Elisabeth Kidd (33 page)

On the whole, Antonia did not begrudge him his position, but she
found it somewhat disconcerting in the particular. When she asked
Belding to order a case of port to replenish their stock, she found that
Carey had already seen to it. When Isabel went to her uncle instead of
herself to seek approval of the purchase of a new bonnet, Antonia could not but feel a little hurt, even though she herself now turned the household accounts
over to Carey for his weekly approval. The readiness with which he
despatched the tasks she had formerly assumed herself, and the skill,
acquired in the army, with which he handled the household staff,
met with Antonia’s admiration, but she soon began to feel somewhat superfluous. She was not accustomed to being a lady of leisure.

There was also the risk she did not care to run, of coming to resent
Carey for what in the end was only the natural course of events. The possibility seemed remote, but even having thought of it, Antonia felt,
brought it closer. Carey, of course, could have no such fancy. He had
fallen back into his old life as easily as into the huge feather bed provided
for his comfort—for unlike Kedrington, he had no nostalgic preference
for camp beds and, since he was waited on slavishly, little effort on his part was required to satisfy his every whim.

It only added to Antonia’s feelings of uselessness that Imogen, now
being squired about by Philip Kenyon and Lord Alvanley, required Antonia’s
company far less frequently nowadays. And Isabel, likewise caught up in a social whirl, scarcely was able to spare even the few moments of her
customary early-morning visit to Antonia’s bedroom.

Isabel could scarcely
be faulted for this—her aunt would have been the last to deny her her
new friends—but Antonia missed their talks and the small moments
together of their quieter days at Wyckham. She could not, moreover, help feeling herself something of a failure with regard to Isabel. She had urged
her niece to come to London, against Isabel’s inclination, hoping that she
would enjoy her season as any pretty young girl should, only to have
Isabel conduct it in her own quiet, competent way, with no help whatever
from her much-distracted aunt, and to have her, as a result, grow further
away than ever.

This left only Charles to whom Antonia’s interests were paramount, a situation which ought to have been wholly satisfying. Yet Charles had,
unintentionally no doubt, turned things around so that Antonia felt it
was up to her to look after Charles’s interests, particularly in the face of
the gentle but general disapproval of her acceptance of his proposal.

It
was doubtless selfish of her to wish to be cossetted herself, and now and
again assured of her worth and treated like a treasured prize won after
long, hard combat. But Charles was no hero, as she had once imagined
him, no Galahad. She told herself that he was more than that; he was the comfortable life she had always taken for granted and that had been so
nearly torn from her. Charles would make her comfortable for the rest of
her days. She would always know what to expect from him; there would
be no upheavals, no surprises. She did not understand why this comforting
prospect depressed her so.

So it was that when Mrs Curtiz returned from her errand, she found
Antonia brooding over Julia Wilmot’s visit in a mood bordering on the
megrims and certainly marked by a surplus of self-pity. Imogen appeared
not to notice this, however, instead pulling off her bonnet, ringing for
tea, and delivering a brisk account of her exceedingly uninteresting—in
Antonia s sulky view—errand.

“I wish you would not be so hearty, Imogen,” she said at last, some
what querulously. “It is enough to give one a fit of the dismals.”

“It seems to me that you are already well along in one,” Mrs Curtiz
observed unsympathetically. “Are you enjoying it?”

Antonia was about to wax indignant, but finally thought better of it.
“Oh, dear! I shall be turning into another Maria anytime now. What a
dispiriting prospect.”

“I think you would best avoid any more such thoughts, my dear;
indeed, this solemn cast of mind you have lately adopted does not at all
become you. Can I not divert you with some more frivolous amusement?”

“But it is my very frivolity that has brought me to this pass. No one takes me seriously and, indeed, I cannot have a high opinion of myself
just now either.”

Sensing an imminent relapse into self-castigation, Imogen turned the subject by the simple expedient of announcing that she wished to do so.

“I forbid you absolutely to mention anything having to do with your
own or anyone else’s mental processes for the next twenty-four hours.
No, let us say thirty-six hours, for I daresay we shall be back very late.”

“Back from where?” Antonia asked, feeling a flicker of interest in this
mysterious statement and eagerly fanning it.

“Vauxhall. What do you say to attending the masque there tomorrow night? We can all go—make a proper family party of it.”

“Oh, that would be nice! But—Vauxhall? Oh, no, I daren’t. Charles
would never approve.”

“Pooh,” said Imogen to Charles’s approval. “He is not here, and will
never know. Everyone will be masked, after all, so that no one will be
likely to carry tales back to him, either.”

Such was the state of Antonia’s mind that the assurance of Charles’s not knowing of her indiscretion seemed to obviate the necessity of her
staying virtuously at home—and missing all the fun. And suddenly, fun
seemed very important. She did not think, now she considered it, that
she had not truly enjoyed herself at anything for weeks.

“I shall wear that Arab costume I wore once to Wyckham and that you
all enjoyed so much,” Imogen went on. “I came across it in an old trunk
that was sent down here in mistake for another, and it is still in wearable
condition.”

This effectively clinched the matter for Antonia. Forgetting Charles’s
opinion and her previous lamentable association with Vauxhall Gardens—
forgetting everything but the fun of dressing up for a party—she asked Imogen, “What else have you got in that trunk?”

If Imogen’s smile at her eagerness was a trifle smug, Antonia did not
notice it. Nor did she question the mysterious appearance of Imogen’s trunkful of wonders acquired in her travels and the fortuitous presence therein of a Spanish dancer’s costume complete with mantilla and high-
heeled shoes which fit her perfectly. So determined was she to sink
herself utterly in dissipation, in fact, that when Isabel returned home and was bidding Octavian Gary a discreet farewell outside the door, Antonia
opened a window and hallooed loudly for him to come in and hear all
about the proposed treat, which he was immediately invited to join in.

If
this was to be her last fling, Antonia told herself, disregarding the
amused stares directed at her, she would at least see that Isabel enjoyed
herself with the escort of her choice. As for herself—why, she would be
happy to share Carey with Imogen.

So saying, she pulled Isabel off to show her a perfectly elegant Chinese
gown she had unearthed from Imogen’s bottomless trunk. Octavian and Mrs Curtiz exchanged a speaking look.

By the next evening, Antonia was quite caught up in the spirit of
their outing. All three ladies were soon rummaging gaily through the
myriad possibilities for costumes they had to choose from. Isabel seemed
uncharacteristically delighted at the notion of dressing herself up from
out of a trunk and attempting to disguise her identity from even her best
friends; Antonia made up her mind that, what with her crowded calendar,
Isabel was sorely in need of some light diversion of this kind—which notion served to give Antonia’s own childlike enthusiasm some other
justification than a mere selfish thirst for frivolity.

In the end, Antonia decided that the Spanish dancing costume was best for her, despite its lamentably snug fit across the hips. The black
high-heeled shoes which matched it, on the other hand, gave her extra
inches that were undeniably attractive—and served to balance the width
of the skirt, so that Antonia felt dashing indeed, particularly with a
lovely fringed shawl flung over her shoulders and a black half mask
which served to disguise her most inappropriate hair colour.

Isabel, after changing her mind a dozen times, settled on the embroidered
Chinese silk gown her aunt had first chosen for her, which had a high
neck and elaborate closings all the way down the front. Imogen modelled
for them the identical flowing white Arab robes which she had worn to Anthony’s party years before, and declared that the matching veil would be much more comfortable than the masks the others wore for the same
purpose.

Octavian, dressed as a gondolier, came to call for them at ten o’clock—an
hour, Carey declared, that he was rapidly becoming accustomed to and, so
long as no one roused him out of bed too precipitously the next morning,
one that he was willing to adopt as a permanent way of life. Carey wore
his uniform, but drew the line at a mask, saying that since he had never
touched a razor in Spain, he would not now be recognised clean-shaven.

The merry little party crossed the river from Westminster in a scull,
accompanied by a boatload of musicians to play alongside, and entered
the gardens by the Water Gate. It was then a pleasant stroll, through a
grove of elm and sycamore trees which sheltered the orchestra pavilion,
to the most secluded of the three graceful colonnades of pavilions where
boxes could be rented for the evening and dinner ordered. Mr Gary,
efficient as always, had obtained a box that had a fine view of the grove,
where the musicians were already playing among the twinkling lights
that festooned the trees throughout the gardens.

Seated in their box, they could also observe, to their right, the beginnings of the several walks that led into the more wooded parts of the
gardens. It was not until they were all seated, however, and Carey had ordered them a sample of every delicacy offered for their supper, with a magnum of champagne—”to start with”—that Antonia made note of an
odd circumstance.

“There are chairs here for six people,” she remarked, “but we are only
five.”

There was a brief pause before anyone ventured to respond to this, but
then Imogen said offhandedly, “Oh, we hoped that Kedrington would be
able to join us, but as it was not certain that he could, I did not think to mention it to you before.”

“That is not why you did not mention it!” Antonia said, levelling an
accusing gaze on her.

“But why else, love?” Isabel asked, all innocence. Antonia shifted her look to her niece, but could read no hidden meaning in her face. Carey gazed blandly off into the trees, not meeting his sister’s eyes. Before she
was able to put her suspicions into words, however, Lord Kedrington
himself arrived on the scene.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. He was wearing a black
biretta and black cloak, which he removed with a graceful flourish to
reveal a long black-buttoned priest’s soutane beneath. That the effect was considerably diminished by the spark of devilment in the viscount’s eyes
did not prevent Antonia from exclaiming impulsively, “So that rumour at least was true!”

He laughed and pulled the empty chair out to sit down, and Antonia’s
fascinated gaze moved from the black hair falling slightly over his high collar down to the broad, sun-bronzed hands adorned only by his signet
ring.

“I trust you left off your ring when you genuinely intended to travel incognito?”

“My heart, there is nothing more incognito in Spain than a priest, ring
or no.”

It seemed to Antonia that the look in his lordship’s grey eyes would
have deceived no one into thinking him a man of pious principles,
whatever he wore. She was likewise a little startled to discover that she
liked him in this guise—not that Kedrington had ever been conventional,
but she had come, she realised, to take him for granted as the man of
fashion he had once told her he had set out to make of himself. That he had succeeded all too well in doing so was evident from her reaction to this unexpected change in him, and she caught herself remembering,
too, their mild flirtation at Wyckham and even his absurd proposals. She
wondered if she were still capable of coaxing one out of him.

Suddenly, she flushed and lowered her eyes. What was she thinking of?
Just because Charles was not with her did not mean that she could
behave in a way he had made all too clear to her he did not approve; it would be too disgraceful in her!

“Do try a slice of this lovely ham,” Imogen said to her just then,
transferring a piece of it to her plate with a fork, and Antonia realised
that these jumbled thoughts had passed through her mind in no more
time than it took for the waiter to place a large platter of artistically
arranged cold meats, fruits, and cheeses before them. Reassured that
she had not made a fool of herself, she accepted Imogen’s offering and said she might try a bit of the chicken as well.