by Sandra Heath
The butler was more than a little uneasy about having admitted such an unwelcome visitor, but in the absence of both Linnet and her great-aunt, he’d felt ill-equipped to refuse the request of such an important gentleman, especially when that gentleman had been determined to have his own way.
“I’m so sorry to have allowed him to wait, madam, but it really was difficult to refuse.”
She sighed, and glanced at the gloves, fawn beaver top hat, and ivory-handled cane on the table. What did Nicholas want of her now? “It’s all right, Sommers, I quite understand. Where is he? In the drawing room?”
“No, madam. The ballroom. He said he could wait there as easily as anywhere else.”
That sounded like one of Nicholas’s remarks. “Very well.” She took off her gloves and jockey bonnet, placing both on top of the brown paper parcel of cloth Mary was carrying. “I’ll be with you directly, Mary.”
“Yes, Miss Linnet.” The maid bobbed a curtsy, and then hurried away up the staircase.
Sommers waited awkwardly. “Madam, would you prefer me to be present with you in the ballroom?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Madam.” He bowed, and withdrew.
Linnet took a long breath to steady herself. Following so quickly upon her encounter with the Bird of Paradise, she was prepared for this second interview to be equally as unpleasant. She moved toward the ballroom, passing beneath the colonnade and then pausing at the top of the steps.
The servants had almost completed the cleaning and polishing of the chandeliers, and were just raising the final one into place. Nicholas had tossed back the white cloth covering one of the royal-blue velvet sofas and was lounging back, watching them. He wore a fawn coat and brown silk cravat, and his long, well-made legs, encased in cream cord breeches, were stretched out before him. His top boots were highly polished, and his long fingers drummed restlessly on the arm of the sofa. He seemed to be absorbed watching the lengthy progress of the chandelier from floor to ceiling, but there was something distant about his expression, telling her that his thoughts were elsewhere.
She descended the steps, pausing again at the bottom, her hand resting on one of the African prince candle-holders. As she watched him, he ran his fingers through his dark tangle of hair, and then leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Too many late nights, my lord?” she asked, her voice carrying clearly across the ballroom.
The servants glanced quickly toward her, and then hastened to complete their task, raising the chandelier the final few inches and making it fast. Then the footman at the top of the stepladder quickly descended, and they all hurried away toward the French windows, carrying the stepladder carefully outside to the terrace and closing the window behind them.
Nicholas rose and walked toward her. “Good morning, Miss Carlisle.”
“You wished to see me?” she asked without preamble. His mistress had toyed with her, and she didn’t intend to allow him to do the same.
“That was the general purpose of my visit, yes.”
“Then please be brief, for I have much to do.”
He glanced around the ballroom. “Ah, yes, the famous betrothal ball. But what do you have to do? Isn’t it all in Lady Hartley’s ambitious hands?” He gave a low laugh. “Yes, of course it is, for she wouldn’t pass up such an excellent opportunity to further her reputation as a hostess.”
“You make that sound very insulting, my lord,” she replied coldly. “Will you come to the point of this unwelcome visit?”
“I merely wished to be certain that the equally unwelcome item of news that was imparted to me in Hyde Park yesterday was actually true, and judging by all the frantic polishing of the chandeliers, I fear that it is. You made a fool of yourself a year ago, Linnet, and I really didn’t think you’d do it all over again.”
She raised her chin angrily, specks of hot color staining her cheeks. “If you’ve come here merely to offer insults, my lord, I’d be obliged if you’d remove yourself immediately.”
“How quick you are to want to eject me yet again. Do I make you feel uncomfortable?” His eyes, a much more icy blue than his mistress’s, seemed to see right into her. “You know Gresham’s gulling you, don’t you?”
“The only one to ever gull me, sir, was you,” she replied shortly.
“You’re still wrong about that.”
“Are you going to tell me you didn’t trick my uncle out of Radleigh Hall? And you didn’t deceive me with Judith Jordan?” Her gaze rested haughtily on him. “Go back to her, Nicholas, for to be sure you’ve already made her green with jealousy. A second call at this address will only provoke her into another attempt to impose her company upon me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your fine feathered bird appears to regard me as a rival for your affections, and she’s issuing threats that she intends to subject me to her unwelcome attention. I don’t appreciate being approached by whores, Lord Fane, and so I ask you to instruct yours to keep away from me.”
“She isn’t my whore.”
“No, she’s everybody’s.”
“Now whose talons are showing?”
She looked angrily away, aware that she’d allowed herself to be provoked.
He watched her. “I didn’t come here to discuss Judith, Linnet, I came here to try to persuade you out of this folly with Gresham.”
“How dare you presume…!”
“I happen to think I’m well qualified to offer advice,” he interrupted. “After all, I was your first choice.”
“Yes, you were. And you cheated me most foully. Now, please go.”
“Not until I’m sure you’ve paid proper attention to what I’m saying.”
“I’m not a child that you can order about, sirrah!” she cried.
“Then please stop behaving like one. Gresham isn’t the man for you, and to proceed with this betrothal will be utter madness.”
“I happen to love him,” she breathed, trembling with rage, and with a tumult of other conflicting emotions. How dared this man presume! How dared he attempt to interfere in her life after having so cruelly spurned her the year before!
“Love him? You don’t love him, Linnet, you’re just turning to him on the rebound.”
She strove to keep her temper. “A year is hardly ‘on the rebound,’ my lord.”
“Isn’t it?” He laughed a little. It was a scornful laugh, calculated to goad, and it succeeded.
“Please leave, before I feel obliged to send for Sommers.” Her voice trembled, and she was so angry that she had to clench her fists to keep herself under strict control.
He studied her, making no move to do as she asked. “If you really loved Gresham, nothing I said or did would disturb your serenity. But look at you, a few considered words from me and you’re all emotion and rage. Perhaps you should take another year in lakeland to reflect upon what you really want from life.”
“I know what I want.”
“Gresham?” He laughed again. “Dear God above, your judgment slips from bad to appalling.”
“Maybe it does, but one thing is certain, sirrah. My judgment was more than just appalling when I was unfortunate enough to fall in love with you.”
His eyes had seldom been a more piercing blue. “That wasn’t when your judgment let you down, Linnet. It let you down when it allowed you to believe the lies you’d heard about me, and when it permitted you to actually accuse me to my face of having cheated both you and your uncle. I haven’t forgotten a single moment of what happened a year ago, nor have I forgiven.”
Her eyes flashed. “You haven’t forgiven?” she gasped, unable to believe her ears.
He smiled. “That’s correct.” His glance moved over her again. “One thing I had forgotten, however, is how very beautiful you are when you’re angry. I’m almost tempted to prove that Gresham means absolutely nothing to you.”
“Prove to me?”
“I wonder how long you’d protest if
I chose to kiss you now,” he mused softly.
Her fury exploded, and she struck him across the cheek. It was a stinging blow, leaving angry marks on his skin, and she was shaking so much she could hardly speak. “Leave this house immediately, sir, and never call here again.”
He rubbed his cheek, but the smile still lingered on his lips. “Well, I think my point is proved after all, don’t you? In your heart of hearts you’re not at all sure of your feelings for Gresham, nor are you sure you’re over me.”
Turning, she gathered her skirts to hurry up the steps toward the hall, calling the butler as she did so.
Sommers materialized immediately. “Madam?”
“Please show his lordship out, and if he calls again, he is not to be admitted, is that clear?”
“Yes, madam.” The butler looked uneasily past her to where Nicholas was taking his time about ascending the steps.
Linnet paused at the foot of the staircase, a hand on the newel post. She was still trembling, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flee to her room.
He accepted his hat, gloves, and cane from Sommers, and then turned to look at her again. “Don’t marry Gresham, Linnet, for it would be the greatest mistake of your life.”
She didn’t reply.
He said nothing more, but walked toward the front door, which Sommers was pointedly holding open for him. As the butler closed the door again, Linnet turned to go up the staircase.
Nicholas’s words echoed inescapably in her head. I wonder how long you’d protest if I chose to kiss you now? She paused. How long would she have resisted? Guilt cut through her like a knife, and she felt as if, merely by doubting for a second, she’d betrayed Benedict; she also felt as vulnerable and full of pain as she had the year before, when she’d been the one who’d been betrayed.
Chapter 12
Linnet’s self-reproach increased rather than diminished over the next week. She plunged into the endless round of social diversion that London offered, and she entered wholeheartedly into the preparations for the ball. Every opportunity that presented itself for being with Benedict, she seized with an eagerness that Great-Aunt Minton viewed with increasing misgiving, for in that wise lady’s opinion, one did not have to continually prove that one was in love, one simply knew it, and that was sufficient.
Linnet said nothing to anyone about Nicholas’s second visit, and she instructed Sommers to remain silent about it as well. Nor did she say anything about the confrontation with Judith Jordan at Schomberg House, for she had no desire for anyone to learn that she’d been subjected to such a disagreeable interview with so immoral and abandoned a creature. She had no intention of encouraging unwelcome whispers, and certainly didn’t wish to have her name connected anew with either Nicholas or the Bird of Paradise.
Venetians enthusiasm for the betrothal ball helped a great deal, for it was easy to forget other matters when faced with such exuberance. It was almost as if the betrothal ball were Venetia’s own, she devoted such attention to every detail. The guest list was very quickly compiled, and the invitations printed and sent out, Gunter’s was engaged to provide both the ball supper and the large blocks of ice that would be placed at strategic points around the ballroom to cool the air on what would undoubtedly be a hot night. The German orchestra was booked, and news of this unexpected choice soon leaked out over town, causing much speculation, for any break with what was conventional or fashionable was always regarded with raised eyebrows.
Venetia also pursued her ideas where floral decorations were concerned, causing much panic in the market gardens of Chelsea by ordering vast numbers of red roses. She was determined to have the tour de force in the ballroom, approaching a man at Covent Garden to provide two wicker cages of linnets, and then a small business in Cheapside for papier-mache unicorns, painted silver. Vast quantities of champagne were ordered, and various wines, and Venetia reveled in all the work involved. No one could have been happier than she about the betrothal, and no one could have made Linnet feel more welcome as a future sister-in-law.
There was one person, however, who went out of his way to make Linnet feel very alienated indeed, and that was Freddy Grainger. True to her decision outside Schomberg House, she sent him a note, but it was returned unanswered. Puzzled, and more than a little upset by his inexplicable hostility, she called at his residence in Berkeley Street, but suffered the humiliation of being turned away at the door. This last episode forced her to accept that her friendship with him was at an end, but she had no idea why. She wasn’t destined to find out for the time being, either, for a day or so after that he suddenly left town to return to his home in Cornwall. He gave no notification to any of his friends, not even Venetia, and Linnet found it all rather distressing, for she’d always liked him, and had done her best to promote his suit where Venetia was concerned. Briefly, she wondered if there were any truth after all in Benedict’s suspicions concerning Mr. Coleridge, and if Freddy had found out, but almost straightaway she discounted the thought, for it didn’t explain why she, Linnet, had been singled out. She consulted Great-Aunt Minton on the matter, and was advised to leave things as they were for the time being, and then to write to Freddy again in Cornwall, when perhaps he would be more inclined to tell her what was wrong. It was sensible advice, and Linnet took it. She would write again in a month or so’s time, when, as her great-aunt so eloquently put it, “any fur would probably have stopped flying.”
Freddy or no Freddy, the social whirl of London went on, and Linnet was part of it. There was so much happening all the time, from an assembly at Chesterfield House and a formal dinner at Hampton Court to a charity ball at Carlton House and a delightful water party on the Thames at Syon House. Benedict was always her escort, with either Venetia or Great-Aunt Minton in attendance, and when she was with him, Nicholas didn’t seem to matter so much. She found it hard to forgive herself for that moment of doubt when Nicholas had last called. Benedict adored her, and was flatteringly thoughtful and attentive at all times, whereas Nicholas was simply amusing himself by seeing how much he could still interfere in her life. Such arrogance was no more than she’d come to expect of him, for he was a monster of the first order, and she simply couldn’t believe she’d even paused to reflect upon the length of her resistance to his kisses. It was Benedict she loved now, and there was no place in her heart for a callous lord like Nicholas. And yet sometimes still, when she first awoke in the morning, she knew Benedict hadn’t been the one in her dreams, and the guilt settled over her until she was with him again.
She tried to put Nicholas entirely from her thoughts, as she did his equally odious mistress. A lady did not concern herself with the petty spites and jealousies of a demi-mondaine like the Bird of Paradise, at least that was what she told herself, but at an exhibition at the Hanover Square Rooms at the end of that week, she was forced to concede that Judith Jordan was a force to be reckoned with, and to accept that the Cyprian’s threats hadn’t been idly uttered.
The day of the exhibition began auspiciously enough, with bright sunshine, another gratifying delivery of invitations, and the arrival of a florist’s cart with a basket of red roses from Benedict, who was to escort her to the Hanover Square Rooms.
Sommers opened the door, standing aside for the florist’s boy to bring the beribboned basket inside. There was a note attached to it, and after giving the boy a coin, the butler brought the note to Linnet, who’d come down the staircase at that very moment, dressed to go out. The message was brief, but very tender. The Gresham rose is at your feet, my darling. B.
Smiling she thought how fortunate it was that she’d elected to wear her crimson velvet spencer with her cream sprigged muslin, and the straw bonnet with the crimson ribbons, for they matched exactly the color of the roses.
She gave the card back to the butler. “Have the roses taken to my room, Sommers, and tell Mary I wish her to prepare a little posy of them to pin to the underbrim of my bonnet.”
“Yes, madam.”
“And tell her to be quick, for Mr. Gresham should be here at any moment. I’ll be in the drawing room with my great-aunt.”
“Madam.”
He hurried away, and Linnet went into the drawing room. Her great-aunt was seated at a sofa with her embroidery frame, and looked rather crisp and prim in a high-necked oyster lawn gown. A dainty mobcap rested on her powdered hair, and a pair of spectacles adorned the end of her nose as she endeavored to thread a needle that had a particularly small eye.
Linnet smiled, going to assist. “Shall I do it for you, Great-Aunt?”
“If you would, my dear.” The old lady sat back, inspecting her niece’s appearance. The combination of cream sprigged-muslin gown and crimson velvet spencer evidently met with her approval, for she nodded. “You look very pretty this morning, Linnet.”
“Thank you.” Linnet returned the threaded needle to her.
“You’re far too good for that fellow.”
“Oh, please don’t start that again,” pleaded Linnet. “Poor Benedict doesn’t deserve your continuing opposition.”
“That’s just what he is, isn’t he? Poor Benedict, the impoverished coxcomb with ambitions to live in the lap of someone else’s luxury.”
“You really do hold him in contempt, don’t you?”
“On the contrary, my dear, I have a grudging admiration for him, for he really does carry it off very well. He has you believing his tales of woe, and he’s gulled his half-sister as well. She’s providing for him in every way, and he hasn’t had to produce a single penny. Oh, he’s very clever, and has acting talents that would make him the rage at Drury Lane.”
“I love him, Great-Aunt Minton, and I know he loves me. He’s sent me a beautiful basket of red roses this morning.”