“Not well âeeled? But I 'ad it off Lord Featherstone's undermaidâa cosy little piece if I say so meselfâthat yer ship 'ad come in in more ways than one.”
Anne heard the slow trot of hooves behind her. Just a little nearer and she would seize her chance and scream.
“Lord Featherstone? What has
he
to do with anything?”
“Toffee-nosed chap. âas windmills in is 'ead 'e does. Gambles on practically everything that moves. 'as a losin' streak as long as me arm. Mind yer, won by a long shot on that there
Polaris
or whatever. No but thought 'e'd 'ad it in 'im.”
Anne nodded. Then, Ethan Clark had not revealed her secret. No doubt his partner, Mr. Wiley, had had a loose tongue when revealing Lord Featherstone's share of the investment. Despite her dire situation, she felt a weight removed from her chest. Betrayal pained her more than greed and vengeance. The hoovesâdid she hear four pair?âwere now close enough to chance her luck. Anything would be better than allowing Samson to carry her off unchallenged into the mists.
“Ere!” Samson saw her move and leveled the weapon just inches from her head.”
“Take it easy, Samson! You asked me to dismount, and I am doing just that. I would hardly be any use to you dead or even injured, so I suggest you put away the infernal gun.”
Samson wavered for a moment. Anne seized her chance and screamed as she jumped from the side of the horse farthest from the gun. She fell to the ground and gasped as the air was pushed from her lungs from the landing. Almost reflexively, Samson's gun fired. Then she could remember no more but an answering shout and the thundering of hooves.
When Anne opened her eyes, Mrs. Tibbet's was the first face she saw. After that, it was a confusing medley of bobbing copper curls and an overpoweringly exuberant Lord Tukebury, who looked alternately like the cat who had got the cream and a strutting cockerel.
“What happened?”
“Oh Miss Derringer! You missed the most famous fun!”
In spite of her aching ribs, Anne's lips twitched, though her voice was dry as she commented, “Evidently.”
“Robert was leading me backâon Dartford, you knowâ”
“Yes, I know, and I advise it is best not to remind me!”
“Yes, well, anyway! We heard the gun and your scream, and Robert dropped my reins and thundered forward likeâlikeâ”
“Like lightning!” Kitty interpolated with relish.
“How do
you
know? You weren't even there!”
Kitty obliged her brother with the most disgusting of faces, causing her beloved governess to lie back against the cushions in despair. Had she taught the little vixen nothing?
“Sorry, Miss Derringer, but sometimes Tom can be the most provoking, pig-headedâ”
“Enough of that, children! If you do not stop your quarreling, I shall forbid you Miss Derringer's chamber!”
Mrs. Tibbet was surprisingly fierce. She had just returned with a cup of chocolate and several slices of mouth-watering Madeira cake, and her threat was met with squeals of protest. Nevertheless, it had the desired effect. Tom was allowed to continue with his story uninterrupted, despite several rather baleful glares from his sister.
“The manâheaven knows who he wasâreloaded and took a shot at Robertâ”
“What?”
Anne sat up with a shock.
“It was nothingâwinged him, merely ...”
Mrs. Tibbet nodded to confirm, so Anne unclenched her fist and allowed her arrested breathing to resume a little more normally.
“Thenâ
then
comes the best bit!” Tom bounced on one foot and hopped up to Anne.
“He came up to Robertâwho was cast from his horseâand tried to ...”
“There, there, Tom! Come to the point! Miss Derringer is looking faint!”
“Well, he came up to Robert and was about to kick him in the ribs when he stumbled and his gun fired again. Dartford took frightâhe is a very frisky animal, you know ...” Anne suppressed a smile at his superior attitude.
“... and plunged into the fray. I was nearly unseated, but I clung on fastâas tight as I couldâand we charged. Goodness! The man gulped with fright and dropped his weapon. He was nearly crushed, but I pulled the reins as hard as I could and missed him by a hairsbreadth!”
The recitation ended with such an excited flourish that Anne laughed out loud.
“Stuff and nonsense, Tom!
Then
came the best bit!” Miss copper curls could not help this outburst despite a warning frown from the housekeeper.
“Robert grabbed the varmint by the scruff of his neck and landed him such a facer I warrant he shall not think straight for weeks!”
Tom was scornful. “How do
you
know?”
“I was standing looking down from the gazebo. I'd come out to look for you.”
“You couldn't have seen anything! The place was covered in mist!”
“It had just cleared. See.” Kitty pointed outside. “It is all gone, and the air smells heavenly.”
Anne could not contain her curiosity. “What happened then?”
“Then?”
“Yes, after his lordship gave him his comeuppance?”
“Oh, then! Then he clear fainted.”
“Who? Samson?”
“No, silly! Robert.”
Anne spilt her chocolate over the crisp counterpane.
Mrs. Tibbet tut-tutted furiously and sent the little varmints from the room. They took one look at her and scarpered.
Twenty
“He is fine, Miss Derringer. He simply lost a small amount of blood from the wound and the exertion of planting the man a facer ...”
“He is all right, now?”
“As right as a trivet. He begged me pay you his compliments and inform you that Samson Weatherby shall bother you no more. As we speak, he is bound in custody. It is fortunate that the magistrate is a passing acquaintance of the earl's, for he attended to the matter at once. He was so diligent in his duties that I reckon Samson will not be driving anywhere for a while.”
Anne nodded absently, for in truth her concern was less with the scandalous behaviour of the coachman than with the condition of Lord Edgemere.
“You are certain his lordship is not ill? Should a doctor not be called for?”
Mrs. Tibbet smiled. “Call a doctor for such a paltry wound? Certainly not! My lord would not
countenance
such a thing! His man bound up the wound tightly, and the last I saw of him, he was greeting some of the early arrivals.”
“Has Lady Caroline arrived?”
“Not yet, and I expect we won't see her till quite late.”
“Why ever not?”
“Lady Caroline, I am afraid, always makes a grand entrance. She will arrive when all heads can turn to see her. That, Miss Derringer, was ever her way.” Mrs. Tibbet pursed her lips and said no more. By the time she had seen to the tea things, Anne's mood had darkened considerably.
If Lord Edgemere was well enough to welcome guests, he was well enough, surely, to check on her. In her slightly dazed state, Anne neglected to consider the propriety of such an action. It would be unseemly, indeed, for his lordship to make such a gesture when she was confined to her chamber. Mrs. Tibbet glanced at her anxiously.
“Are you certain you have taken no harm, Miss Anne? I mislike those circles under your eyes, and your cheeks seem so pale ...”
“I am perfectly fine, thank you!” The cheval glass reflecting her image did not seem to think so, but Anne had no patience with such trifles.
“Go, Mrs. Tibbet! I am sure you have a thousand and one things to do what with housing the orchestra, overseeing the food ...”
“Gracious! The orchestra! I hope I have allowed enough space for the instruments. I settled for the far corner by the potted palms, but I am afraid it is going to be a tight squeeze.”
“It shall all be perfectly delightful, I am sure.” Anne was not sure, for her heart was breaking. The earl had refused her rash offerâshe felt foolish enough about thatâand was now going to plunge himself into a betrothal with a woman who was quite contemptible. At best, she was unworthy of the earl's inestimable merits. And for what? For the simple sake of masculine honour. The earl would not stand to be sued for breach. The scandal to his noble name would, incomprehensibly to Anne, be impossible to bear.
Anne hoped she could trust her instincts enough to believe the earl had never been trifling with her regard. He loved her, she could feel it. The undercurrents between them were too strong to dismiss out of hand. So then? So it seemed he was now reduced to having his hand forced by a woman brazen enough to be a doxy. It was a shame, a crying shame. True, he had told her to be patient. But he had also told her he meant to become betrothed that night. And since he had refused
her
humble offer, it could only mean that the detestable Miss Dashford had won.
Anne's indignation was hard to bear. Mrs. Tibbet was looking at her queerly, so she forced a smile to her lips.
“I am much better now, I assure you! Off you go, for the success of the ball depends upon it, I am certain! If I need anything, I have only to ring.”
Agatha Tibbet relented. “There is a pitcher of iced lemonade on the dresser. I shall mend your gown, but in the meanwhile, I have put out a rose satin that belonged to Lady Lucinda, the previous Countess Edgemere. She would have liked you.”
The words were softly spoken, but Anne divined a hidden quality to them that she could not quite define. It was almost as though Mrs. Tibbet was conferring a blessing upon her. But there! The fall must have shaken her senses, for she was being woefully fanciful for such a prosaic young lady.
“Thank you, but I shall not be attending the ball, you know.”
“I know, but it would be a shame to waste such a pretty gown. You are exactly the right size for it, and I cannot think of a better person to wear it.” The housekeeper said no more. She couldn't, for she was inexplicably overcome. She squeezed Anne's listless hand once, then shut the door quietly behind her.
Â
Â
“Ah, Sir Archibald! A word with you, please!”
Lord Edgemere looked dapper in a Weston creation of deep emerald green, nipped tightly at the waist and sporting a diamond pin that sparkled from his eminently fashionable waterfall cascade.
Sir Archibald eyed the cravat with distaste. His valet had spent the better part of an afternoon trying to achieve just such an effect but to no avail. Several discarded neckerchiefs lay upon the bed to tell their sorry story. And as for that pin ... it must be worth a small fortune at the very least. The best he could manage was a meagre gold clasp encrusted with a rather poor paste ruby. Life, at times, was singularly unfair.
“What is it, Edgemere? Come to gloat, have you?”
“Good Lord, no, Sir Archibald! What
can
have made you imagine such a thing? Allow me.”
With a deft twist of his hand he removed his guest's final attempt at the waterfall and snapped his fingers at the watchful valet who hovered anxiously behind him. “Fetch me another cloth, my good man, then be off with you.”
“What?” expostulated Sir Archibald.
Lord Edgemere said nothing until he had a crisp neckerchief in his hands. He nodded curtly to the servant, who stammered a bow and looked uncertainly at his master.
“Oh,
go,
Sebastian! Heaven knows, you have already made a dismal mull of things. And shut the door behind you, will you? This house has ears.” Sir Archibald glared defiantly at the earl as the handle finally clicked.
“Well?”
“In a minute, Sir Archibald! First things first.” The earl stepped forward and placed the cravat smartly about Dalrymple's neck. For an instant, he had the unnerving impulse to choke the life out of the man. Then his smooth civility returned, and he deftly created a complicated series of knots called, in the highest circles, “the lotus.” Sir Archibald caught sight of himself in the glass and grunted.
“How the devil did you ... ?”
“Practice, sir Archibald. Practice and a little flair. There! You look much more presentable, do you not?”
Dalrymple could not help preening a little, though his head still ached and he regarded Lord Edgemere's attentions with the deepest of suspicion. He fingered the neckcloth nervously but allowed his lordship to help him into his well-padded coat. He hoped that the lambs wool would hide his minor imperfections of form, but next to Lord Edgemere's lithe and impossibly muscular physique, he despaired.
“Damn your eyes, Edgemere! What in tarnation do you want with me?”
“I believe the reverse is more to the point, Sir Archibald.”
The baronet raised his speckled brows inquiringly. “By which you mean ... ?”
“By which I mean that if you wish to continue to gain credit through your possession of the diamonds, you will listen most carefully.”
Lord Edgemere had struck the right cord. He had Dalrymple's full attention at last.
Â
Â
The ballroom, as Mrs. Tibbet had predicted, was full to the brim. Lord Anchorford's guests had arrived in two carriages, though Lady Caroline had declined the offer of the second barouche, preferring, she said, to arrive “a little later.” Lady Anchorford had kindly accepted her claim of fatigue, though she acidly remarked to her husband that Lady Dashford could be relied upon to upset her household by calling up a coachman later in the evening.
Apart from this minor entourage, there were all the country gentry who had been invited from Hampton and Staines to the other side of Kingsbury. Anne would have smiled to note the imposing presence of the Countess of Eversleigh, who glittered with a thousand jewels and an overheavy tiara upon her bluish grey head. Alongside her was Miss Danvers, primly dressed in a brown gown of dull merino. She clutched at her reticule with pursed looks and generally took in the festivities with a jaundiced air.
Festivities they were, for the combined ballrooms were bedecked with flowers, the walls hung with shimmering satins of canary, lavenders and greens. Mrs. Tibbet had outdone herself with the lighting, for she had achieved a radiant effect with hundreds of gleaming candelabras. Chandeliers from the ceiling glittered a breathtaking mix of crystal and white wax. Flickering flames were reflected everywhere in mirrors strategically placed to the greatest advantage. Members of the orchestra were, contrary to all expectation, seated with the greatest of comfort. The discerning guest could just make them out, seated in buttoned leather chairs next to a plethora of potted palms, ferns and cycads.
The dance floors gleamed with beeswax, but already there was very little space left to note the clever parquet work, for it seemed that the whole of England had arrived for the occasion.
Lord Edgemere bowed regally as guest after guest arrived and made their curtsies and legs. No oneânot even Mrs. Tibbet, who eyed him anxiously from the galleryâcould detect any sign of perturbation. If his arm ached beneath his perfectly fitted sleeve, he certainly showed no outward sign.
“Lady Grafton and Princess Esterhazy! How very kind of you to make the journey!”
“Wouldn't miss it for the world, Edgemere! Society has waited long enough for you to do the right thing by it. No good one of the most eligible bachelors of the decade closeting himself up with a pair of whippersnapper siblings and the old family retainers! I remember the days of your dear mama ... oh, it was a merry place then!” She looked about her with an interested air. “I see you have purchased a few marbles. Taking up Lord Elgin's interest?”
“I wouldn't be so presumptuous! I do, however, have strong classical interests, and if you care to, I could show you the long gallery where I house much of my collection.”
“Hmm ... tempting, but I wouldn't be so callous as to monopolize so much of your time, Edgemere! The ballroom abounds with young ladies with more pressing claims, I imagine.” With a teasing glance she rapped him over the knuckles with her fan and moved on. The queue appeared endless, but Edgemere stood his ground, determined to greet every last one of his guests, many of whom had travelled from as far afield as London and even Bath to grace his home. Considering the ridiculously short notice and the inclement weather, it was a testament both to his quiet popularity and to the novelty of his providing such an entertainment that so few people had declined.
He nodded to one of the upper house staff, and the orchestra struck up soon after. A glance at the hall clock indicated that Lady Caroline, of course, was late. He sighed impatiently. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sir Archibald leering at one of the debutantes. He was playing with the folds of his cravat, which irritated Edgemere slightly, for he noted that his excellent handiwork was coming loose. Lord Willoughby Rothbart, true to form, was monopolizing the attentions of Lily Farrington, society's latest heiress. She seemed to be enjoying his company, for she was even now extending her dance card, despite several disapproving looks from her chaperone.
Edgemere resisted the temptation to tap his foot. Where
was
she, the vixen? All his plans depended upon her arrival. Ah! He believed he heard the announcement now. “Mr. Arthur Mortimer, Miss Serena Mortimer, Lady Caroline Dashford ...”
He took a pinch of snuff before bowing pleasantly over Miss Serena's hand and nodding to her father. Thenâonly thenâdid he acknowledge Lady Caroline's arrival.
She was magnificent, as he fully expected. She was wearing a satin gown with a band of blond silk crisscrossing her well-endowed bosom. Her draped tunic was a vivid gold, complemented by an open tunic of shimmering silver that was drawn closed at the hipline by a jeweled brooch. Both the longer hem of the gown and the shorter hem of the tunic were edged with wide, embroidered bands of the identical style to the short, puffed sleeves. Her fan was carried shut to reveal the stem, studded in diamonds. Her hair was shining guinea gold, piled up high in an elaborate coiffure and fastened with roses. None of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was wearing the necklace. It glittered and danced upon her neck as though it were a thousand stars, set down from the firmament and emblazoning her person in a manner that overshadowed all her other artifices. Had she been wearing nothing but rags, she would still have looked splendid.
“Lady Caroline. I am honoured.” Lord Edgemere took her hand and pressed a kiss upon her palm. From the top gallery, Miss Derringer, arrayed in soft rose, took a step backward into the shadows. She would not, after all, be attending.