallen over the evening, taking away all the brightness and making pleasure impossible. I swayed just a little, and the cascading skirt rustled softly.

Nicholas Craig looked up at me, reading my thoughts. He controlled his own emotions and spoke to me in a firm, commanding voice.

“Don't let your imagination run away with you, Susannah. You've done nothing wrong. The stones are probably a very expert imitation, not real at all. I'll go down and put them away for the time being. Forget about it, do you hear me? There's absolutely no reason for you to be upset. Are you quite ready? I'll meet you in the parlor in five minutes. It's time we left for the ball.”

13

The night air was laden with fragrant smells, and ahead of us, through the trees, I could see Belmount House, a jewel box alight with color. The carriage drove through the gardens and turned into a private drive, pulling up in front of an impressive portico with two flights of curving stairs. How was it possible to have such a large house in the middle of the city, I wondered, particularly one surrounded by trees and gardens.

Nicholas Craig helped me out of the carriage, giving my hand an extra squeeze. He had been extremely pleasant during the drive, talking with unusual expansiveness, deliberately trying to distract me and make me forget the diamond bracelet. Japanese lanterns swayed in the breeze, making smears of color as he led me up the stairs, and music lilted on the air, pouring out of the house soft and muted. Some of my apprehension vanished. Some of the earlier excitement returned.

We stepped into an immense foyer tiled with bright colored mosaics, an oriental fountain spewing plumes of water in the center. There were exotic plants and miniature palm trees, a sweeping spiral staircase curling up to the second floor. I gazed in wonderment, and Nicholas explained that Sir Reginald Belmount had spent his youth in the East and had designed the foyer to remind him of those years. A servant took our wraps, another showed us up the staircase. Lady Cordelia and her husband greeted us on the landing. He was small and thin with a neat brown moustache and sandy hair, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. She looked gigantic beside him, brassy gold hair coiled in an elaborate coiffure topped with purple plumes, purple velvet gown trimmed with scallops of gold lace.

“You did come, you scoundrel!” she exclaimed, seizing Nicholas' hand. “No response to my invitation! R.S.V.P. and you didn't! Now—oh, it's going to be
bumpy
and I'm in an awful mess!”

“Calm down, Chickie,” Sir Reginald said mildly.

“Is something wrong?” Nicholas inquired in a polite voice.

“She's made one of those world-shaking social blunders,” Sir Reginald said, eyes full of amusement. “Western civilization will tumble, no doubt about it.”

“Oh shut up, Reggie!” his wife pouted, stamping her foot. “You haven't a clue about these matters! Nicky, you're going to
hate
me. You didn't respond and didn't respond and I thought you weren't coming. I ran into Ralph Jordan, such an amusing man, so lively and ornamental—every hostess in London
schemes
to nab him for their do's—and I asked him to come. He said he might drop by, and he probably
will
!”

“Why should that upset you?” Nicholas asked.

“He and Valerie are a
thing
, luv,” Lady Cordelia said. “He's bound to bring her. I could just die!”

Nicholas stiffened almost imperceptively. A dark look gleamed in his eyes, and his jaw tightened, and then he shook his head and smiled, perfectly at ease.

“Is that all that's bothering you? Valerie and I are both adults, and I imagine we'll conduct ourselves accordingly. I won't shoot her down in the middle of the ballroom, I promise, and I doubt if she'll drop poison in my champagne. We'll exchange greetings with frosty politeness and avoid each other the rest of the time.”

“I'm so relieved!” Lady Cordelia said, fanning herself rapidly. “I felt sure you'd be livid. I'm so
glad
to see you, Nicky. It's been ages. And you brought Susannah. Reggie, say hello to Susannah. The boys will go wild! All six of them are here, and there's a deplorable shortage of young women.”

Sir Reginald took my hand and squeezed it, a look of genuine affection in his eyes. He was shorter than I was, and his formal attire was almost shabby, shirtfront rumpled, black suit shiny from too many cleanings, but he exuded a warmth that made itself felt immediately. He was a gentle, humorous man, but I detected a strong sense of irony and a strength of character that would be inflexible.

“I'm afraid you're in for an ordeal,” he said with a wry smile. “My wife has six strapping nephews, all fresh from the country. Young heathens, every last one of 'em.”

“Oh hush, Reggie,” his wife said affectionately, tapping his arm with her fan. “They're perfectly adorable and you know it. You'll probably remember Ted, Nicky. He's my sister Lucille's son. She and her husband own Roseclay Manor in Surrey, just a few miles from your place.”

“A great gawky lad with brick red hair?”

“He's grown
up
now,” Lady Cordelia replied. “Twenty-two, just out of Oxford. He wants to be a
farmer
, can you imagine? He's already supervising the tenant farms at Roseclay. Lucille's going out of her mind.”

“I suggest we join the others,” Sir Reginald said. “We've been standing out here long enough.”

“I need to talk to you,” Nicholas told him in an undertone. “Something's come up.”

“We'll sneak down to the study later on.”

Lady Cordelia took hold of Nicholas' arm, wrapping her own around it and sweeping him into the drawing room, her purple plumes waving. Sir Reginald took my arm, and we followed them. The drawing room was vast, ivory walls with yellow silk panels, candles burning in elaborate sconces, the ceiling decorated with gold-leaf designs. Three large buffet tables held a staggering profusion of gorgeously arrayed food. Champagne bottles stood in silver buckets, uniformed servants waited on the guests. The room was filled with beautifully attired men and women, talking, laughing, drinking champagne from exquisite crystal glasses.

“Cordelia adores these bashes,” Sir Reginald whispered. “I find 'em extremely tiresome, if you want to know the truth. Don't be nervous, child. You're far and away the most attractive woman here.”

“You're very kind, Sir Reginald.”

“I'm just speaking the truth. If I were thirty years younger and a foot taller we'd slip off down to the garden and leave this mob to their own amusements. As is, I'll have to let one of my nephews smuggle you off. Beware of George. He's entirely too fresh.”

Nicholas was already standing with a group of people, a glass in his hand, talking easily and pleasantly, an entirely social creature. Seeing him thus, so relaxed, smiling, exchanging quips, one would never associate him with the brooding, mercurial Nicholas of Nine Buck's Row. A youngish woman in blue and silver held his arm, peering up at him with admiring eyes, and he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She pretended to be shocked and gave a throaty laugh, squeezing his arm.

“Your guardian has a way with the ladies,” Sir Reginald said, noticing my glances. “He used to be quite a buck. 'Course he's had much more important things on his mind lately, but I see he hasn't lost his touch.”

“Have you known him for a long time?”

“Ever since he was a lad. Nicholas is one of our brightest young men. He's done some impressive work.”

“You're interested in his work, aren't you?”

“Quite. I've got the connections and he's got the gumption. Between us we manage to accomplish a bit of good here and there. Would you care for a glass of champagne, Susannah?”

“Not just yet, thank you. Do you
know
all these people?”

“A few of 'em. The rest are Chickie's social butterflies, frivolous women who think of nothing but gossip and gowns, husbands they drag along, rascals like Ralph Jordan who dote on affairs like this.”

Lady Cordelia swept toward us, pausing to exchange words with one of her guests, waving to someone across the room, nodding her head in time with the music that poured from the ballroom. Her eyes sparkled radiantly, and it was obvious that she was enjoying herself tremendously. I could see why she was a famous hostess.

“You've had Susannah long enough,” she said merrily. “She doesn't want to be stuck with a doddering old grouch like you, pet, not when there are handsome young men about. Come, Susannah, we'll find the boys.”

She led me into another drawing room as spacious as the first with the same yellow silk panels. There were long ivory velvet sofas and Louis XIV chairs with delicate white legs and emerald green upholstery. Through the crowd I noticed Sir Charles Warren standing before a white marble fireplace, fierce moustache waxed, monocle in place, a scarlet banner festooned with medals draped across his chest. He was an impressive figure in his white tie and dark tails, smoking a cigar and frowning at the other guests.