Chapter 33
Bodkin had taken his time about getting up that morning. He still slept in the hayloft, even though Dominic—and Ragwort before him—had offered a proper bed, and while Polly was with her uncle, the brownie was lying idly in the hay. His hands were behind his head, and his legs were drawn up and crossed, so he could swing a foot pensively up and down. His jack-o’-lantern lay in a shaft of sunbeams beside him and was now a picture of grim perfection after a final session of carving and whittling that had gone on almost until dawn. Bodkin was quietly pleased with his creation, which was bound to outshine anything else at Sydney Gardens that night. Old Hordwell and beastly Lord Benjamin were going to suffer greatly before he was done.
Bodkin smiled with grim contemplation. Polly’s uncle was easy enough, for being an invalid, he couldn’t exactly flee from any horror, so the mere appearance of the jack-o’-lantern in front of him should be sufficient to frighten him. But Lord Benjamin was a different matter. What would be the best way of terrifying the clammy pink aristocrat? Perhaps he should be harangued by a terrible ghostly voice? Or be pursued around the bonfire? Driven into the labyrinth, then stalked? Chased into the canal? Maybe all four! Yes, all four would do nicely.
The brownie sat up, dipped a finger in the honey pot beside him, and turned his thoughts to Polly and Dominic. Ragwort had been so right about them, for if they weren’t lovers yet, they were bound to be soon. He licked his sticky finger, thinking that Polly would make a very nice Lady Fortune, but then his smile faded as he remembered Georgiana. He’d seen Dominic importuning that disagreeable lady at the review, and saw how she fluttered her lashes at him at the ball. It was quite clear that Lord Benjamin’s nasty sister presented a threat to Polly’s happiness, and for that she had to pay a penalty. Boggart shone briefly in Bodkin’s eyes as he decided to treat Georgiana to a few Halloween shocks. He beamed at his jack-o’-lantern. “Now then, my horrible friend, you mustn’t let me down tonight,” he declared, patting it on the head, then licking his honey-drenched finger again.
Suddenly the brownie remembered his bees. He’d have to consult them without further ado, for they had things to do tonight as well, but first they had to be persuaded to remove themselves from Royal Crescent to Sydney Gardens. Then he wanted them to await his signal to fly into action against those he regarded as the enemy. A swarm of angry bees would cause some very satisfactory havoc, to say nothing of stinging a few well-chosen hides! Putting his honey pot away, the brownie groomed his fur with clove balm, and then scrambled down from the loft.
As Bodkin went to his bees, Hordwell returned to 1 Royal Crescent, intent not only upon finding Nutmeg’s belt, but also upon letting Bodkin know he was no longer in the enemy camp. Unfortunately, it was Giles’s day off, and the footman wouldn’t return to the house until that evening, when—unknown to any of his fellow servants, of course—he’d promised to take the Royal Crescent brownies to the Halloween celebrations in a pony cart borrowed from a shopkeeper friend. His absence meant there was no immediate way for Hordwell to let Ragwort know of his defection. All Polly’s uncle could do was leave a sealed note below stairs to be handed to Giles the moment he returned. In the meantime, Hordwell sincerely hoped Bodkin’s promised campaign against him would not commence before darkness fell.
Dominic was just awakening. He lay naked and drowsy in his vast four-poster bed. He’d been enjoying a very erotic dream, the spell of which still enveloped him. His body was aroused, and the blood flowed warmly through his veins. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the dream woman to whom he had just been making such passionate love. A confusion of feelings ran through him. Did she have raven hair and dark eyes? Or tumbling blonde curls and eyes the color of lavender?
After a moment, he flung the bedclothes back and got up to open the curtains. It was ten o’clock, and in two hours he was to meet Polly at Sydney Gardens. Dazzling sunlight flooded into the room, but before he could look out properly, he heard a sound behind him and turned sharply. Nothing seemed there, yet he felt certain he wasn’t alone in the room. A thought struck him. “Nutmeg?” he said urgently. “Is that you?” There was still nothing, but for a moment he was sure he saw a footprint on one of the rugs. Before he could speak again, a footman knocked tentatively at the door. “Sir Dominic?”
Dominic reached for his gray paisley dressing gown and donned it quickly. “Yes?”
The door opened, and the footman entered with the little silver tray of strong black coffee with which Dominic started every day. “Good morning, sir,” he said, placing the tray beside the bed.
“Good morning.”
The man hesitated. “Sir Dominic, Lady Georgiana Mersenrie has called.”
Georgiana? Dominic glanced quickly out of the window again and saw the familiar carriage drawn up at the curb.
“She is demanding to see you immediately, sir,” the footman said.
“Is she indeed?”
“I informed her ladyship that you had yet to awaken, but she insists, sir.”
Georgiana was clearly making herself very difficult, Dominic thought. At that moment there was a disturbance on the ground floor, and he heard Georgiana’s outraged tones as she lost patience and hurried up the staircase, pursued by another anxious footman.
The footman in the bedroom looked uneasily at Dominic. “Er, do you wish to see the lady, sir? Or shall I have her ejected?”
Eject Georgiana?
Her noise would be heard clear to Bristol, Dominic thought. “No, I will see her,” he said.
“But you are in your undress, sir,” the footman reminded him.
“It won’t be the first time she has seen me thus,” Dominic replied wryly.
Georgiana appeared in the doorway. Her face was flushed and angry, and the plumes and ribbons of her stylish leghorn bonnet were all aquiver. She wore a cerise pelisse over a rich butter-cream muslin gown, and a heavy white ringlet of false hair fell over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were bright and accusing, and everything about her heralded a confrontation.
Dominic nodded at the footman. “That will be all,” he said quietly.
The man began to withdraw, although not quickly enough for Georgiana, who almost pushed him out and closed the door behind him. Then she turned to face Dominic. “Where did you go last night?” she demanded.
“Go?”
“You left the ball immediately after that odd ‘ghost’ business.” Her glance moved over him, lingering slightly below his waist, because his dressing gown did not cover him quite as completely as he thought. A little extra color flushed into her cheeks, and she straightened from the door. “Well? Where did you go?”
“I came here,” he replied truthfully, hastily pulling his clothes more effectively around him.
“Why didn’t you say good night to me? After all, you’d promised me another dance, and the least you could have done was—”
“Forgive me. In all the excitement, I’m afraid you slipped my mind.”
It was definitely not a wise response, for her eyes flashed. “So I ceased to be of consequence, did I?” She moved to the window, where she rested a graceful hand against the shutter and stared down the grassy slope toward the river far below.
“Georgiana, a great deal was happening.”
“You were with
her,
weren’t you?”
Dominic went to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.
“Oh, yes, you do. That Peach creature!”
“Miss Peach is an acquaintance.”
Georgiana turned furiously, her plumes and ribbons quivering again. “She’s more than that! I saw you with her last night, Dominic. You were kissing her behind that standard. No doubt you thought yourselves well concealed, but I found you.”
“Then I know there is no point in denying that I was indeed kissing the lady in question,” he said, putting the coffeepot down on the tray.
“Did you bring her here?”
“Georgiana, I really have no intention of explaining anything to you.”
She came toward him, halting so close that he could smell the sweetness of her perfume. “Don’t I have a right to know if you’re being unfaithful to me?” she asked.
“Frankly, no, although I have had the decency to inform you in writing that I now accept your choice of Hightower, and will not embarrass you further.”
“I’ve already told you I received no letter.” She met his gaze without so much as a flicker.
“No?” He didn’t believe her.
She slowly untied her bonnet ribbons. “I’m deeply hurt to think you’d inform me of such an important matter in writing,” she said, tossing the bonnet aside.
“It’s no more than you did to me,” he reminded her.
“That was different. I was overwrought, and not thinking clearly.”
“You seemed composed enough to me.”
“I wasn’t, believe me.” Suddenly she gave him a seductive smile and came close enough to put a hand against his chest where his dressing gown was parted. Her eyes were dark with desire. “Oh, Dominic, I need you to make love to me now,” she breathed, bending forward to put her lips to the dark hairs on his chest.
He closed his eyes for a moment as she stirred the sensuous tendrils of his waking dream, but then reality swept back. It was Polly he wanted. Just as he was about to extricate himself from Georgiana’s advances, a resounding crash rang out, and she leapt back with a squeal as the silver coffee tray somehow fell from the table. Dark coffee splashed all over the pale perfection of her butter-cream muslin gown, leaving a dark brown stain that would be very difficult indeed to remove. Georgiana was inconsolable. She burst into tears and rushed to the washstand to see what she could do to lessen the damage.
As Dominic stared down at the tray, the word “brownie” flashed into his head. He cast around for any sign of Nutmeg, or of Bodkin, but saw nothing. Yet how else could the tray have fallen?
Georgiana turned angrily from the washstand. “How could you be so clumsy, Dominic!” she cried.
“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.
“You must have!” Her expression was furious.
“Georgiana, I’ve already told you that I didn’t do anything,” he replied patiently. Oh, how many times had he seen her in a temper like this? Too many to mention. He began to wonder what he had ever seen in her.
She correctly interpreted the expression in his eyes. “If you didn’t want to make love to me, you only had to say so. There was no need to do that with the tray.”
He didn’t reply, for there was no point.
“It’s that Peach creature, isn’t it? Is
she
the wife you’ve decided on? She and her inheritance, that is.”
Dominic met her eyes. “I have no need to seek a fortune, Georgiana, for I have more than enough of my own. As to whether Miss Peach is the bride I am about to seek, it really has nothing to do with you anymore.”
“But you do want her?” Georgiana pressed.
“If I do, she is the one I will inform, not you, and I will do so when I meet her at Sydney Gardens at noon. Now, I will send a footman to the White Hart so that your maid can bring you another gown, and as soon as you’ve changed, I wish you to leave.”
But as he went to the door to call for a footman, he heard her whisper, “It isn’t over yet, Dominic, not by a long shot.”
Chapter 34
It was half past eleven, and Polly was in the hotel writing room, finishing her short letter to Lord Benjamin. The room was at the rear of the hotel, with French windows that opened onto the orchestra’s balcony. She had been writing to the strains of Mozart and Handel, but as she put her quill down to read the letter, the musicians were enjoying a well-earned rest.
Sydney Hotel, October 31st, midmorning.
Lord Benjamin.
Now that some hours have passed since events at the ball, I feel I may have been a little hasty in my judgment. I was very upset, as you know, and said things I wish now had been left unsaid. It would make me feel a great deal better if you could overlook my conduct, as indeed I shall overlook yours, so that perhaps we can attempt to be agreeable toward each other. I have already conveyed my feelings regarding this to my uncle, who will no doubt confirm that contrary to what I have said thus far, I have not entirely discounted your proposal. Tonight I will attend the Halloween festivities in Sydney Gardens, at which I trust to speak civilly with you again. I sincerely hope to see on your countenance a kindness that will obliterate all past unpleasantness.
I am, sir, yours in all sincerity,
Polly Peach
She drew a long breath. Under the circumstances of their last parting, had she been too conciliatory?
A maid came up to her. “Begging your pardon. Miss Peach, but Lady Georgiana Mersenrie has called and wishes to speak with you.”
“Lady Georgiana?” Polly repeated, thinking she’d misheard.
“Yes, madam.”
“One moment.” Polly quickly addressed and folded the letter, then held sealing wax to the lighted candle on the desk. After applying her seal, she handed the letter to the maid with some coins. “Please see that a running footman takes this without delay, then show Lady Georgiana in to me.”
“Very well, madam.”
The maid hurried away, and Polly got up from the desk to go out onto the balcony, feeling somehow that she wanted to face the
chienne
in sunlight. The musicians were lounging casually on their seats, drinking tea and talking among themselves, and in the gardens the workmen by the bonfire and fireworks stands were laughing together. There was rhythmic chanting as other workmen hauled on ropes to erect the purple-and-gold royal pavilion Polly had seen on Claverton Down. Soon a red carpet would be laid to it from the broad walk, so the Duke and Duchess of York would not have to step upon the possibly damp grass of an autumn night.
The rear entrance to the hotel was directly below the balcony, and maids carried out covered trays to tables beneath the trees. Pairs of waiters brought large silver bowls of punch, some alcoholic, some not, while footmen took benches and folding chairs to strategic points in the gardens, for those of a less energetic disposition. Halfway between the hotel and the bonfire site, a shallow pit had been dug so that a whole pig could be roasted on a spit, and the jack-o’-lanterns had now been unloaded from the wagon for two boys to gradually disperse among the trees and bushes. Jingling bells announced the arrival of the hobbyhorse and morris dancers that were traditional on Halloween, although these particular ones hardly resembled those to be found in country villages. The
beau monde
did not appreciate truly rustic things, so the morris dancers were clad in cloth-of-gold and boasted more ribbons and feathers than Miss Pennyfeather’s entire stock. The hobbyhorse was so sumptuous it might have entertained the Sun King at Versailles. A poor farm laborer would not have recognized them!