by Jane Ashford
“Them?” repeated Henry.
James frowned at him.
“You say the word as if young ladies were an alien species,” Henry added.
“Nonsense.”
Henry gazed at him briefly, then shrugged. “I’ve found that the best way to become better acquainted is to ask people about themselves.”
“Ah. That would also make it easier to tell them apart.”
“Yes, James, it should do that as well.” Henry picked up his wineglass and sipped. Fleetingly, James thought he had the air of an audience member at a play. Then he turned back to his own concerns.
***
Cecelia entered Mrs. Landry’s evening party with a heightened sense of anticipation. This London season was unfolding so differently from the ones that had preceded it. She felt as if anything might happen. She’d never had a group of friends as close as the four young ladies whose company she now enjoyed. She’d never been the object of rivalrous attention by two sought-after beaus, along with a string of other young men who followed their lead. And most of all, she’d never received such marked attentions from James. Many nights found him eyeing her from some little distance, his stance positively Byronic, his mouth set, his gaze hot. She knew that the unfolding contest with the prince goaded him more than her surely familiar charms, but it was still a delicious thrill. The intensity of his look filled her with a heat that made her glow. She felt it elevate her to heights of animation she’d never attained before.
The excitement had led her to expand her wardrobe. The new gown she wore tonight was the height of fashion—a scooped neck and puffed sleeves on an underdress of aquamarine satin with an overlay of floating pearly gauze. Her mirror had told her it became her very well. She had a spray of creamy blossoms in her hair, and she could almost feel the sparkle in her eyes.
And there was James across the room, looking at her. In the past he’d come late to parties. Those he bothered to attend. She couldn’t recall one where she’d arrived after him. Now the tables were turned.
He was gazing at her, single-minded, demanding. And so very handsome in his austere evening clothes—his broad shoulders filling out the dark coat, his face a classical perfection, his dark hair an artfully tousled Brutus. Things had changed so quickly between them. She didn’t truly believe in it. She continually expected everything to fall back like Cinderella’s coach reverting to a pumpkin. And yet the reversal was delectable. She nearly laughed aloud with delight.
He began moving toward her—a slow process in the crowded room. He was stopped repeatedly to speak with acquaintances. She wouldn’t stand here like a mooncalf watching him. Cecelia turned away and joined her friends’ conversation. But she felt it when James came to her side a bit later, even before he said, “Miss Vainsmede.” The thread of connection that had long been established between them had shifted to a higher vibration recently.
His bow included them all. “Ladies.”
A chorus of murmured greetings answered him.
“We were talking of tonight’s tableaux,” said Charlotte.
“Tableaux?” He frowned over the word.
“Mrs. Landry’s daughters will be recreating famous scenes from ancient history,” said Sarah.
Briefly, James looked appalled. Cecelia saw it. She wasn’t certain whether the others did. She bit back her smile.
“You can see why they might choose to,” said Harriet. “Clio, Euterpe, Melpomene, and Calliope.” She ticked the names off on her fingers as she spoke.
Cecelia had rarely seen James at a loss. Even when much younger he’d been good at hiding ignorance. Now, he’d gone blank. She took pity on him. “Mrs. Landry’s daughters have classical Greek names,” she said.
“From the Muses,” said Sarah. “Some of them.”
“She took care to avoid the racier ones, like Erato,” added Charlotte.
“And I would have chosen Thalia over Melpomene,” said Sarah. Seeming to notice James’s confusion, she added, “Comedy over tragedy, you know.”
“It is also far easier to pronounce,” said Harriet dryly.
“No doubt you studied all nine muses at Eton,” Cecelia couldn’t help but add.
“Studied?” replied James. His tone implied that she’d mentioned some alien activity. “I don’t recall doing anything like that.”
“How very aristocratic of you,” said Harriet with dry disapproval.
She’d nonplussed him. James was not accustomed to being criticized. Cecelia nearly pitied him. But not quite. It should be a salutary process.
He turned to Sarah. “What part of England do you come from?” he asked her.
Cecelia blinked, surprised. This was not James’s sort of question. Nor was he prone to such sudden, awkward shifts of subject.
“I grew up in Cornwall,” replied Sarah. “Padstow. It’s very near Tintagel.”
“Tin…?”
“Where King Arthur’s mother lived and Uther Pendragon visited her disguised as her husband.”
Once again, James was clearly bewildered. He’d never been much of a reader. This was nearly as good as a play, Cecelia thought. What would he say? She had no intention of helping him.
“Disguised?” was the response he chose.
“Well, magically altered,” said Sarah. “By Merlin. So Igraine would think it was Gorlois. And, er…ah, welcome him. Uther, that is. Because their union was fated and…”
Ada cleared her throat audibly.
Sarah grimaced in response. “Once I begin on King Arthur, I talk too much,” she said.
James glanced at Cecelia. She gave him a sweet smile that said, no, she wouldn’t rescue him. Why should she? It was too amusing to watch him extricate himself. Or not. She rather hoped he would not.
“Are you enjoying the season, Miss Moran?” he asked.
He was going to fall back on platitudes. Probably wise. But Cecelia gave him full marks for recalling Sarah’s name. That was quite unlike him as well.
“Oh yes!” replied Sarah. “And as it is to be my only one, I intend to savor it to the full.”
“It happens every year,” James said.
“My family cannot afford another,” replied Sarah.
It seemed James was not accustomed to such frankness. He said nothing.
“I will invite you to visit whenever we come,” said Ada.
“You’ll be restoring your castle for years. You won’t be back in town.”
“Have you a castle, Miss Grandison?” James asked. He seemed to be trying to avoid looking at Ada’s eyebrows.
Cecelia was overtaken by a sense of unreality. James seldom bothered about other people, particularly unknown young ladies. He didn’t care about their lives. That is, he never had. Was this a real change? Doubt intruded. More likely it was a ploy in the game he was playing.
“My future husband does,” answered Ada.
“We told you about him,” Cecelia said. This would be a test. The old James would never have remembered her fiancé’s name or their situation.
“Ah, yes.” James waited. No one elaborated. “I dined with your brother recently,” he said to Charlotte.
An acceptable save, Cecelia decided. He had forgotten. But he’d recovered and lobbed the conversation ball in another direction. People didn’t expect gentlemen to be interested in engagements and weddings in any case. Aside from their own. And sometimes not even then.
“I suppose he has to eat,” said Charlotte. Sarah gasped at her rudeness.
James looked amused. Indeed, this seemed to be the first remark he’d enjoyed in the entire conversation. “As do we all, Miss Deeping.”
A low exclamation escaped Harriet. It sounded involuntary and distressed.
“What is it?” Ada asked her. “Oh, your grandfather is here.”
They all looked. James followed their collective gaz
e to the fat, choleric-looking man standing in the entry. “You mean Winstead?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Cecelia, conscious of Harriet’s unease.
“Winstead the nabob?”
Harriet scowled at James. “Yes. He became very rich and now he has decided to leave his money to me, so we must never mention the fact that he allowed us to scrimp and scrape all my life and said some despicable things about my father when he died. Before that, too. And I must not mind his ‘abrupt’ manners or ever lose my temper in his presence. He is to be catered to like a veritable monarch.” She put her hands to her flaming cheeks. “Oh, I–I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Please don’t repeat…” The others moved to shield her from curious eyes, a ruffled phalanx. Harriet took a deep breath.
Cecelia threw James a speaking look. She knew he was no gossip, but he might inadvertently expose Harriet if he described this scene. Should she just say so? She tried to convey the idea with her expression first.
James held her gaze. For a moment, it seemed as if they were alone in a silent, intimate conversation. They had come to understand each other over the years. When it really mattered. He turned to Harriet and said, “My father was just such a petty tyrant. It is terribly burdensome, is it not?”
Harriet gaped at him, mouth and eyes wide. Then she recovered, blinked, and nodded.
Cecelia was equally stunned. Indeed, the whole group seemed to be. James was not known for sensitive confidences.
“But at some point they no longer have power over you,” he added.
“When they’re dead?” asked Harriet, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “What is wrong with me?”
“Mostly,” James agreed, as if she’d said nothing unusual. “I don’t suppose his health was weakened by incessant working?”
Harriet choked on a scandalized laugh. Charlotte looked at James with the first sign of approval she’d shown him. Sarah and Ada exchanged astonished glances.
James met Cecelia’s eyes again. He raised one brow as if to ask how he’d done. She bowed her head in grateful acknowledgment.
“Oh, there’s Prince Karl,” said Sarah.
Cecelia watched James’s expression turn sour. She didn’t enjoy it quite as much as she might have earlier.
“His country is small and mostly mountainous,” Sarah added, with the air of one who felt obliged to change the subject, whatever awkwardness that required.
“Not overly prosperous,” Ada chimed in.
“His father is a grand duke, not a king,” said Sarah. “Even though he is a prince. Which I don’t precisely understand.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Cecelia.
“We’ve been investigating.” Charlotte was eyeing the prince. “Perhaps I’ll ask him about the titles.”
“Please don’t,” muttered Harriet, her voice still strained.
“Investigating?” asked James. He seemed torn between curiosity and puzzlement, with an underlying hint of admiration.
“My aunt Julia knows Countess Esterhazy,” said Ada. “A little. And the countess knows all the Germans.”
The wife of the ambassador from Austria-Hungary would be well informed about that part of the world, Cecelia thought. She hadn’t realized that her friends had been making inquiries.
The prince had seen them and was striding over, the crowd parting at his martial stride.
“Good evening,” he said, bowing and clicking his heels. He wore a blue coat with frogged closings and epaulettes tonight, more florid than the English style. “Such a garland of lovely ladies,” he continued. “Like a bouquet of flowers—Miss Moran a daisy, Miss Deeping a slender pale lily, Miss Grandison a primrose, Miss Finch a ruddy tulip, and Miss Vainsmede of course a rose.”
This sounded like a prepared speech, and Cecelia didn’t think the blooms really matched their individual personalities. Prince Karl offered James a bare nod. It was returned in kind. They might have been two tomcats meeting in a narrow alley ready to contest the territory.
“What are these tableaux they speak of?” the prince asked Cecelia. “I have not seen such things before.”
“It’s all beer and sausages where you come from then?” said James.
“More likely a fine Riesling and intelligent conversation.” The bluff blond prince stood in contrast to James’s dark hair and blue eyes.
“You speak English so well, Prince Karl,” said Sarah.
If there was smoothing over to be done, Sarah always stepped forward. Cecelia liked her for it, though she doubted it would do much good in this case.
“I am well educated. It is thought important where I come from.” The prince’s deep voice held just a brush of menace.
“Tableaux,” said Cecelia, feeling this had gone far enough. “The daughters of the household will be re-creating scenes from ancient history this evening.”
“Like a play?” asked the prince.
“No, it is a static presentation. A curtain is drawn back and we all…appreciate the picture.”
“I see. How authentic are they to be, I wonder? The ancients wore some scanty draperies.” His gaze drifted over the crowd in speculation.
“You are offensive,” said James.
“Ja? Perhaps my English is not so perfect after all.” Prince Karl bowed to Cecelia. “I beg pardon if I said something wrong.”
His hazel eyes gleamed with something. Cecelia didn’t think it was remorse. Was he teasing them? She hadn’t expected that.
The prince turned to James. “We had spoken of fencing. But we have made no arrangements. Perhaps you are reluctant?”
“I will meet you at Angelo’s whenever you like,” James snapped.
“That is the famous fencing school, isn’t it?” asked Sarah. “I wish I might see inside. I’ve always wanted to observe real swordplay. It is so historical.”
“Females aren’t admitted,” said James.
“I know.” Sarah sighed.
“Because we can have no interests beyond embroidery and tea cakes,” said Charlotte sourly.
“Perhaps we should hold a public bout,” suggested Prince Karl. “So that the ladies might be…edified.”
“A vulgar display, you mean?” asked James, his tone a drawling setdown.
“A demonstration of skill.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ah. Well, I suppose it would be humiliating to lose in front of everyone.” Prince Karl gave Cecelia a sidelong look and a smug smile.
James clearly saw it. “I am not concerned about losing,” he answered.
“Yet you have found so many excuses for avoiding me.” The prince shook his head. “It seems like…timidity, shall we say.” He cocked his head at Cecelia. “This is an English word, yes? Timidity? Like a Maus?”
“I will meet you where and when you like,” said James through clenched teeth.
“Ah, good. Let us set a day and time.”
Cecelia thought of speaking, but it was obvious that nothing anyone said would stop the two men now. She could at least signal her dislike of the plan, however. Gathering her friends with a glance, she left the gentlemen to their wrangling over details.
The tableaux began soon after this. The household had gone to a great deal of effort to show off the beauties of the four Landry daughters, creating elaborate scenes with pillars, vases, antique weapons, and draperies. The costumes the girls wore were not scanty, but they did show them to best advantage, and they looked terribly proud of their achievement. Which made it really too bad, Cecelia thought, that the effect was lessened by word of the proposed fencing match, which threatened to overwhelm their presentation. She caught murmurs about the contest running through the crowd, bouncing from one side of the room to the other. Inevitable since the two men would discuss it in public. Eyeing them, she decided that Prince Karl was very pleased with himself. James exhibited
a mild glower. In other circumstances she would have put it down to boredom with the party. And perhaps it was, for he left before the tableaux were finished.
The evening lost some of its sparkle with his departure. Cecelia did her part in congratulating the performers. She talked with her friends and accepted the attentions of Prince Karl and gentlemen who were following the current fashion of admiring her. It was still novel to be a fashion and a little amusing to watch fellows try to top each other’s empty flattery. But she was ready when the festivities ended and her group headed for their carriage.
Back home, passing the drawing room doorway on her way to bed, Cecelia was surprised to hear a voice calling her name. She stepped inside. “Aunt Valeria, you are awake.”
“I am,” said her aunt, who sat in her accustomed chair still dressed for the day.
“Why?” Aunt Valeria never waited up for her.
“Because of an irritating visit from Mrs. Mikkelson,” she replied. “Who wished to be sure I was aware of the excessive attentions you are receiving this season. As I ‘do not go out.’”
“Mrs. Mikkelson is a notorious gossip and generally gets her stories wrong,” Cecelia pointed out.
“Undoubtedly.” Cecelia’s aunt snorted. “She had written out her whole case, in deference to my deafness.” She held up some handwritten pages. “I was never more glad of that ruse as she soon tired of shouting at me and took herself off.”
“I don’t know what she could mean by excessive,” Cecelia said, still absorbing this unexpected annoyance.
“More than you deserve, apparently. Though how such a thing is to be calibrated I do not know.”
“Nor do I, Aunt.”
“She particularly mentions that you attended a ball by yourself.” Aunt Valeria shook the pages she held.
Cecelia sighed. “That was some time ago, before all this… And it is a mistake that I have not repeated.”
“I know. But she suggested that this loose behavior had led to the increased male attention.”
“Loose! The evil cat!”
Aunt Valeria sighed. “She is. And her type is one reason I don’t care to take part in the doings of the ton. That and the crushing tedium. But I cannot entirely ignore my duties as your chaperone.” She looked at Cecelia, waiting.