Virginia Henley (3 page)

Diana’s dance card was filling rapidly. Young Earl Cowper, rich as Croesus and owner of a Gothic castle in Hertford, made no bones about fancying Diana, but her common sense told her his parents would aspire to marriage with the daughter of a duke.
Heaven be praised,
she thought thankfully.

Caro Ponsonby joined them and Diana decided the young woman always hovered on the brink of hysteria. Her laugh was too loud and she had an intensity about her that was unnatural. “Whoever is that dashing fellow in the Foot Guard uniform?” Caro asked Diana.

“Some young dog with a pedigree, I’ll be bound. There are three hundred Foot Guards but only half a dozen have been honored with vouchers.” Diana didn’t bother to even turn around as she uttered her disparaging assessment, so she missed the pair of striking, dark eyes as they searched the room and then widened ever so slightly as they looked her way.

Peter Hardwick was trying to decide which of the young ladies in the group was Lady Diana Davenport. His experience had taught him the larger the fortune, the plainer the heiress. So the gorgeous creature with the sensual body was obviously not in the running. His gaze wandered about until it settled on a creature with a face like a lump of dough with figure to match. He’d lay odds of ten-to-one she was his target. His courage almost failed him. No wonder his elder brother, the earl, had always joked that Peter would have to be the one to take a bride and beget the heir. But then his dear brother could afford to be cynical about women and marriage. Peter Hardwick could not!

With resolution, he walked a straight path toward the suet pudding, made a leg, and inquired, “Lady Diana?”

A female voice came from behind him. “Yes?”

Peter turned and gazed into violet eyes. He held his breath lest the vision vanish. Nonchalance was an art with Peter Hardwick. “May I have this dance?” he asked smoothly.

“I’m afraid not, sir. I have a partner,” Diana informed him.

“Then the next one,” Peter pressed.

“My dance card is filled, I’m afraid.” Diana’s eyes sparkled with amusement and a little regret.

“I don’t believe you; let me see,” Peter insisted.

Diana did not take offense. She laughed up into his attractive face and presented him with her card.

He immediately wrote his name over the top of two of her partners and gave it back to her.

Diana’s lips twitched as she read
Hardwick
written in a bold hand. “Hard cheese,” she punned, refusing him.

“Hardwick, darling. Peter Hardwick,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes in appreciation.

“Hardface!” Diana replied, reprimanding him for the endearment.

“Among other things,” he murmured outrageously. When Diana was at a loss for his meaning, he realized what he should have known all along. Lady Diana Davenport was a virgin. His blood thickened at the thought. Here was unlooked-for sport!

She spied William Lamb coming to collect her. “Here’s my partner now.”

Peter grinned cruelly. “You cannot prefer that chinless wonder to myself.”

Diana examined him frankly for a moment. “Actually, I do.” She took William’s arm and left Peter Hardwick standing alone.
In a pig’s eye!
a voice inside her head protested.

Over chocolate the next morning Prudence quizzed Diana endlessly for all the minutiae of her evening. “Let me see your dance card.”

“Er … I didn’t keep it,” Diana prevaricated.

“Didn’t keep the memento of your debut at Almack’s?” Prudence was scandalized.

“It was quite full. I danced with William Lamb, Lord Ashley, Lord Granville … oh yes, and Peter.”

“Peter Hardwick?” Prudence asked avidly.

“No, Peter Cowper.”

Prudence was alarmed. Not one dance with Hardwick! And after she and Richard had him eating out of their hands. She must say something disparaging to put Diana off Cowper. “A rather heavy young man.”

Diana thought that was the pot calling the kettle black. “You mentioned Peter Hardwick? Do you know him?” she asked her aunt casually.

“Er … Richard is handling some estate business for him.”

“Oh, I see,” Diana replied.

“Did you dance with him?” “No.”

“Did he ask you?” Prudence probed.

“Yes,” Diana admitted.

“Then why in the world didn’t you dance with him? He’s a most respectable young man.”

“Indeed?” Diana’s lips twitched in remembrance.

“I cannot believe you turned him down!”

“Actually, I wasn’t confident enough with my dancing. It didn’t matter with William and the others, they seem so young, but Peter Hardwick was different.”

Prudence let out a sigh of relief. Diana was definitely attracted. “What you need is more time with Dame Lightfoot.”

“Oh, I agree, Prudence. I have a lesson this afternoon. Can you spare Bridget?”

Diana stood mesmerized in the mirrored room. The white tunic felt light as thistledown. Its skirt, made from gauze scarves, fell in points about her thighs. One shoulder was daringly bared, setting off the golden amulets to perfection. A small gilt arrow case was strapped to her back and its golden laces crisscrossed beneath her breasts, emphasizing their round fullness. The sandal thongs were also crisscrossed up her calves, making her slim legs look unbelievably long. At the crown of her head a jeweled fillet held her glorious hair so that it cascaded all the way down her back to her buttocks. She not only looked like a goddess, she actually felt like one.

“The masquerade ball is Friday night,” Allegra tempted.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Diana refused.

Allegra handed her a winged mask made from the feathers of fantailed doves. When she put it on, she realized that no one would ever recognize her. The seed that Allegra had planted suddenly sprouted. “Will you go with me? However shall I get away from Prudence Friday night?”

“Leave all to me.” Allegra waved a dismissive hand as if it were a magic wand.

* * *

When Diana arrived back in Grosvenor Square, the hall table held half-a-dozen calling cards. She skimmed through them quickly looking for a certain name. Her cheeks took on a delicate hue when she found it. When Prudence handed her a nosegay of rosebuds and sweetpeas, her color deepened. “Peter Hardwick, how charming,” she said casually, masking her pleasure.

“Rather presumptuous,” Prudence remarked shrewdly, hoping Diana would jump to his defense. She was disappointed when Diana agreed with her.

“Yes, he is.” She buried her nose in the flowers to inhale their heavenly fragrance.

The next morning Dame Lightfoot paid a call upon Prudence. Her whalebone corset made her as rigid as her ebony-topped cane, lending her the appearance of a dowager duchess. Diana kept her face perfectly straight as she listened with awe.

“Both Lady Melbourne and Lady Bessborough have requested that I give their daughters extra lessons in the hope that they will outshine my other pupils who are making their debuts. However, my code prevents me from being aught but scrupulously fair to all my young ladies. To that end I ask your permission to allow Diana to come to my studio on Friday evening.”

“Your ethics are to be commended, Dame Lightfoot.”

Diana cleared her throat to prevent herself from choking.

“I shall accompany you, Diana. You cannot be out after dark without me.”

“I’ll take the carriage,” Diana offered quickly, “and Bridget shall accompany me. I wouldn’t dream of having you sit for hours waiting for me.”

Prudence glanced uncertainly toward Dame Lightfoot.

Her code was strict enough to set the standard for what was, and was not, respectable.

“My other young ladies will arrive by carriage. A maid is sufficient chaperon.” The dragon had spoken.

When Prudence capitulated, Dame Lightfoot stood to leave. She inclined her head stiffly toward her pupil. “Until tomorrow.”

Diana repeated gravely, “Until tomorrow,” but inside her, excitement bubbled like frothy champagne!

When Diana arrived at the Shepherd Market studio, she left Biddy with James, the coachman. She was aware they were attracted to each other in spite of the fact that they had to pretend otherwise under the watchful eye of Prudence.

Allegra was radiant in a vivid shade of pinky purple, fashionably known as amaranthus. Diana was happy to see that Dame Lightfoot had been banished for the evening along with her iron-gray wig and whalebone. “Come in, darling,” Allegra said. “I was just putting the finishing touches on the old physiog.”

When Diana emerged from the dressing room in costume, she watched Allegra in fascination as she outlined her eyes with kohl. “May I try some of the lip salve?”

“Yes, do. Put a little sandalwood rouge on your cheekbones too. I know your mask will cover everything except your lips, but I think a little
maquillage
gives a woman confidence in her charms.”

Diana was thrilled with the results of her handiwork and, as a finishing touch, boldly painted her eyelids with silvery violet.

“Voilá!
A goddess down to your fingertips,” Allegra declared, placing Diana’s long cloak about her protégée’s shoulders. “We can take your carriage if your servants are discreet.”

“We have a mutual understanding,” she assured Allegra,
who picked up a large ostrich-feather fan, dyed dark purple. Small fans were the fashion, but Diana had to admit Allegra’s fan was spectacular. It bespoke a language all its own.

“Oxford Street,” Diana told James, as Biddy scurried to hold open the carriage door, unable to keep from staring at Allegra.

The traffic along Oxford Street was backed up all the way to Bond Street. Carriages trying to get close to the Pantheon clogged all the main arteries. “We’ll walk from here,” Diana decided, rapping on the coach ceiling. “You can have the carriage, Biddy. Be back at Shepherd’s Market by ten thirty.” Diana fastened her mask in place before she quit the carriage, then she and Allegra stepped out into the throng.

Everyone in London who was anyone was making his way to the Pantheon tonight. They managed to push their way through the crowd until they came up against a large group of gentlemen escorting a sedan chair and holding aloft lighted torches. Allegra touched the arm of one of the gentlemen in evening clothes. He gave her a familiar grin. “Hello, Allegra. Come to watch the fireworks?”

“What are you up to, Sir Charles?” she drawled.

“We got wind that actresses were not to be admitted, so we are giving Mrs. Baddeley our personal escort; a guard of honor so to speak.”

“Anything for a lark, eh, Charlie?”

When Diana looked puzzled, Allegra explained, “Sophia Baddeley, who sings at Ranelagh, is Viscount Melbourne’s current mistress. His friends are making sure she receives a triumphant welcome.”

Diana’s mouth almost fell open. Emily and William’s father had a mistress? “Lady Melbourne is as straightlaced as Prudence,” Diana whispered.

Allegra winked. “There’s your answer, my pet. It pays a woman to be flexible and pliant—not quite loose, but accommodating at least.”

Diana’s thoughts progressed from Prudence to Richard. Could he possibly be unfaithful? After contemplating the notion for a full minute, a giggle escaped her.
He’d’be a bloody fool if he wasn’t!

As they made their way along Oxford Street, Diana noticed that all the gentlemen were on familiar terms with Allegra. She recognized both Lord Bute and Lord March, whom Diana had always considered respectable pillars of society. Apparently there was a double standard of behavior.

Allegra poked William Hangar, an intimate of the Prince of Wales, in the ribs. “Sophia enters society, or is it the other way about?”

The men surrounding them roared with laughter at Allegra’s bawdy wit, and Diana wondered if perhaps it was only the life of a debutante that was staid and suffocating.

Porters in livery stood at the entrance to the Pantheon, their long staves at the ready to bar the entrance of any undesirables. When the gentlemen championing Sophia Baddeley whipped out their swords in unison, the porters fled. Then to the delight of all assembled, the actress made her grand entrance under the arch made by the crossed swords of her gallants.

Inside was every bit as much of a crush as outside. When a footman relieved Diana of her long cloak, she felt very wicked indeed. It was an absolutely delicious sensation. She received more stares than the eccentric Countess of Cork, who was dressed as an Indian sultana with her face painted dark and wearing a headdress of diamonds.

Cumberland, the wicked uncle of the Prince of Wales, was dressed as Henry the Eighth, and Sir Richard Phillips was resplendent in black and white—half miller, half chimney sweep. As Diana stared and was stared at in return, she realized that everyone wanted attention and she was no exception. People had outdone themselves with their costumes. Every age in history was represented from Restoration to Elizabethan to ancient Greece. Cupid stood next to a
lady who looked as if she had just stepped from King Arthur’s court of Camelot. The whole room was a mass of swirling color and glittering lights. Diana decided happily it was the most fun she’d ever had.

The Earl of Bath, in town on business, was between mistresses at the moment. He had no illusions about himself and was the first to admit he was both jaded and cynical. The image of his younger brother Peter flashed briefly through his mind. Thank God he could rely on him to uphold the good name of Hardwick. The earl himself had no intention of ever getting trapped by society into marrying and having a family. He knew he was self-indulgent and had the reputation of a rake, but women were attracted by his title alone, so when his wealth was added, the fair sex panted after him like bitches in heat. Had he but known it, his dark dangerous looks accounted for his sexual congress.

The earl had jet black eyes and hair to match, which he refused to powder or cover with a wig. The slight hook in his aristocratic nose lent him the profile of a raptor. Seeking diversion, he surveyed the crowded room for worthy quarry. His dark gaze did not linger upon any female who cast him an invitation; he was a man who did his own choosing for better or for worse.

Bath had not been part of Sophia Baddeley’s escort, but had arrived alone from his town house in Jermyn Street. He felt only contempt for those of his peers who were slaves to their vices of gambling, drink, or debauched women. He prided himself on always being in control. But he came very near to slipping when he glimpsed the glorious creature who was surely dressed as Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. His attention was caught and held by this unknown woman who was in the company of the notorious Allegra. He watched in silence as the young beauty threw back her head in appreciative laughter. She had an unaffected
quality that lured him closer in spite of her obvious youth.

Unaware of the speculative eyes upon her, Diana was overcome with mirth at the wickedly amusing remarks of Allegra. They were discussing at this very moment one of the more peculiar guests of the ball. When people backed away from the Countess of Cork, appearing here in the Arabian costume of a sultana, Diana said innocently, “She may be eccentric, but surely she’s harmless?”

“Actually she’s deadly,” Allegra drawled. “Punctuates her speech with farts. Her rectal repertoire is amazing. Move over so you can listen.”

As Diana bent her ear in the direction of the sultana, she heard her say to Cumberland, “Time they passed the Regency Bill; King’s as mad as a damned hatter!!!” Sure enough, the duchess punctuated her sentence with a loud cannonade of exclamation points.

As Diana hastily backed off, Allegra rolled her eyes and wafted the ostrich-feather fan languidly but effectively. Laughing helplessly, she asked, “What advice would Dame Lightfoot give her pupils on the subject of farts?”

Allegra’s face took on the stiff countenance of Dame Lightfoot. “The noises are unmentionable, acknowledged by neither the offender nor the victim.”

Diana had to lift her mask to wipe away her tears of mirth.

As she did so, the Earl of Bath caught a glimpse of violet eyes that nearly took his breath away. He had been stalking his prey with the confidence of a jungle cat. When he was within striking distance, he reached out with powerful hands to encircle Diana’s waist, then lifted her up onto a low platform that stood behind her. “A goddess deserves to stand on a pedestal,” he said lightly.