A Season for the Heart (21 page)

“He has fallen completely in love with Miss Isabelle Boggs,” confessed Pommy. “And I assure you, they are—kindred spirits.” She scanned his imperturbably face anxiously. “They would make each other extremely happy,” she pleaded.

“Besides not spoiling two families,” commented the Earl.

“Oh! How can you be so cruel?” cried Pommy. “Your own nephew!”

“You are attempting to convince me that either of them would not drive the average spouse to mayhem?” countered the Earl, with a wicked grin. He had been so sure that Pommy would be unable to resist the charm, beauty, and fortune of his nephew! Her attitude seemed to release a hard knot of depression within him, and he felt absurdly relieved and cheerful. “You must inform my sister-in-law of this delightful news as soon as she returns from her round of shopping,” he advised the frowning girl. “Tell her also that the match has my full approval, since it releases me completely from the threats of Mr. Boggs. Remind her also that it will probably serve to accomplish her dearest wish, since the Boggs child is even more biddable than Gareth, and Aurora can probably command their attendance upon her until they are ninety!”

Pommy was not pleased at the Earl’s unseemly levity. “Are you saying you will not object to the connection with Mr. Boggs?” she queried.

“Better he should be Gareth’s papa-in-law than mine.” The Earl laughed heartily, with what Pommy felt was cruel indifference. Still, he might have a point. She was forced to admit that Gareth was not subtle or sensitive enough to find Mr. Boggs’s crudities offensive. And she had a pretty good idea that the Earl would be able to depress the vintner’s pretensions and keep him in line. Pommy sighed.

“Then there is no reason for me to appear at Lady Masterson’s Ball,” she urged. “I would
really
rather not, Milord!”

But the Earl was cock-a-hoop, and greeted her earnest plea with a twinkling smile. “What, Faint Heart! Have you no sense of the Romantic? Who knows what thrilling adventures will befall you, like Cinderella at the Ball? I am coming to think that my dear sister had a better idea than I understood!”

“Oh, you are impossible!” snapped Pommy unforgivingly, and ran from the room, followed by the Earl’s joyous laughter.

Seventeen

The morning of the Ball dawned clear and bright. Birds tootled merrily in the trees in Portman Square. Lady Masterson was in alt. Her mood of elation was so much like Lord Austell’s that Pommy wondered if the whole family was subject to sudden onsets of high spirits. The servants, too, were affected; it was obvious that they were delighted to rouse from their long hibernation and reenter the glittering Social World again.

Lady Masterson summoned Pommy to her dressing room, where Gordon was hastily arraying her in a charming morning gown.

“You must not overtire yourself, Milady,” cautioned the girl.

Aurora laughed. “I have seldom been so happily engaged as I have been with the plans for this evening,” she said.

Indeed, Pommy thought, her employer had been too much absorbed with her plans for the special orchestra, the sumptuous refreshments, and the unusual décor to be conscious of the fatigue normally enjoyed by Society Hostesses. Her catch phrase—“It must be the best part of the Season!”—had been adopted by all her well-paid and devoted staff, so happy to see their beautiful mistress herself once more that they accomplished prodigies for her.

The huge ballroom had been transformed into a charming grotto, complete with a waterfall and hundreds of flowering shrubs and ferns in pots. All six of the French doors were set wide open to the coolth and fragrance of the gardens, admittedly smaller than the Earl’s but sweet with the scents of flowers. The broad terrace outside the ballroom had been waxed so that the guests might dance there in the Romantic light of flambeaux.

Card rooms were made ready for those who had no wish to dance. At three separate buffets, champagne, fruit punch, and other cooling beverages were to flow as lavishly as the decorative waterfall. The house sparkled and gleamed, waiting to welcome Lady Masterson’s guests.

Lord Austell dropped by before noon to present Her Ladyship’s butler with a dozen cases of champagne and three of a brandy which had Mikkle beaming. Milord refused Lady Masterson’s invitation to remain for lunch, claiming that he must get his beauty sleep before dinner in order to look his best at the Ball.

When he had departed, laughing like a boy, Aurora raised her eyebrows at Pommy. “I do not think I have ever seen Derek so lighthearted! If I did not know better, I should suppose he had fallen in love. But of course, at his age . . .”

Pommy, unaccountably cross, had to exert strong control to prevent herself from making a tart reply. She was by now fairly sure that the hilarity which had seized both the Earl and Her Ladyship was the effect of their falling in love—with each other. If
anyone had found himself in love with her, and she was with him, Pommy knew she would experience just that wonderful sense of elation which Derek and Aurora were bubbling with. She told herself she was happy for them and that the match was most suitable as to age, fortune, and preeminence in Society.

As the day dragged toward its climax, her feeling of dread increased. Even the darling dress which Gordon brought to her after lunch—a gift from her generous employer—could not raise her spirits from the gloomy depths into which they had fallen. Gordon, looking askance at the pale face and heavy eyes of the girl she had come to like and respect, tried to interest her in the delicate flowers wrought in silver thread upon the white silk.

“It seems to be made of moonlight,” offered the Dragon in a rare flight of fancy.

Pommy admitted that it was beautiful and then burst into tears.

“Now then, Miss Pommy, that is no way for you to behave!” protested Gordon.

“I am not worthy of all this kindness and attention!” sobbed the girl. “It frightens me!”

Gordon had been briefed by Lady Masterson, who had learned a good deal from the Earl about the treatment Pommy had received at Highcliff Manor, including the slapping and the enforced journey in the rain. She muttered now that she knew what she would like to do to the old harridan and her nasty daughters. At this evidence of strong partisanship, Pommy raised tear-filled eyes and asked, “What old harridan, Gordon?”

“Your aunt,” replied the outspoken dresser crisply. “Miss Pommy, it is like the story about the girl who had to sweep up the ashes. The old woman and her two ugly daughters always so cruel, and poor Cinderella so sweetly pretty—and forever being put upon! I would know what to say to them!”

“My cousin Ceci is very pretty,” said Pommy, striving to be fair but already comforted.

“Pretty is as pretty does,” replied Gordon darkly. “I’ve seen her sort! All smiles and big eyes when the men are around, a regular viper to her maid.”

“Oh, Gordon, I do like you!” cried Pommy, and gave the gratified dresser a hug.

“Well, you’ll please me most if you lie down and rest now, with a wet cloth over your eyes. All that crying has made them red, and you must look your best tonight, Cinder-pommy!”

Smiling at her own wit, Gordon hung up the new dress in the armoire and went softly from the room. She knew as well as the girl that the tears had not been shed over the unloving relatives, but for love of six feet four inches of virile manhood—but like Pommy, she would never admit to it.

Pommy did lie down for half an hour, but she was not accustomed to sleeping in the daytime, and the sounds of activity from the lower floors, though subdued, kept her alert. At length she rose, washed her face, and stealing just one quick peek inside the armoire at the white and silver gown, she went down to see what she could do to help with the preparations.

While she was crossing the great main hall, there was an assault on the knocker, and a footman in a baize apron hurried to open the door. On the threshold stood a small, stocky man dressed in sober black, evidently someone’s servant bearing a message. Pommy came forward to accept the information. But instead of an acceptance or regret for the Ball, the message was for her personally, as the little man soon informed her.

“That’s all right, Chelm.” Pommy smiled at the harassed footman. “You can go back to whatever you were doing. It is only a note for me.”

But when she opened it (for the little man stood glumly on the porch, awaiting her reply), Pommy had a sudden wave of shock which made her momentarily dizzy. The note was signed “Isabelle,” and read as follows:

Dearest
Pommy: When you read this you must say
absolutely nothing
to
anyone
. You must get your reticule and a cloak and
come
with the messenger to where I am being
held
.
Only you
can
save
me. Do
not
betray my
trust!

Pommy raised her eyes to the dour little servant. “What—?”

“Say nothing,” he ordered, pointing to the note.

But Pommy was made of sterner stuff than that.

“Is it an abduction?” she whispered. “Should I not obtain money? For the ransom?”

Looking as though he thought that might be a very good idea, the little man reluctant shook his head. “Get yer cloak an’ bag. You won’t be hurt,” he advised sourly. Pommy had the distinct impression that this whole theatrical performance was highly distasteful to him. His manner reassured the girl. She went swiftly up the stairs for her cloak and reticule. After a moment’s thought, she placed a small, sharp pair of scissors in her bag (useful for stabbing attackers or cutting ropes), and three extra handkerchieves (remembering Isabelle’s penchant for easy tears). Finally she added all the money of which she was possessed, a paltry sum, since she had not yet received a wage, but which might help to bribe someone, or hire a coach. Then she slipped down the great stairs, thinking herself fortunate not to encounter anyone in a position to challenge her.

Waiting outside the closed front door was the little man. Pommy now observed a small enclosed coach standing a few doors down the street, with a well-muffled coachman upon the box. The little servant led her to this coach, assisted her to enter, closed the door after her, and clambered up beside the coachman. They were off with a jerk and a scraping of iron-shod hooves upon the cobbles.

Pommy sank back into the gloomy depths of the musty old cab. She had time now for second thoughts, and began to wonder if she had not behaved with consummate folly. She fumbled in her reticule for Isabelle’s note, only to realize with dismay that it was not there. She tried to recall where she had put it, but nothing emerged from the jumble of her recollection. Pommy sighed. Well, perhaps one of the maids would pick it up and throw it in the dustbin. Few of them were able to read, so it was unlikely they would be concerned over the rather grubby little scrap of paper. Pommy closed her eyes and tried to restore the tone of her mind, in preparation for whatever challenge awaited her.

At this moment Lady Masterson was absorbing the contents of Isabelle’s note with distended eyes. Chelm, who had opened the door to the little man, had a very soft spot for Miss Pommy, and had liked neither the effect of the message upon the girl, not the cut of the messenger’s jib. When, hovering near the door to the main hallway, he had observed Miss Pommy first run upstairs and then come racing down, he had been alarmed. He noticed the small white paper which had fluttered to the floor as Pommy shut the little man outside the front door, and had whipped out of concealment to snatch it up before the girl could return. He himself was not a skilled reader, being, in fact, limited to forming his own name and deciphering the numbers and letters on currency, but he was impressed by the underlinings and by Miss P.’s reception of the contents. He therefore took the letter at once to Lady Masterson’s suite, and handed it, with a brief explanation, to Gordon. He lingered long enough in the hallway to hear Her Ladyship’s shriek of dismay, and then returned to his work, confident that he would be called upon speedily to tell his tale.

This was indeed the case. When he had explained every detail of the event to Her Ladyship, he was sent with an urgent message to Lord Austell’s home. While Lady Masterson nervously awaited the arrival of her brother-in-law, another servant brought the information that Colonel Rand was below and wished to have a word with his niece.

“O God!” shrieked Lady Masterson, her appalled gaze flashing to Gordon. “We have lost Pommy! He will hate me!”

The Dragon, who knew more than her mistress gave her credit for, promptly offered to see the colonel and explain the situation.

“But how can you, Gordon, when we don’t understand it yet ourselves?”

“Then I think you must receive the gentleman yourself, Milady, and tell him what we do know,” urged Gordon. “You are in great good looks this morning, and that violet muslin really brings out your eyes. Shall you receive him in the drawing room?”

“No, for you know as well as I do that the servants are thronging through all the lower rooms, giving them a last minute polish,” cried the distracted lady.

“Then I shall have to bring him here,” announced Gordon with barely concealed satisfaction. It was past time, she thought, that a masculine boot trod the charming delicacy of the mauve and rose carpet, and a masculine eye observed the exquisite beauty of Her Ladyship in such a setting.