Deadly Engagement: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) (27 page)

“Uncle, I—”

“Which brings me to what I want to say to you. Delvin’s interference aside, you should’ve fought harder to win that one! She’s a hornet and she’ll give you back measure for measure but she won’t stand for any nonsense and if you want my opinion she—”

“—was the one who rejected my suit,” Alec explained calmly, a rueful smile when his uncle blinked. “I begged her to run away with me. I was ready to defy her parents, Delvin, you. I was all for Gretna but she wouldn’t have it. Her parents had accepted an offer from Jamison-Lewis, who had a fortune and was nephew to a Duke. I, on the other hand, had at that time, no fortune and a brother who let it be publicly known he would not support my marriage with a considerable heiress. All that in the balance and Selina’s tender years was enough to make her shy off the idea of eloping with a nobody. Remember, she was the age Emily is now.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, pulling at his close upturned velvet cuffs. “You think I’d have learnt my lesson. Instead I set my cap at a girl who looks upon me with brotherly affection!” He shrugged. “Like Emily, obviously Selina’s feelings weren’t fixed. And she didn’t have the strength of character to turn her back on her family’s choice of husband and put our happiness above theirs.”

Under hooded pale eyes, Plantagenet Halsey regarded his nephew dispassionately.

“You wrong her. What she did, lettin’ you go like that, sacrificin’ what was her only chance at happiness to marry a man she didn’t give a fig for, so you wouldn’t be ruined, that’s true strength of character. Who’s to say you’d have made it to Gretna? Eloping with an heiress would’ve ended your career; no more embassies, no preferment. Her parents, Jamison-Lewis and his cronies, not to mention your brother, all would’ve seen to it that you were politically and socially ruined. Did that never occur to you, my boy?”

It hadn’t and Alec now knew what Cosmo meant by those words flung at him in the rain. It was a revelation. He wondered if there was another man alive who could claim such self-centeredness. He was to have his answer later that evening when, in the ballroom, he came face to face with his brother. He was startled out of this private reverie by a slap to his broad back.

“I’m feeling merry to the point of dissipation this evenin’, my boy,” his uncle said in a light tone, a twinkle in his eye. He flicked his nephew’s black plait playfully. “Let’s see if you and I can’t turn a few pretty heads tonight, aye?”

“Well, at least one,” murmured his nephew.

St. Neots House was thrown open for the Fireworks Ball. At the head of the main stairs stood Neave with a small battalion of yellow-coated footmen, straight-backed and chins up, to take gold-edged cards of invitation and announce each guest to the assembled company. Ladies in wide-hooped petticoats of shimmering silks, with their gentlemen in periwig and gold braid, strolled from one cavernous room to the next. Large plumed fans fluttered invitingly across rounded alabaster bosoms and quizzing-glasses swung casually on silken cords ever ready to be plastered up to a roving eye.

There were two orchestras. One in the ballroom, another in the drawing room where guests sampled oysters and drank punch, and made such a din with their high-pitched laughter that the music was all but drowned out. Champagne flowed liberally into chilled crystal glasses. All was twinkling light, dazzling color, and clouds of heady scents.

The Fireworks Ball had been the talk of many a drawing room soiree and was predicted to be the event of the season. There was not a noble in London who did not think it a high honor to receive an invitation from the Duchess of Romney-St. Neots. The guest list included no less than five Ambassadors, four foreign princes and their retinues, and members from the English Royal house. All the governing families of the kingdom had sent representatives. So it was with no small feeling of trepidation that Emily approached her first grand occasion, the center of attention and the reason her grandmother had spared no expense to celebrate her engagement.

She presented a vision of youthful loveliness in a gown of silk gauze the shade of pearl, her blonde curls delicately powdered and upswept, and a smile that was as white as it was dazzling. She made small talk with every person presented to her, but the instant they moved on she forgot all about them, and could not even remember what they had talked about. She danced without thinking, yet she danced faultlessly, with a grace natural to her. The Earl danced the first minuet with her then quite properly escorted her back to her chair only for the Prince of Baden to return her to the dance floor. He said she danced like an angel. She smiled at the compliment and made more small talk and when the minuet had come to an end the Earl and a group of his friends whisked her away to the refreshment room, all complimenting her success with the Prince.

From a vantage point in the corner of the Saloon which was being used as the refreshment room, Sir Cosmo watched his cousin through his quizzing glass, surrounded by this loud, chattering cluster of fawning beaux. He was pleased she was smiling and more herself after her wooden appearance at afternoon tea. He swept the crowd with his eyeglass and was about to return to the ballroom when he remembered he was not likely to find Selina in there; widows were not permitted to dance. He wondered if she intended putting in an appearance at all, then saw her framed in an archway, looking about as if she had just arrived. The sight of her made him draw in a quick breath. She so reminded him of a portrait he had once seen of the doomed Queen Mary of Scots, for she was dressed all in black velvet. The low cut gown was seeded with pearls, as were her slippers. She carried a fan of stiffened lace on a cord of black silk with a knotted tassel. She wore no jewelry, but needed none with a skin so translucent and her flaming curls unpowdered and upswept off her long neck.

She responded to Cosmo’s wave with a smile and would have gone to him but he was at her side in an instant, having hurriedly grabbed two glasses of champagne on his way through the moving sea of silks and perfume. They clinked glasses and drank up.

Selina looked her friend up and down, from powdered wig with enormous scarlet bow to the festoons of scarlet ribbons at the knees of his silken breeches. He wore three gold seals and two quizzing glasses dangled about his neck. She chuckled into her champagne glass, the bubbles tickling her nose. “I wish I could dance tonight, and with you looking like a macaw! You do put the Prince of Baden to shame in those festive silks, Cosmo.”

He smiled uncertainly, unsure if she was complimenting him or giving him a roasting. “Ah, and I had thought to play Bothwell to your Mary, my dear,” he muttered.

“Oh! Do I look as if I’m for the block?” she answered with a laugh and shrugged a bare shoulder. “Better a doomed queen than the only spider in the sugar bowl!” She absently handed Sir Cosmo her empty glass, dark eyes scanning the chattering multitude, unaware of Sir Cosmo’s scrutiny.

“You merely have to ask me, my dear, and I shall tell you where he can be found,” he said lightly, eyeglass plastered to one bright eye.

“That champagne was rather good,” she murmured, a sly glance at her friend.

“Yes. It must be the reason you have a delicious blush to your perfect complexion,” he quipped and received with a chuckle the good-natured rap over the knuckles with her fan. “Ah! Here comes your Bothwell now!”

Selina was about to tell him what she thought of his presumption when she was rudely bumped and forced to seek the protection of Sir Cosmo’s robust person against what appeared to be an invasion by the French.

Two mincing French lackeys attached to the Ambassador’s retinue went before the group of foreign dignitaries making their way toward the refreshment tables as if they were the forward raiding party of an invading army. The French Ambassador and his little group of fawning perfumed fops stopped close to Sir Cosmo and Selina to be catered to by three hovering waiters. All were speaking in such rapid French, full of subtle nuances and inflections, that no Englishman save the most ardently trained linguist could understand the run of conversation. A bawdy joke was being related, a long and involved tale, but it held its listeners enthralled. The French Ambassador interjected part way through with a bawdy recollection of his own which won for him a hearty laugh from his companions. It was evident the French Ambassador was enjoying himself hugely and at the tale’s end burst into applause and high-pitched laughter, dabbing his shining eyes with a scrap of lace he called a handkerchief.

The Marquise his wife found him then. But she did not want her husband. No, Madame la Marquise wanted the attentions of her husband’s friend who had told the bawdy joke. She tapped his black velvet arm with the sticks of her gold and ivory fan and chided him playfully. The French Ambassador smiled on both, and with a quick whispered word in his friend’s ear, he took himself off with his entourage to the card room, leaving Madame his wife to drink champagne with his good friend.

The French Ambassador had left his wife to flirt, and flirt outrageously, with Alec Halsey, who was the teller of the bawdy joke, and in such idiosyncratic French that anyone not knowing him would have taken him for a native Frenchman. He smiled and chatted with Madame la Marquise as if she was a dear friend.

“Startled me the first time I heard him rattling away in Frenchy,” admitted Sir Cosmo. “Spent a fortnight with him in Paris. He was so comfortable in that tongue that I almost wondered if he’d forgotten he was an Englishman! Did y’know he can speak five tongues just as fluently?”

“Yes, wretched man,” agreed Selina and was determined to look anywhere else rather than bear witness to Alec’s flirtation with Madame la Marquise.

Seeing him dressed in such rich magnificence as black velvet and lace always unsettled her. She had seen him at numerous functions, always at a distance, one of a number of Foreign Department functionaries assigned to look after foreign nobles, yet it was Alec who was constantly surrounded by a clutch of foreign beauties. Selina had managed on those occasions to turn away, yet she could not stop her thoughts wandering in his direction, as they did again tonight. While she was married she was thankful that he had spent most of his time on the Continent. She supposed his fluency in five foreign languages was matched only by the frequency with which he bedded its female native speakers. She knew he had gained the reputation of a rake while abroad but distance and her unavailability had made it easier to accept his numerous liaisons; they were, after all, not lasting and he had not fallen in love with any of them. But his feelings for Emily were different. He had wanted to marry her. And the way he looked at her…

She mentally castigated herself and was all for quitting the refreshment room to look in on the dancers when Sir Cosmo tugged on the lace at her elbow saying in a loud whisper so as to be heard, “Something’s afoot! The happy bridegroom has been ensnared.”

The invading army of French diplomats had moved on, taking with them a cloud of perfume and a babble of high pitched chatter, but halted almost immediately because Madame la Marquise had found the object of her interest. The Earl of Delvin was being congratulated by a Prince of the Blood who had been introduced by the Duchess of Romney-St. Neots. Madame patiently waited her turn and soon the Prince of the Blood stepped back and, with a bow to Madame la Marquise, sauntered away with the Duchess on his arm, his entourage in tow.

Delvin was all smiles with the French Ambassador’s wife but when he saw who was her interpreter his smile became fixed and not once did he glance his brother’s way. He attempted to answer the Marquise in her own tongue but she waved her hands in an agitated manner and said something in Alec’s inclined ear, who then addressed the Earl’s stony profile on her behalf.

“Mme la Marquise would prefer you returned your answers in English, my lord,” Alec reported. “She has a great desire to practice her understanding of the English language. If you wish it I am happy to act as your interpreter—”

“I don’t need your sniveling help,” the Earl said in an under-voice, a dazzling smile through clenched teeth and a second deep bow to Madame.

Alec shrugged and spoke at length to Mme la Marquise before addressing his brother. “Madame would like to know when is the wedding.”

“As soon as possible.”

“Mme wishes to know of Lord Delvin if he intends to take his bride to Paris for the honeymoon. She says Paris it is a favorite destination with newlyweds and with our two countries now at peace she is sure the commerce in this trade will only increase.”

“No. Not Paris,” Delvin replied with the widest of smiles at Madame. “I have every intention of taking my young bride to my seat in the country—”

“What?” Alec interrupted in an undertone, looking out at the crowd as if distracted, but with his attention very much trained on his brother. “You can’t seriously mean to take Emily to that pile of tumbled stone?” He scoffed. “Some honeymoon!”

“Stick to your job as Frenchman’s lackey,
Second
,” Delvin growled.

The Marquise spoke to Alec and he said, “Madame says that is a great shame you do not choose to go to Paris. She says Paris you should reconsider. Mme la Marquise is certain the English countryside is very pleasant, but it is not Paris. Paris, Madame says, is the only city for lovers.”