The Wedding Challenge (16 page)

Or was it simply infatuation? Passion?

Callie did not know. All she was certain of was that she wanted to continue feeling this way.

T
RUE TO HER WORD
, Lady Swithington invited them to join her party in a visit to Vauxhall Gardens the following Tuesday. She did not entrust the matter to paper, but called upon them herself to issue the invitation. Francesca, smiling stiffly, reiterated her commitment to the fictitious meeting with her old friend, but added that she hoped that Callie would attend.

In fact, Francesca felt a ripple of unease about the whole endeavor. She knew how much Callie wanted to go, but she hated to think what the Duke of Rochford’s reaction would be to his sister spending time in the company of his notorious former mistress.

Of course, it was entirely the duke’s own fault, not Francesca’s, that he was in such a precarious position regarding Lady Swithington. She could not, she thought, be expected to protect him from what had been, after all, his own folly. It was her duty, though, to protect Callie, and in Francesca’s opinion, Lady Swithington was not a fit person for Callie to associate with.

However, everyone in the beau monde seemed to have forgiven—or at least forgotten—the reputation Lady Daphne had earned before her marriage to Lord Swithington fifteen years ago. Moreover, Francesca was not sure how well known the woman’s liaison with the duke had been. The duke was in general a very discreet and conservative sort of man, and while Daphne’s determined pursuit of him had been quite public, Francesca felt sure that few people had actually witnessed, as she had been unlucky enough to, the sight of Rochford and Daphne emerging from one of their trysts.

Francesca had not heard of Lady Daphne’s not being received by any of Society’s hostesses. Lady Odelia Pencully, a force in the
ton,
was peculiarly fond of the woman. So Callie would have some difficulty understanding why she could not associate with Lady Swithington, should such an association suddenly be forbidden. And Francesca could not reveal why Rochford would dislike Callie’s being around Lady Daphne without telling her the very thing that the duke would not want Callie to know.

She ought to attend the party herself, Francesca knew, but she had found it almost unbearable to be in Lady Swithington’s presence the other day at Richmond Park. She had thought that fifteen years would have healed all wounds, but in truth, being around Daphne had instead reminded her all over again of the reasons why she disliked her. Every time Daphne had mentioned Rochford, Francesca had grown stiffer, until she had felt as if she might break.

And, after all, Irene and Gideon would be there, as well as several other people. It was not as though Callie would be with Lady Daphne and her brother unchaperoned or associating closely with the woman. And Callie would be wearing a concealing domino and mask. No one would even know she was there. Nothing would happen to Callie or to her reputation. And if Rochford was upset by it, well, she reasoned somewhat snippily, then he should have been more careful about what he did fifteen years ago.

So resolved, Francesca did not attend the party nor try to dissuade Callie from doing so. Still, she could not quite suppress a twinge of uneasiness as, the following Tuesday, she watched Callie climb into the carriage Lady Swithington had sent.

Callie, however, felt not the slightest discomfort. She waved goodbye to Francesca, then settled back for the short ride to Lady Daphne’s house, where the party was gathering for the trip. She was wearing an evening gown of white with silver lace trim, and over it a black satin domino, lined in white satin. She had borrowed the domino from Francesca, as she had not brought one with her from Lilles House, and she thought it was both elegant and dramatic. The hood was folded back a turn to reveal the accent of white lining, and as the hood was wide, much of the lining was visible, a rich contrast to her tumbled black curls. With the half mask in place, she looked, she thought, both sophisticated and mysterious.

She giggled a little at the thought, for the truth was that inside, Callie felt anything but sophisticated and mysterious. She was brimming with excitement, like a girl at her first ball, and she thought her feelings must glow from her like a lamp.

A doorman stood outside Lady Swithington’s gray stone home, which was festively ablaze with lights, and he bowed and opened the door for Callie. Inside, a butler showed her into the drawing room, where a merry group stood talking and laughing. Besides Lady Swithington, the Swanson siblings were there, as well as Mr. Tilford, and two more young men and a young woman whom Callie had never met.

“Lady Calandra!” Daphne swept forward to meet her, holding out both hands to take Callie’s. “I am so pleased that you are here. Come, let me introduce you to the others in our little party.”

The men were dressed in the latest styles, with the most up-to-date affectations and ornamentations. One wore a nosegay as big as his fist in the button-hole of his lapel, and the other’s watchchain contained so many fobs that it was a wonder the chain did not break. Their speech was peppered with cant, and they amused one another with frequent witticisms that left Callie wondering why they thought themselves so funny.

However, Miss Swanson and the other young woman, a blond girl possessed of a high-pitched giggle, seemed to find the two young men inordinately charming, and they hung upon their every word, letting loose peals of laughter whenever one of them made a
bon mot.

Lady Daphne, wincing a little as the blond girl let forth a particularly piercing shriek of laughter, introduced Callie to the others. The blond woman turned out to be Miss Lucilla Turner, and the gentlemen were Mr. William Pacewell and Mr. Roland Sackville. No sooner had they been introduced than Callie found herself unable to remember which man was which, but as she quickly realized that she had little interest in speaking to either of them, it did not really matter.

She nodded at Mr. Swanson and his sister, relieved to see someone she knew, and looked around the room for the rest of the party.

“Ah, I see you are looking for my brother,” Lady Daphne said with a knowing smile. “He is not here yet. He will meet us later at Vauxhall. You know how it is. Young men are so busy.”

“I see.” Callie smiled, doing her best to hide her disappointment. “I presume Lord and Lady Radbourne have not arrived yet?”

“No, but it is early yet. Let me get you some refreshment while we wait for them.”

Lady Daphne motioned to a servant, and in short order Callie had a glass of ratafia in her hand. She sipped at it and talked to Lady Daphne, feeling a little strange and out of place. Callie was not a shy person, but the absence of anyone she knew well made her quieter than normal, and she found the young men’s self-conscious posing and boisterous talk off-putting.

The minutes crawled by, but still Irene and Gideon did not appear. Lady Daphne had begun looking repeatedly at the clock and frowning, then smiling and saying airily that she was sure they had just been delayed and would be there shortly.

Finally, however, after Miss Turner had asked yet again when they were going to leave, Lady Daphne sighed and said, “Well, I suppose it would be best if we went on to Vauxhall. After all, it is not long until Lord Bromwell is to meet us there.”

“But what about Lord and Lady Radbourne?” Callie asked.

“I have no idea why they have not come. But no doubt they are merely a trifle late. I shall leave word with the butler for them to join us at Vauxhall.”

“Perhaps I should wait for them,” Callie began uneasily. She knew that Francesca would not like her going off with Lady Swithington and the others without Irene and Gideon along.

“Heavens, no,” Lady Swithington replied gaily. “What if one of them has fallen ill and they do not come at all? Then you should miss all the fun. Or they may simply decide, being so late, that they will meet us there and will not even come to the house. You would not wish to stay here all evening by yourself.”

That was certainly true. Callie had no desire to sit in a strange house alone for hours, doing nothing. She knew that she should probably tell Lady Swithington that she would just go back to Francesca’s. But she could think of no way to tactfully tell Bromwell’s sister that Francesca—and no doubt her own grandmother and brother—would not consider Lady Daphne an adequate chaperone. Surely Irene and Gideon would arrive eventually, and then she would have missed it all for nothing. Besides, she wanted very much to see Bromwell and walk along the romantic lighted pathways with him.

Anyway, she reminded herself, she could hardly ask all the others to wait even longer while Lady Daphne’s carriage took her back home first. So she summoned up a smile and said, “You are right. We had best go on.”

The four women rode in Lady Swithington’s carriage, while the men hailed a hansom to transport them, and they started out for the gardens. Callie’s doubts ebbed as they rode along. The conversation with just the four women in the carriage was much quieter and more pleasant, and with every passing moment, she grew more eager to see the sparkling gardens and, most of all, to be with Bromwell.

Vauxhall was as magical in appearance as ever, and Callie’s unease disappeared as they stepped out of their carriage and started inside. The men purchased their tickets and reserved one of the supper boxes that lined the main promenade.

They strolled along the wide walkway until they reached their box, located near the pavilion where the orchestra would soon play. They took their seats and began to watch the passing parade. There was something wonderfully freeing, Callie thought, in being in domino and mask. She could look at everyone who walked by, secure in the knowledge that no one would know who she was and there would be no talk that could make its way back to the duchess.

A waiter brought out their supper of wafer-thin slices of ham, along with chicken and various salads, and poured freely from containers of the arrack punch for which the Gardens were famous. It was a potent brew and though Callie merely sipped at it, she soon found herself relaxing under its influence, and she settled down to enjoy herself.

It was great fun to watch the people, who came in all shapes, sizes and classes. There were many young bucks, some of them dandies, others with the athletic builds of Corinthians, and there were a good many unattached women, as well, who boldly flirted with the men. Callie watched them in some fascination, blushing now and then at some of the warm comments that were tossed back and forth.

Somewhat to her surprise, some of the young men were bold enough to ogle her and the other women sitting in their supper box. Miss Swanson and Miss Turner responded to their bold looks with a rash of giggles. Lady Daphne did not giggle, but Callie was a trifle shocked to see that lady lift her fan and look back over it flirtatiously at one or two of the brash young gentlemen.

Callie expected the men of their company to send the others on their way. She could well imagine how Sinclair would have responded to such impudence. Of course, when she had come here with her brother, simply his presence in the box had been enough to keep any young man from directing such inappropriate looks her way.

The orchestra struck up in the pavilion, and people took to the dance floor in front of it. For politeness’s sake, Callie stood up with Mr. Tilford and then with Mr. Pacewell—at least, she thought it was Mr. Pacewell—but he trod clumsily upon her foot, and his breath stank so much of alcohol that she decided after that to sit out any dances, at least until Bromwell arrived…if he arrived. She was beginning to have her doubts.

Still Lord and Lady Radbourne had not come, and neither had Brom. Callie began to find her pleasure in the evening decreasing. The conversation in their box was growing louder and more boisterous as the evening progressed and more and more arrack punch was consumed. The girls’ giggles increased, and the men’s laughter grew heartier. Their words became slurred, and they tended to set their glasses of punch down too hard, and once Mr. Sackville, or perhaps it was Mr. Pacewell—the drunker they became, the more difficulty Callie had in telling them apart—missed the table altogether with his cup, and it fell to the earth and spilled. Everyone except Callie seemed to find this mishap hilarious. Indeed, Mr. Swanson laughed so hard that he staggered back and knocked into a chair, turning it over, and subsequently wound up sitting on the ground, as well, which set everyone off into even further gales of laughter.

Callie sipped at her glass and tried to ignore everything that was going on about her. But it was growing more and more difficult by the moment. Mr. Pacewell—or whichever it was of them who had not spilled his drink—was leaning over Miss Turner, boldly staring down the front of her dress, as he murmured into her ear, his lips almost touching her.

Callie glanced away quickly and looked over at Lady Swithington. However, if she had hoped that that lady would restore some semblance of decorum, she quickly saw that she was wrong. Daphne was sitting at the front edge of the box, her arms on the ledge before her, leaning forward to talk in low tones to a man who stood outside. The man was leaning in toward Daphne, as well, a smile playing about his mouth, and as Callie watched, he reached out and ran his forefinger along her hand, trailing it up her arm to her elbow.

Callie looked away again, rather uncertain as to where she could direct her gaze. She took a nervous gulp of her drink, then gasped as the potent mixture roared down her throat.

Where was Bromwell? Why had he not come? She wished desperately that he was there. He, she thought, would set everything in order. At least, she thought a little falteringly, she hoped that he would. What if, when he arrived, he acted the same way as the other men? What if he joined in the drunken revelry, boldly eyeing the women in the other boxes and on the walkway?