Authors: Christina Dodd
N
one of the guests circulating in the huge ballroom turned to look at Caroline or her companions. They were too busy gossiping and gaping at the decorations. Cool blue silks draped the walls. Long, feathered fans dyed in shades of the rainbow were plied by footmen dressed in exotic garb from India and the Far East, creating an atmosphere both decadent and opulent. An orchestra played behind a screen, and on the dance floor, couples swirled in great circles as they waltzed, and the scene was so colorful, so beautiful, it brought a lump to Caroline’s throat. She had missed this.
“Look.” Nicolette clutched Nevett’s arm and broke into a smile. “There’s Lisa and Mary and Constance and Elizabeth. And Teresa! They’re all here. I haven’t seen them since—”
The ladies saw Nicolette at the same time and emitted small shrieks. They rushed at her, surrounding her in laughter and friendship. They expressed their pleasure in her return with hugs and an exchange of gossip so intense it sounded like another language.
“I think Mum has nothing to worry about,” Huntington murmured in Caroline’s ear.
“I think you’re right.” Nor, apparently, did Caroline. With conceit and presumption, she had assumed her return to the ton would bring a storm of gossip. But the scandal attached to her name was old. The newest members of society didn’t even recognize her. No one cared that she’d returned, and her relief was heartfelt and genuine. Caroline relaxed.
Nevett watched his wife until her friends bore her away to a corner where they could catch up on conversation. To Huntington, he said, “I’ll be in the card room if you need me to, say, announce your betrothal.”
“Not dressed in these garments!” Huntington looked shocked. “What woman would be interested? You yourself said I looked like a bruise.”
“For God’s sake, lad, you’re wealthy and you’re an earl. You could look like a toad with warts, and still the ladies would chase you! Just stand still”—Nevett waved a hand—“and don’t talk!” Incensed, he stomped off.
“Your father’s right, you know,” Caroline murmured to Huntington. “That I should take his money for finding you a bride is almost theft, but you’re making matters more difficult than they need to be.” She gestured across the ballroom, where young ladies in shimmering silks and huge full skirts dipped and danced like a thousand colorful blossoms tossed on the breeze. Their light voices mingled with the deeper sounds of gentlemen’s appreciation. The light of the candles turned their cheerful faces all aglow. “All of these youthful, pliant debutantes long for your attentions. Out of that number, we can easily weed it down to the half dozen who would suit you and make you a good wife.”
“A half dozen? I don’t need a half dozen. One will do, if she’s the right one.”
“You only get to marry one,” Caroline said, amused. She didn’t see his grave expression.
“But you mentioned a half dozen. Surely you believe that in every life, there’s only one true love.”
“Do
you
?” She pulled a long face.
“Yes.”
His simple
yes
made their lighthearted kisses into something more. Something momentous. Something never to be forgotten. He looked into her eyes, and the expression there made her rush into speech. “How do you know your one true love isn’t among this Season’s aspirants?”
Don’t look at me like that. As if I’m your true love.
Deliberately, she looked away, swept the crowd with her gaze. “Look, there are the Misses Foley. You liked them.”
He paused before answering. Paused long enough to give Caroline that panicky feeling that presaged a scene. Then in a considering voice, he said, “Charming young ladies, although the youngest seems to be obsessed with handkerchiefs.”
“What do you mean?” Caroline asked cautiously. She had thought she’d come to know this man. Now her confidence had been shaken.
“She couldn’t tear her gaze away from my handkerchief.” That sounded more like the Huntington she knew. The crisis seemed to be past.
“Then keep it in your pocket and don’t flip it.” Caroline located another debutante. “There’s Lady Amanda. Her teeth look quite white.”
“Unnaturally white,” Huntington said in a fretful voice. “Freakishly white.”
“All right.” Caroline pounced on another face she recognized. “Lady Pheodora. She’s looking…very nice.” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
“She is.” Huntington seemed equally surprised. “Amazing what a smile can do. I wonder what created such a transformation?”
“I don’t know, but her suitors like her.” A respectable bevy of gentlemen surrounded her. She wasn’t the belle of the ball, but neither was she the wallflower.
Caroline glanced around the ballroom again, and this time she caught a lady’s eye…She looked familiar, although Caroline remembered a thinner face…“Edith,” she breathed.
“What?” He followed her gaze. “Ah, Lady James. No, I don’t think I can wed her. Lord James would complain.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We were friends. Best of friends.”
“That’s right. I recall hearing you say that at Mum’s tea.”
Caroline smiled to see the dear face, but she didn’t rush across the room. She knew better than to force her scandalous self on a former comrade, no matter how fond.
She needn’t have worried. Edith’s eyes widened, and she gave a squeal reminiscent of the squeal that had greeted Nicolette’s arrival. As if that sound signaled a reunion, from around the ballroom five squeals sounded, and Caroline saw her old allies bearing down on her. They surrounded her in a rush, hugging, babbling about a hundred things, asking questions and telling her the news. Her eyes filled with awkward tears, but she brushed them away and returned each hug. “Alice. How good to see you. You’re blooming! Louisa, dear, I love your gown. Martha, when is your baby due? Volumnia, you’re as beautiful as ever.” She wondered if they’d heard she was coming and planned this, and thought how lovely it was to have such genuine friends.
Over the tops of their heads, she saw Huntington. He stood flipping his handkerchief and watching, an expression of amused indulgence on his face. And silly as the thought was, she wondered if
he’d
had something to do with this ostentatious display of support.
“How have you been?” Volumnia asked. “I think of you often.”
“Especially when I see that cad Freshie,” Martha said in a low voice. “Hateful man. He should be banned from society.”
Caroline’s smile twisted painfully. “There’s little chance of that. Is he here tonight?” That was what she feared. He was what she feared.
The ladies exchanged glances. “I haven’t seen him, but he and that dreadful wife of his are always late and fighting. He doesn’t even pretend interest in her anymore, and she rips at him in public. A more miserable couple—”
“Tsk,” Caroline said, with patent insincerity.
The ladies grinned.
“You always had a way of saying so little, yet so much.” Louisa threw her arms around Caroline. “I have missed you.”
“I felt so awful about abandoning you, but Mama wouldn’t hear of me standing by you. Now I’m a matron, and Mama has nothing to say about what I do.” Edith smirked.
“I wager she’ll still have plenty to
say
.” Caroline remembered how easily Edith’s mama had been swayed by her dear friend Lady Reederman, and bitterly she knew that had she been of noble background, the older matrons wouldn’t have been so unyielding.
“Probably, but I don’t have to listen.” Putting her head closer to Caroline’s, Edith mischievously glanced at Huntington from the corners of her eyes. “Is it true Huntington is madly in love with you?”
“Not at all!” She had guessed the rumors might start, and she was glad for the chance to quash them.
The little circle of friends tittered as they turned to Huntington.
“Perhaps we should ask him if he’s madly in love with
you,
” Martha said.
He bowed to them all. “I harbor a deep and abiding admiration for Miss Ritter. Any other emotion in my heart is my secret to keep.”
The tittering grew louder.
“Stop teasing.” Caroline frowned at him and enlisted her friends in a manner that she knew they couldn’t resist. “In truth, Her Grace asked that I accompany Huntington on his hunt for a wife. Ladies, who would you suggest as a bride for Lord Huntington?”
As her friends closed in on him, Huntington shot her a glance that promised retribution.
Caroline grinned as each debutante in the ballroom was pointed out, her merits weighed and her faults discussed. Regardless of his costume, none of her friends seemed to recognize any shortcoming in Huntington, proving that Nevett’s presumption was right. A wealthy, titled nobleman need do nothing but stand still and keep quiet, and his bride would find him.
The gathering of young matrons around Caroline had attracted a kind of whispering attention, and as Caroline looked around she encountered glances that slid away before they touched hers. People were remembering. They were deciding. It wouldn’t be long before she discovered whether the majority of society would vote with their black stones—then lift those stones and cast them at her.
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Last time, she’d cowered and cried. This time, she would stand firm, be poised, give no hint of weakness. As she cast her confident gaze across the assemblage, one man stepped forth. She’d feared Lord Freshfield, but this…she’d never expected this.
Her father. For the love of heaven, her father was there.
As always, he looked and dressed like a prosperous merchant, plump and conservative, and he looked out of place among the glamorous and the fashionable.
As he approached, the volume of voices around her grew lower.
He bowed without a hint of interest and affection. “I trust you’re enjoying the ball, daughter.”
Rattled, she answered, “Indeed sir, I am.”
“Good. Good.” He stood beside her another few moments, gazing out at the crowd. “You’ll tell His Grace I spoke to you?”
“Ah.” Now Caroline understood. This was the public display of paternal acceptance Nevett had promised. Her father had made the gesture on Nevett’s command. “Yes, sir, of course.”
He bowed again and disappeared into the crowd.
Why? After so many years, why had she seen him not once, but twice in such a small space of time? What was he after?
The volume of voices rose again, and it seemed the preponderance of approval from the duke and duchess, from her friends and from her father had swayed many of the guests. She answered greetings from people she barely remembered, and the single gentlemen drifted closer.
Comte de Guignard arrived at her side first, the ubiquitous Monsieur Bouchard trailing behind. “Miss Ritter, my greatest pleasure is to see you here.” His bow was courtly, his kiss on her glove reverent. “Among a garden of beautiful English roses, you are the champion. Your beauty does not fade, but in fact grows greater with each passing day.”
“Oh, it’ll fade soon enough,” she said prosaically. She didn’t want to be wooed. Not by him, not by anyone. She wouldn’t have Nevett accuse her of failing in her duty.
Goose hurried up with the eagerness he’d always displayed. Young Lord Vickers followed him and stammered a greeting.
Casting superior glances over his shoulder at the other men, Lord Routledge approached and bowed. “Miss Ritter, we met at Her Grace’s tea.”
“Of course, I remember you.”
You supercilious little twit
. Her own savagery surprised her. He was the kind of man she’d considered eminently marriageable four years ago. Now his overweening confidence grated on her nerves, and her courtesy held an edge of irritation.
Not that he noticed. “May I have a dance?” He bowed again, obviously expecting her eager acceptance.
“I don’t dance.” She smiled to take the sting out of her refusal. “I’m here as a friend of Lord Huntington’s family, and it would be inappropriate for me to indulge myself.”
“Surely the family wouldn’t have brought you to a ball and imposed such restrictions on you.”
Monsieur Bouchard moved closer, and the stench of cigars was so strong she took a step back. She felt badly; he seemed a pleasant enough man, if rough about the edges, but he did smell of tobacco, and his teeth were the color of tea. “They did not,” she said. “I imposed them on myself.”
In varying stages of indignation, the gentlemen all turned to glare at Huntington.
And he, who had been discussing the merits of each debutante with Caroline’s friends, had no idea of his crime. Yet right before her eyes, she watched him slip into the role of fool. He pulled out his overly large handkerchief and waved it like a signal flag. “What? My dear Comte de Guignard! My dear Monsieur Bouchard! Why do you frown at me so critically?” He glanced down at his purple waistcoat. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it? You’ve detected my charade.”
“What charade?” Monsieur Bouchard bristled like a dog on the scent.
“I dressed badly tonight because…because…” As Huntington’s lie collapsed, his handkerchief fell limply by his side. “You’re too astute. You see the truth.”
“Which is?” Comte de Guignard’s hostile gaze studied Huntington.
“I listened to my valet instead of my own good taste, and now I’m dressed like this.” The handkerchief flapped up and down his form.
Caroline closed her eyes in dismay.
“We were not speaking of…that,” Comte de Guignard said, from between clenched teeth.
“Then what, my dear comte?” Huntington’s brow knit. “I want nothing more than to please you.”
“You could please the rest of us, too,” Goose said.
“Yes, I adore Miss R…Ritter,” Lord Vickers added.
“Do you know what Miss Ritter does in your name?” Comte de Guignard asked. “She refuses to dance. It is an outrage!”
This was the kind of scene Caroline wanted to avoid. “I beg you gentlemen, remember that I won’t dance regardless of Lord Huntington’s opinion. As much as I value that commodity, it’s my decision.”
“Ah, you have no man to make your decisions for you.” Comte de Guignard kissed her hand again. “Pardon, but the gentlemen in your England must all be without sense to leave you so alone.”