16
“If Elizabeth Papaver is wearing blue I swear I shall die.”
Will raised an eyebrow at Imogen, wondering if there would ever be a year when his sister wouldn’t make such a fuss on the way to the opening ball. It always peaked when they were in the carriage, and always focused on what everyone else would be wearing.
“I thought you bribed someone to look at the delivery before it left the tailors,” Nathaniel said, not bothering to hide his boredom.
“Elizabeth might have paid them more to tell me the wrong colour,” Imogen said. “It does happen. And ladies have seamstresses, not tailors.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Imogen,” Will said. “Even if she does wear the same colour as you, it won’t exactly be the scandal of the season.”
It silenced her long enough for them to leave the Crescent. Will knew why their parents always rode in a separate carriage ahead of them; so they didn’t have to listen to her nervous prattling.
“I wonder what
Catherine
Papaver will be wearing,” she said. “I do hope it isn’t yellow. That would make her look positively horrendous.”
“It doesn’t take much,” Nathaniel said and they sniggered.
Will decided to remain aloof from it all. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Catherine either, but he’d made his plans and all was prepared. Being sucked into cruel speculation wasn’t going to achieve anything.
“You have to accept it, William,” his mother had said to him that morning. He’d sought her out after a sleepless night of endless imaginary arguments with his father. “Marriage happens to us all.”
“But why her? Why not Elizabeth?”
“Do you really want to marry that empty-headed child?”
“No,” he’d admitted. “But at least she wouldn’t embarrass us. What did I do to insult Father so? I’ve never given him cause for anger or disappointment. Why punish me like this?”
“Oh, Will.” His mother sat next to him. “It isn’t like that at all. Don’t you see how this proves how much trust he has in you? He knows he can depend upon you to make this a success.”
Will struggled to bring his thoughts back to the carriage when his brother cleared his throat.
“Father says the Master of Ceremonies wasn’t back this afternoon,” Nathaniel said, having realised Will wasn’t going to be baited.
“How strange,” Imogen said. “Cecilia hasn’t heard a thing either.”
“Cecilia Peonia is an empty-headed fool,” Nathaniel said. “Of course she hasn’t.”
“She happens to have one of the best ears in town for the latest news.”
“Only one?” Will asked.
“And an excellent nose for gossip,” Imogen continued, ignoring him. “For her not to know a thing about all of this is most unusual. I feel sorry for the Censor, it must have been a terrible week.”
Will tried to imagine what it would be like to have an elder brother disappear without a trace.
“What?” Nathaniel asked as the broad smile bloomed across Will’s lips.
“Nothing. Ah, we’re here.”
Nathaniel was first out of the carriage after the footman had lowered the steps, then Will, who helped Imogen. His parents were straightening their attire nearby, closer to the entrance of the Assembly Rooms, and the streets of Aquae Sulis were filled with the clatter of horses’ hooves and carriages delivering attendees.
Imogen was keen to get inside as quickly as possible. She’d made that clear as they’d left the house; the silver embroidery of her bodice against the indigo of her dress was designed to look its best beneath sprite light inside the ballroom, not the diffuse grey light of the Nether. Nathaniel in contrast was happy to pose on the pavement, watching the other guests arriving, making sure he cut the finest silhouette with his formal attire and rapier.
Will scanned the carriages. None were emblazoned with the Papaver coat of arms, so he extended his arm to Imogen, thinking that, if he could keep her sweet for even just the first hour of the ball, it would be to his advantage as well as a first.
They made their way into a long, wide corridor filled with people meandering towards the ballroom. They were a little early; his father didn’t believe in being fashionably late, which always irritated Imogen as it deprived her of a large audience for her entrance. Will was indifferent, used to being the one overlooked. He wasn’t as famed as his brother, nor in line to inherit the family’s power, and Imogen was good at stealing away any other surplus attention.
“I’ve heard a rumour,” she said, in her best conspiratorial whisper, “there’s to be a surprise special guest this evening.”
“Perhaps it will be the Master of Ceremonies,” Will replied, uninterested. Normally he would have been happy to be entertained by such intrigues – they passed the time, after all – but tonight he had an agenda that took the shine off it all.
As they walked between the marble columns, he was greeted by people he hadn’t seen for years and certainly hadn’t missed. He made promises to play cards, to delight them with tales of adventure and to pass on the gossip from the colonies. He could hear murmurings about the absence of Mr Lavandula and wondered if the Papavers would want to delay the announcement because of the absence of Catherine’s uncle.
They entered the ballroom and it was as Will expected: unchanged, lavishly lit, beautifully decorated with its plain blue walls and elegant white stucco borders. The musicians were already in place up on the first-floor gallery overlooking the expansive space. Will could see the parents and chaperones of young ladies being approached by his peers, all eager to make arrangements for the minuet dancing that would begin the ball.
“And who, pray tell, is that?” Imogen whispered to him, skilfully indicating the direction with her new fan. It was still folded and now strung on a silver chain attached to her bracelet to hang free as she danced.
Will noticed the young man talking to Oliver Peonia. His friend usually had a constant half-smile on his face and cheeks like apples, round, red and shiny, but as he spoke in close conference with the stranger, Oliver was stern and rather pale.
He noticed Will and the spontaneous flash of his eyebrows in silent greeting was enough to make the stranger turn and look in their direction. Will spotted the deep red rose before any other feature, and from Imogen’s surprised gasp he assumed she had also.
“That can’t be the surprise guest!” she said behind her fan. “Not a Rose! Cecilia would have told me.”
“Looks as if he’s already making an impression,” Will remarked, studying his best friend’s demeanour.
“They’re coming over,” Imogen said. Will felt her grip on his arm tighten. “He’s rather handsome. I’ve never met a Rose before, but I’ve heard they’re ruthless. How exciting.”
“Good evening,” Oliver said with a bow. “Imogen, what a pleasure to see you again.”
He kissed her hand and Imogen waited patiently until it was over.
“Good evening,” Will replied, adding his own bow.
“Will you permit me to introduce my guest?” Oliver was trying his best, but Will could see that he was distinctly uncomfortable. “Imogen and William Reticulata-Iris, this is Horatio Gallica-Rosa of the city of Londinium.”
Horatio bowed and Imogen extended a gloved hand as he reached for it. He kissed it lightly. “A pleasure. You are indeed as lovely as I have been told.”
Imogen blushed the appropriate amount. “Are you in Aquae Sulis for the season?”
“Indeed. I’ve heard so much about it. Would you do me the honour of partnering you for the first minuet?”
“I would be delighted. William, I believe Father wants to speak with you.” She was using their code to indicate she wanted to be left alone to speak with the Rosa.
“Do you play cards, Mr Rosa?” William asked.
“I have been known to play a hand of poker now and then,” Horatio replied with a dangerous look in his eye.
“Then perhaps I will see you in the card room later,” Will concluded and took his leave of them.
Oliver also made an excuse once he realised what Imogen wanted and fell into step with Will. “You may need to warn your brother about him, my friend,” he whispered.
“Oh?”
“Horatio is the finest duellist in Albion, or so he is wont to believe.” Oliver leaned in closer. “And he’s heard of Nathaniel’s reputation as a fine swordsman. A cautionary word in your brother’s ear may be wise.”
“Regardless of wisdom, my brother has never taken any of my advice, and does not respond well to warnings,” said Will dismissively. “If he insists on getting into a duel, that’s his affair. Now, tell me, why are you sponsoring a Rosa for the season?”
“Father insisted.” Oliver’s glance at his parents as they passed was rather cool. “And don’t ask me why, I have no idea. That Rosa is an oily wretch and I fear he will do nothing but cause trouble, as they always do. Have you heard the rumours about his family?”
“I’ve heard enough to infer they take the most direct path to their goals, even if it takes them through unsavoury places.”
“I’ve heard their wealth is drawn from a network of criminal activity in Mundanus.” Oliver glanced back at Horatio. “He’s greasing up your sister, Will, shouldn’t you go back?”
“What a vulgar turn of phrase,” Will said with a smirk. “An excellent souvenir of the Grand Tour, I shall do my best to make it popular this season. Imogen can take care of herself. If there’s anyone who should be worried it’s Cecilia for not informing her that a dashing swordsman is in town.”
“Cecilia was just as shocked as I was,” Oliver said, briefly distracted by a young beauty sweeping past. “It was sprung on both of us this afternoon. Something’s rotten about it, I just don’t know what. How did the gifts go down?”
“Well. Yours?”
“Jolly good actually. Father has promised me the estate in Derbyshire.”
“Congratulations. Mine has secured me a bride.”
Oliver stopped. “Gosh. Who is it to be?”
“You’ll see,” said Will with a wink.
“Oh, a disappointment then,” Oliver said. “If you were pleased you’d be falling over yourself to tell me.”
Will laughed. “Now I see the danger of travelling the world with one’s best chum; you know me too well now.”
The ballroom was filling up; he could no longer see Imogen and Horatio. He caught a glimpse of the Censor talking to his father, a statement in and of itself, as dozens of people had been desperately trying to catch her eye. When they parted, his father surreptitiously beckoned him over.
“I’ll see you in the card room later, old boy,” Will said to Oliver. “The pater wants a word.”
He navigated through the greetings and “welcome back”s and smiled at his father.
“The Censor is agreeable to announcing the engagement before the country dances,” he said, sotto voce. “I had hoped for one before the ball begins, but she has something else to announce, apparently.”
“I’ve heard there is a surprise guest, and it isn’t the Gallica-Rosa over there trying to woo Imogen.”
“I’ll see to that in a minute. A Rosa?” He shook his head in disapproval. “The Censor has been distracted this week, but that is hardly an excuse for allowing the riff-raff into Aquae Sulis. Perhaps it’s just as well to announce it later; the Papavers haven’t yet arrived.”
“Perhaps they want to be fashionably late,” Will suggested, now appreciating the crowd filling the ballroom. “Though any later than this would be approaching the embarrassing end of fashionable.”
A light knocking reduced the crowd’s low roar to a murmur as all faces turned to the gallery and the Censor rapping her closed fan against the rail. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Assembly Rooms this evening, and to the opening ball of the Aquae Sulis season.” Miss Lavandula’s voice projected magnificently. She was dressed in a lavender-blue ball gown, and a dazzling diamond brooch drew Will’s eye to her décolletage. “My brother sends his profound apologies for not being here this evening. He’s abroad dealing with a matter for our patron.”
Will noticed the ripple of commentary that spread through the room. He wasn’t sure if anyone believed her, but saying her brother’s absence was due to a demand from their patron made it impossible for anyone to speculate openly without being seen as crass. If he had disappeared, she had bought herself a few weeks at the most.
“But I can assure you that he arranged everything for a most spectacular season before he left,” she continued, drawing the crowd’s attention fully back to her address. “With the blessing of the Council of Aquae Sulis, I will be acting as Censor and Master of Ceremonies until his return.” Another ripple; her announcements were like pebbles being tossed into the social pond. “Whilst we will of course miss him, we shall not let him down. In a moment, the first minuet will begin, but first, I’d like to present to you our guest of honour for this evening.”
She looked to her left and beckoned someone onto the balcony with a smile. A young Indian woman, with hair like a river of black silk and flawless mahogany skin, walked out to take her hand, eliciting an excited rush of whispers from the assembly. She was dressed in a richly decorated sari that couldn’t have been more different from the corseted fashions on display.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my deepest pleasure to introduce you to Maharaj Kumari Rani Nucifera-Nelumbo, daughter of the Maharaja of the princely state of Rajkot in India.”
There was a spontaneous burst of applause and the princess smiled down upon them. Will looked for Oliver, wanting to share his anger. He’d spent two months trying to secure an audience with the princess with the express purpose of sponsoring her into Aquae Sulis on behalf of the family. She’d refused polite requests and gifts; now he knew why. Someone had beaten him to it.
“Princess Rani has been sponsored into the city by the Alba-Rosa family, represented this evening by Cornelius Alba-Rosa and his sister Amelia from Londinium.” They were beckoned onto the gallery too, where they were met with applause and no little speculation. Amelia was strikingly beautiful, the white of her dress making her skin creamy and the dark brown of her hair richer. So that was who had pipped him to the post. Oliver was lost in the crowd and would no doubt bait him about it later. He did spot Horatio though, whose lips were pressed tight together with barely disguised fury.