by Sandra Heath
Carlisle House was a plain mansion, set back from the southern side of the street behind a boundary wall and courtyard. A flowergirl was on the pavement outside, her calls carrying clearly into the carriages as they swept through the gateway into the courtyard.
Hearing the hooves, the butler, Sommers, hastened outside to greet his mistress. He was a little elderly now, having long been in Joseph Carlisle’s services, and he presented a quaintly old-fashioned appearance, in a gray wig and a full-skirted dark blue coat. His breeches had silver buckles, as did his black shoes, and beneath his white silk stockings, his calves were padded. He hurried to open the carriage door.
“Welcome home, Miss Carlisle. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Sommers.” She held her hand out to him, and he assisted her down. “Is all well?”
“It is indeed, madam. The house is ready and aired.”
Benedict alighted, turning to help Great-Aunt Minton down, and then Venetia.
Linnet paused, looking at the main door of the house. When last she’d been here, a black wreath and ribbon had adorned the varnished panels, and all the shutters had been closed. The house had been in full mourning for her uncle.
Benedict offered her his arm, and they mounted the steps to the door, going into the great entrance hall, where the floor was tiled in black and white and the walls had been cleverly painted to resemble the palest of green marble. The various doors possessed fine gilded architraves, and there were two sofas placed on either side of the black marble fireplace. At the far end of the hall rose the staircase, parting at a half-landing to rise to the gallery on the floor above. Beyond the staircase, screened by a fine row of Ionic columns, was the entrance to the ballroom, which lay across the rear of the house, and was one of the grandest in London.
The servants were lined up, waiting to greet Linnet and her great-aunt, and as this custom was observed, Benedict and Venetia waited by the fireplace. As the servants dispersed, Great-Aunt Minton instructed Sommers to serve a restorative dish of tea in the drawing room without delay, and then she went up to her room to change, accompanied by her maid.
Linnet went to rejoin Benedict and Venetia. “I can hardly believe I’m back here after so long,” she said, looking around the hall.
“Well, you are, you may take my word for it,” replied Venetia, smiling. “We won’t keep you now, for you must be tired. Is it a firm arrangement for the theater tomorrow night?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. We’ll call for you at about half-past seven.” Venetia was about to turn toward the door, when she hesitated. “Linnet, I’d love you to dine with us one night soon. I know you shrink a little from the address…”
“I do, rather,” admitted Linnet.
“Just think about it, then, and I’ll issue a proper invitation soon. For the moment, however, I’ll just say à bientôt, ma petite.” She quickly kissed Linnet on the cheek, and then hurried out.
Benedict didn’t follow immediately, but turned Linnet to face him. “Did it bother you much to see Fane again so quickly?”
“It unsettled me, rather than bothered me.”
“If you like, I’ll call on him, and…”
“No!” she said quickly. “No, that wouldn’t do at all. Just leave things as they are.”
“If you’re sure…?”
“I’m quite sure.”
He smiled into her eyes. “I do love you,” he whispered.
“And I love you.”
Glancing quickly around, and seeing no one in evidence, he pulled her close, embracing her as he kissed her on the lips.
She returned the kiss, slipping her arms around him, but then she drew gently away. “You’re keeping Venetia waiting.”
“She deserves it, for attempting to make you stay in the back of beyond.”
“Don’t be ungrateful. She’s giving you a roof over your horrid head.”
“So she is. Well, maybe I’ll forgive her, then.” He kissed Linnet’s nose. “I’m so glad you’re here in London again, for now I won’t have to wait an unconscionable time before seeing you again. Roll on tomorrow, even if it does mean watching my sister ogle Coleridge!”
“Benedict, I think you’re wrong about her. She made no attempt to see him at Ivystone House.”
“Perhaps because she knew I was watching.”
“Or because she had no intention of seeing him in the first place. I think you’re wrong, and it won’t do if you mutter about it tomorrow night at the theater.”
“Are you ordering me, Miss Carlisle?”
“Yes, Mr. Gresham, I do believe I am.” She smiled. “Until tomorrow, then.”
He made to kiss her again, but she resisted. “If Venetia drives off and leaves you to walk back to Fane Crescent, it will serve you right.”
Grinning, he pretended to capitulate, walking quickly to the door and out to the waiting carriages. The second carriage, still containing his valet and Venetia’s maid, to say nothing of luggage, would accompany the first back to Fane Crescent, and then return to the Carlisle House mews, behind Charles Street.
Linnet didn’t watch the carriages leave, but stood alone in the entrance hall, gazing at every remembered corner. She recalled her precipitate flight from the house, before dawn, when she’d hurried down the staircase in her traveling clothes, hardly seeing anything for her tears. Well, all that was behind her now.
She turned to look at the Ionic colonnade by the blue-and-gold ballroom, and began to walk slowly toward it.
At the top of the marble steps leading down to the ballroom floor, was a magnificently decorated archway, and the foot of the steps was flanked by two black-and-gold statues of African princes, each holding aloft a many-branched candlestick. The dance floor itself was surrounded by royal-blue velvet sofas, all at present draped in white cloths. The wall opposite was lined with tall French windows, that opened onto the garden terrace, while all the other walls were hung with immense gold-framed mirrors. These mirrors made the ballroom seem much brighter and more spacious than it actually was, reflecting everything from the chandeliers suspended from the golden hipped-roof to the orchestra’s ornate apse high on the eastern wall. A number of doors opened off the room, mostly into little antechambers where fires were lit on winter nights to warm the chill feet and hands of the elderly spinsters, dowagers, and assortment of chaperones who always attended balls, but one double door opened into the adjacent conservatory, where breakfast was always served.
The late afternoon sun shone obliquely through the French windows, lying in shafts across the pink-and-white-tiled floor, and the covered sofas looked ghostly. Linnet hesitated for a moment at the top of the steps, then went slowly down, untying her bonnet’s ribbons as she went.
Turning back one of the sofa sheets, she sat down, tossing the bonnet beside her. Then she sat back, surveying the great room and remembering balls she had attended there. There had been so many. One on each of her birthdays after the age of seventeen, and one to celebrate her presentation at court, just as there had been one recently at Devonshire House for the presentation of Lord Morpeth’s beloved, Lady Georgiana Cavendish. There were always Christmas balls, too, and it had been on just one such festive occasion, the Christmas before last, when she’d first met Nicholas, a recent acquaintance of her uncle’s at their mutual club in St. James’s.
She’d never forget seeing him for the first time. He’d arrived late, and she’d been dancing with Lord Granville Leveson-Gower. Nicholas had caught her attention immediately, for he was so breathtakingly handsome and few men could have appeared to better advantage in formal evening attire. The dance had ended, and he’d claimed her from Lord Granville. The next dance had been a ländler, which was possibly the most intimate of the dances at present fashionable, involving the partners facing each other, their arms entwined. She hadn’t simply danced that measure with him, she’d floated on air. His touch electrified her, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to gaze right into her soul. She’d loved him straig
htaway, and had foolishly believed that he’d loved her. Oh, so foolishly.
“Miss Carlisle?” Sommers’s voice echoed as he spoke from the top of the steps.
She turned. “Yes?”
“A running footman has just delivered a message for you.” He descended to the floor, carrying a little silver salver on which lay a sealed letter.
“An invitation already?” she asked, smiling, but as he lowered the salver her smile faded, for the writing and seal on the letter belonged to Nicholas.
The butler recognized the writing as welt, and avoided her eyes. “The footman has instructions to wait for a reply, madam.”
Slowly she took the letter, breaking the seal.
Miss Carlisle
Since it seems you’ve at last deigned to return to London, I feel that sufficient time has now elapsed for us to at least be civil to each other, and since I have matters of considerable importance to discuss with you, I think it advisable that we speak soon. Allowing for your need to rest after such a rigorous journey, I will, unless you send word to the contrary, call upon you tomorrow evening at seven.
Fane
Fane. Miss Carlisle. How formal and remote, when once they’d been so intimate and close. She didn’t think they had anything to discuss, for there was nothing left to say, and for a moment she considered telling him to go to perdition, but then she thought better of it. She had to face him sooner or later for they moved in the same circles, and at least if he called the first meeting would be private. Besides, he intended to call at seven, and Benedict and Venetia would call for her shortly after that, thus curtailing the interview.
She nodded at the waiting butler. “Tell the footman I will expect Lord Fane at the time he suggests.”
“Yes, madam.”
Chapter 5
It was five minutes to seven, and Linnet paced restlessly up and down in the drawing room. She was alone, for her aunt hadn’t emerged from her room all day, having been more than a little wearied by the long journey. In a way, Linnet was relieved, for her aunt’s presence would have made the forthcoming interview even more difficult.
Fingering her carved ivory fan, she felt almost sick with apprehension. What did he wish to say to her? He surely didn’t imagine they could set the past aside and meet as friends? Oh, if only Benedict were here to give her the support she needed.
Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the great mirror above the fireplace, she paused to inspect her appearance. Tonight she needed to look her very best, her pride wouldn’t endure anything less. Her chestnut hair was swept up into a Grecian knot which was fixed with a turquoise-studded comb. A circlet of the same stones lay across her forehead, and there were more in her earrings. Her evening gown was made of the sheerest ivory silk, with a very low-cut square neckline and dainty petal sleeves that fluttered at the slightest movement. Elbow-length fingerless mittens made of ivory lace encased her arms, and there was a knotted shawl, woven in a turquoise-and-gold design, resting lightly around her shoulders. The train of the gown dragged richly behind her, the tiny ivory sequins adorning it sparkling in the early evening light that poured in through the courtyard windows.
It had been another glorious summer day, and the windows stood open, allowing the light breeze to drift refreshingly into the room. The drawing room of Carlisle House was a handsome place, its walls hung with pale-gray brocade, and the furniture was upholstered with plum velvet. There were touches of gold everywhere, and a honeysuckle design that was repeated on the cornices, the architraves, the arms of the chairs and sofas, and around the elegant fireplace.
The ormulu clock on the mantelpiece began to strike the hour, and as it did, Nicholas’s dark-blue landau turned into the courtyard, the team of roans stepping high as the coachman drove them toward the house.
Linnet hurried to the windows, glad of the lace drapes that allowed her to look secretly out. The landau’s hoods were down, and she saw him stand up to alight. He was dressed formally, and was evidently going on somewhere after seeing her. He stepped down, pausing for a moment to remove his black tricorn hat and tuck it under his arm. He wore a black velvet coat, very tightly cut, white silk breeches, a white waistcoat, and a shirt that was lavishly trimmed with lace. For a moment her thoughts winged back to the Christmas ball, when he’d claimed her for the ländler. There was something compellingly attractive about him even now, and in spite of the destruction of all her foolish illusions, he still had the power to affect her. She wished him in Hades, for he was surely a devil that was going to haunt her for the rest of her days, even though she now loved Benedict. She drew back from the window, for he was approaching the steps to the main entrance of the house.
She moved quickly to a sofa by the fireplace, picking up a book she’d taken at random from her uncle’s library. She hadn’t bothered to glance at the title, but she did so now, and saw to her dismay that it was a work on the origins and rules of the noble game of cricket!
Steps approached the double doors, and Sommers entered, standing aside to announce Nicholas. “Lord Fane, madam.”
As Nicholas came in, she feigned deep interest in the book, closing it at last, as if his arrival had caught her completely unprepared. Her glance was cool, but the palms of her hands were hot. “Good evening, Lord Fane,” she said in a tone devoid of cordiality.
“Good evening, Miss Carlisle.” He sketched a brief bow, and then came to take her hand, raising it to his lips.
She quickly moved her other hand to conceal the title of the book, but his sharp glance had already perceived it. He straightened, smiling a little cynically. “Cricket? I had no idea you found it interesting.”
“You wished to see me, Lord Fane?” She trusted her manner was suitably chill, and that he couldn’t see how much he’d already managed to fluster her.
“We’re to get immediately to the point? The lakeland air evidently didn’t give you an appetite for polite conversation.”
“Polite conversation? Very well. How is Radleigh Hall, my lord?” she replied coldly.
“Prospering, thank you. How thoughtful of you to ask.”
“I trust Miss Jordan found it to her liking.”
“She hasn’t had the opportunity to either like or dislike it.”
“That isn’t what I’ve been told,” she replied, setting the book abruptly aside and rising angrily from the sofa. “If you’ve come to toy with me, sirrah, you’re wasting both our time. What is the purpose of this visit?”
“Well, among other things, I wished to see you again.” His glance moved over her. “I prefer you in yellow, but you’re looking very well for all that, so perhaps the lakeland air didn’t entirely disagree with you.”
“The lakeland air proved a sovereign remedy for my malady, sir, and I promise you that I’m fully recovered now.”
He smiled a little. “I’m glad to hear it. I take it from your togs that you’re sallying forth this evening?”
“l am.”
“Let me guess. The theater? Yes, that will be it. The Theatre Royal, to see your favorite actress in your favorite play.”
“I’m flattered you remember.”
“I remember a great deal about you.”
“As I do about you, sirrah, particularly your insincerity and villainy.”
He sighed. “You haven’t improved after all,” he observed dryly.
“Your belle de nuit evidently has much to answer for, sirrah, for although she may have convinced you she finds your small talk entertaining, I find it the end in tedium so will you please come to the point of this?”
“My belle de nuit? Are you by any chance referring to Miss Jordan?”
“With how many such persons do you consort, my lord?”
“What a very improper question for a lady to ask.”
“No doubt you imagine your wit to be the dryest of things,” she retorted, turning away.
“It wasn’t wit, madam, it was an entirely suitable response to your continuing ill manners. Your conduct a year ag
o was reprehensible in the extreme, and you seem set to continue in the same vein now you’ve come back.”
She whirled around, her breath catching sharply. “My reprehensible conduct?”
“Yes.”
“How dare you!”
“How dared you, madam. You should not have questioned my actions last year, and if I chose not to dignify your demands with replies, then you have only yourself to blame.”
She stared incredulously at him. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she said then, turning away again. “You said in your note that you have things of importance to discuss.”
“We haven’t finished about last year yet.”
“Oh yes we have. Or are you going to tell me you didn’t cheat my uncle out of Radleigh? And that your tawdry Bird of Paradise is a figment of my imagination?”
“I still have no intention of humoring your wounded pride, madam. I just wish you to know that I regard what happened as your fault, not mine.”
It was too much. “Please leave immediately,” she said, her voice shaking.
She reached for the little bell to summon Sommers, but Nicholas stopped her, putting his hand quickly over hers so that she couldn’t take the bell.
“Very well,” he said, “I’ll come to the point of my visit. When I saw you yesterday, you were in Lady Hartley’s carriage. Was Gresham with you?”
She twisted her hand away, turning furiously to face him. “And if he was? What business is it of yours?”
“It’s very much my business. So, he was with you?”
“Yes.”
“And had been to Grasmere?”
“Yes.”
“Not for the first time, I know.” His eyes were very penetrating. “What is he to you, Linnet?”
“That is none of your concern, my lord,” she breathed, her whole body quivering with anger, and with a confusing tumult of other emotions.