by Sandra Heath
“Of course.”
“So, even if I oppose you on this one matter, you know that on every other front I will always offer you the love, comfort, and support that I have in the past?”
“I know you will.” Linnet smiled, leaning across to put a quick hand on her great-aunt’s arm.
“May I ask what arrangements have been agreed on so far concerning the, er, ball?” There was a very noticeable hesitation, and an eloquent omission of the word “betrothal.”
Linnet ignored both, keeping her tone very amiable as she related all the things she and Venetia had discussed the day before.
On hearing the numbers being invited, Great-Aunt Minton was staggered. “Such extravagance!”
“One only becomes betrothed once, Great-Aunt.”
“Indeed? I seem to recall that you used to entertain hopes of Lord Fane.”
“Vain hopes.”
Great-Aunt Minton surveyed her for a long moment. “Are you still in love with him?” she asked at last.
“No. Certainly not.”
“No?”
“No!”
“Well, I tell you this, my dear. Flushed with apparent happiness you may be at the moment, but it’s as nothing to the sheer joy and exhilaration that pervaded your entire being when you fell in love with Lord Fane. I visited you not long after you’d met him, if you remember.”
“I remember.”
“Can you look me in the eye and tell me you feel the same now?”
“I’m older and wiser now.”
“Older, not wiser, and not in love. Nor is Mr. Gresham in love with you. He’s a very personable, charming, and clever young man, with an eye to the main chance. You, my poor Linnet, are that main chance. He would like to be the nabob he claims to be, and with your fortune he can realize that ambition. Now, then, let us leave such a disagreeable topic, and speak of something more pleasing. Tell me, what are your plans this morning?”
Linnet quelled the resentment her great-aunt’s words had aroused. It wasn’t right or fair to continually speak so cruelly of Benedict!
Great-Aunt Minton applied herself once more to her breakfast. “Does your silence signify that you’re going to stay at home?”
“No. Actually, I thought I’d call at Schomberg House. They’re advertising a new delivery of royal merino cloth.”
“Indeed? I must make a point of visiting them myself, but not this morning. I’ve received a message from my old friend, Lady Anne Stuart, who has heard I’m in town. She wishes me to call upon her, and that is what I intend to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“There’s no doubt of that, for she and I go back a long way.” The old lady looked at her. “My dear, if you go to Schomberg House, you must be sure to take your maid with you. A lady must guard her reputation at all times, even when merely visiting a shop.”
“I know,” replied Linnet wearily.
Her great-aunt smiled fondly. “It isn’t fair, is it? Gentlemen are free to do as they please, but we must always be looking back over our shoulder in case of a breath of scandal. Oh, scandal, what a bane it is to us all—yes, even to me.”
“To you?” Linnet looked curiously at her. “What do you mean?”
“My dear, just because I’m a withered spinster, it doesn’t signify that I’ve never had experience of life. My heart was broken once, and had the story got out, it would have caused scandal.”
Linnet poured another cup of the thick, dark Turkish coffee. “Did it involve Nicholas’s grandfather?” she asked quietly.
The old lady gave her an arch look. “I’m not prepared to answer you.”
“Which is answer enough. It did involve him.”
“I would prefer you not to draw that conclusion, and certainly not to voice it to anyone else.”
“You know me better than mat,” chided Linnet gently.
“My dear, when I see you being so completely gulled by Mr. Gresham, I begin to think I do not know you at all.” Great-Aunt Minton suddenly put down her knife and fork, placing her napkin on the table. “I do believe I’ve eaten enough, and must prepare to call upon Lady Anne. No doubt she will insist that I take luncheon with her, which means that you and I will not meet again until this evening. Enjoy your visit to Schomberg House.”
“Yes, Great-Aunt Minton.” Linnet watched her leave. Both the conversation and the breakfast had been brought to a very abrupt close, and the reason was most definitely the suggestion that Nicholas’s grandfather had played a significant part in the old lady’s past.
* * *
An hour later, when Great-Aunt Minton had departed for Lady Anne Stuart’s residence, Linnet and her maid set off for Pall Mall. Linnet was dressed perfectly for shopping in London, in a stylish buttermilk silk pelisse over a matching gown, with her hair swept up beneath a pale-pink jockey bonnet from the back of which trailed an almost floor-length gauze veil. Mary was at her neat best in a cream linen cape over a light-green chemise gown, and she was in buoyant spirits. The visit to Schomberg House had given her the opportunity to ask a favor of Linnet; the maid’s cousin had a position at a nearby bookshop, and an invitation to his wedding that had hitherto been turned down because Mary had been in the Lake District could now be accepted after all.
Pall Mall was one of the finest shopping streets in London, and Schomberg House stood on the southern side, between the ducal residence of Marlborough House and the property once occupied by Nell Gwynne, a lady of far less than ducal antecedents. Messrs Harding, Howell & Company had occupied the handsome seventeenth-century house for a little over four years, and in that time had built up an enviable reputation for excellence. Once the residence of the Duke of Schomberg, it had subsequently been divided into several elegant apartments but now was one entity again. The four-story, red-brick, stone-faced facade looked grandly down onto the street, and the curb outside was cluttered with fine carriages.
Linnet’s coachman had to maneuver the team to a place further along the street, and quickly alighted to open the carriage door and assist his mistress and her maid to alight. Linnet was just instructing him to wait when she saw a face she knew and liked approaching along the pavement. It was Freddy Grainger.
He was strolling along on his own, his cane swinging idly in his gloved hand. He wore a dark-orange coat and light-brown breeches, and his waistcoat was a particularly handsome shade of deep-peacock. His face, usually so good-natured and quick to smile, was withdrawn and almost sullen, and was such a contrast to his normal self that Linnet paused in surprise, her smile of greeting dying on her lips.
He saw her, she knew that he did, but he made no acknowledgment—indeed, it seemed to her that he quickened his step a little in order to pass her by.
“Freddy?” She made to engage him in conversation.
He glanced at her, or perhaps it would have been more correct to say that he looked straight through her, and he made no attempt to pause, walking on along the pavement without a single word.
“Freddy?” She spoke again, taken complete aback by the deliberate snub.
Still he walked on, and was soon lost among the crowds on the pavement. Linnet remained where she was, shaken at being so publicly cut by someone she’d always regarded as a good friend. Why had he behaved like that? What did he imagine she’d done to warrant it? For a moment she contemplated hurrying after him to demand an explanation, but then she thought better of it. In his present mood he was quite capable of delivering another snub, and that was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. No, it would be better to send him a note, asking in what way she’d offended, if, indeed, she’d offended at all. Try as she would, she couldn’t think of anything she’d done that might have upset him.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Mary, who was waiting nearby. “You mentioned wishing to see your cousin?”
“Yes, Miss Linnet. He has a position in Mr. Mitchell’s bookshop, just across the street.”
“Well, I’m sure the new cloths will take me some ti
me, and I’m equally sure that I shall linger over a dish of tea in the tearoom afterward, so you may take three quarters of an hour to see your cousin.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Linnet,” cried the maid gratefully. “I’ll come to you in the tearoom.”
“Very well.” Linnet turned to walk quickly into Schomberg House, escorted to the door by the coachman, and the maid hurried away in the other direction, dodging across the cobbled street when there was a convenient break in the almost continuous flow of traffic.
Freddy Grainger was still on Linnet’s mind as she entered the building. She was both puzzled and hurt by his odd conduct, and a little concerned, for it just wasn’t like Freddy to behave like that. Then she had to put him from her thoughts, for the premises of Messrs Harding, Howell & Company was a veritable bear garden of noise and excitement as a gaggle of elegant ladies squabbled over the desirable bolts of cloth.
Linnet had to push her way toward the relevant counter, passing the glass-partitioned departments displaying furs and fans, haberdashery, ornamental ormulu and French clocks, and then the millinery. It was impossible to even see the cloth counter, there was such a press of determined ladies around it. The young men endeavoring to serve were hard put to keep things in control, especially when three ladies seized the same bolt of emerald-green cloth and began tugging it in different directions.
Linnet halted, somewhat put off by such a battleground. Her glance moved to the staircase. Maybe if she took her tea first, and then returned to the cloth counter afterward, the battle would be over, and she could examine what was left of the coveted cloth. Yes, that was what she’d do, for to be sure there wasn’t any point in trying to look at anything now, not when the ladies of Mayfair were in full acquisitive flow.
The floor above was mostly devoted to a magnificent display of fine furnishing fabrics, and was remarkably quiet and deserted after the mayhem on the ground floor. The tearoom was toward the rear of the building, looking out over the gardens of Carlton House and Marlborough House toward the green expanse of St. James’s Park. There was a table laden with cakes and pastries, and the delicious smell of toasted currant buns, and a number of small tables, each one with a dainty lace-edged white cloth. The tables had four chairs each, and against the wall there were a number of fine crimson velvet sofas, but not a single place was occupied. It seemed that the delivery of royal merino cloth was the sole attraction of the day.
Linnet went to a table next to a window, teasing off her gloves as she sat down. As she ordered a dish of China tea from the waitress who hastened to serve her, her thoughts were again on Freddy Grainger.
She didn’t hear anyone come up the staircase, nor did she hear the rich, seductive rustle of a corded-silk train. She didn’t even hear the patter of a poodle’s paws on the polished wood floor. She knew nothing until someone spoke.
“We meet again, Miss Carlisle.”
She looked up into Judith Jordan’s shining, feline eyes.
Chapter 11
The Cyprian was dressed in a fitted, full-length pelisse made of a particularly fine mustard-colored corded silk, and a wide-brimmed brown hat from which sprang the inevitable plumes. They were spectacular plumes, mustard-colored to match the pelisse, but with their tips cleverly dyed brown to echo the hat. A brown feather boa was draped casually around her neck, with one long end trailing almost to her hem at the back, and there was an elegant lozenge-shaped brown velvet reticule hanging from her wrist. She toyed with the poodle’s lead, pearl-studded brown leather today, and a vaguely taunting smile played about her lips.
“How agreeable that we should encounter each other again,” she murmured.
“I have no wish to speak to you, Miss Jordan,” replied Linnet stiffly.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s so. However, we cannot always have what we wish, can we?” The Cyprian glanced across at the startled waitress, who hovered uncertainly nearby. “Another dish of China tea, if you please,” she said, drawing out a chair at the same table and sitting down. The white poodle sat beside her, gazing at her with bright, adoring eyes.
Linnet looked coldly at her. “I would prefer it if you sat elsewhere, Miss Jordan.”
“No other table offers the same fine view,” replied the other, still smiling a little.
“Then I shall sit elsewhere,” answered Linnet, beginning to get up.
The Cyprian put out a quick hand, restraining her. “I think we should talk, Miss Carlisle, and this is a miraculously deserted place today. Instinct told me you’d be lured by the royal merino, and, having gone to the trouble of searching you out, I don’t intend to let you simply walk away.”
“I have nothing to say to you, madam.”
“No?” The incredible dark-blue eyes gleamed.
“No.” What did the creature want? The battle had been fought and won over a year before, even though she, Linnet Carlisle, hadn’t realized there had been a war until it was all over. But as she looked at the demi-mondaine, Linnet suddenly realized that Nicholas, Lord Fane, was still the bone of contention. Judith knew about his call at Carlisle House, and was jealous and angry. What other explanation could there be? It was a quaint thought, and an enlightening one, for it showed that London’s most sought-after fashionable impure wasn’t as sure of her hold over Lord Fane as she’d like the world to believe.
Linnet was suddenly intrigued. Perhaps it would be interesting to hear what the other had to say. She relaxed, sitting back. “Very well, Miss Jordan, what is it that you think we have to say to each other?”
The demi-mondaine removed her gloves, placing them on the table, then stroked the poodle. Her glance moved critically over Linnet’s clothes. “Last year’s togs, Miss Carlisle? How very remiss of you.”
“Well, maybe it’s better to be unfashionable and pure, than to be the opposite,” replied Linnet coolly.
The blue eyes flickered. “Causticity is the weapon of sour-puss old maids, Miss Carlisle, and I doubt if you are yet in that category. Ah, but I was forgetting, you are soon to be betrothed, are you not? An old maid’s cloak is not for you.”
“Perhaps it is for you, Miss Jordan. Or is Lord Fane going to make an honest woman of you?”
“He didn’t make an honest woman of you, my dear. Or had you forgotten?” Judith’s eyes became even more feline.
“A fortunate escape.”
“Really? You do surprise me. Still, that is in the past, isn’t it?”
Linnet didn’t reply, but smiled in an equally feline way that was calculated to provoke. If jealousy was the reason for Judith’s interest in her, then she, Linnet, was quite capable of ruffling her adversary’s paradise plumes.
The Cyprian’s gaze sharpened. “Now I am the one being remiss, for of course Lord Fane is history to you because it’s Mr. Gresham who is now your love. I understand there is to be a grand betrothal ball?”
“You seem remarkably well informed, Miss Jordan.”
“I am, rather. By a strange coincidence, I am at present organizing a ball as well, a bal masqué.” A sly note crept into Judith’s voice. “No doubt our guest lists will be very similar—at least, they will as far as the gentlemen are concerned.”
Linnet forbore to reply, for it was only too true.
The Cyprian smiled a little. “Do I shock you, Miss Carlisle?”
“Do you wish to shock me?”
“I don’t know. I’m curious about you, that’s for sure.”
“Why?”
Judith glanced down at the poodle, fondling its head. “I have my reasons,” she murmured.
The maid at last brought the dishes of tea, and as Linnet prepared to sip hers, Judith spoke again. “If you aren’t exactly shocked by me, you’re certainly disapproving, aren’t you, Miss Carlisle?”
“What else do you expect?”
“Nothing, I suppose, but I ask you to explain why I am so frowned upon when an adulterous wife, whose marriage was entered into for convenience only, is accepted through society. I, at least, am honest about wha
t I do.”
“Is it honest, then, to consort with other women’s husbands, Miss Jordan?”
“A husband won’t stray if his wife keeps him satisfied, Miss Carlisle. That is a cardinal rule. Tell me, do you intend to keep Mr. Gresham satisfied?”
“That isn’t any of your business,” replied Linnet shortly.
The Cyprian’s dark-blue eyes were veiled. “No, to be sure, it isn’t any of my business,” she said softly.
“Why all this interest in me?” asked Linnet, holding the other’s gaze. “I would have thought that my impending marriage would have pleased you, for it signifies that I am no longer interested in Lord Fane. That is what all this is about, isn’t it? I’m flattered to think you fear me as a rival.”
A dull flush entered Judith’s cheeks. “Is that what you think?”
“You haven’t offered another explanation.”
“Nor do I intend to.” The Cyprian gathered the poodle’s lead and rose from her chair, leaving her dish of tea untouched. “I wished to get the measure of you, Miss Carlisle, and I rather think I have. We will be meeting again.”
“I sincerely hope not, for yours is the sort of society I abhor.”
“Oh, I feel the same way about your society, Miss Carlisle, but you have become something of a thorn in my side of late, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to deal with you. À bientôt, ma chère, you’ll soon be hearing a great deal more of me, and I don’t think you’ll like any of it.” With a cool nod, the demi-mondaine walked away toward the staircase, the poodle pattering obediently at her hem.
Linnet gazed after her, and then slowly exhaled. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been throughout the interview, but was only too aware of it now. She lowered her glance. Maybe it was gratifying to know that the Bird of Paradise was vulnerably jealous, but what wasn’t so gratifying was the fact that Judith Jordan was also gloriously beautiful, fascinating, worldly, witty, and stylish. No wonder such a creature had triumphed over dull little Linnet Carlisle, who must have seemed boring in comparison.
* * *
Another disagreeable interview awaited Linnet when she returned to Carlisle House with her hard-won purchase of royal merino cloth, several yards of heather-colored wool that would make a handsome spencer. As she and Mary entered the house, Sommers informed her that Nicholas had called and had insisted on waiting until she returned.