by Sandra Heath
“No doubt they’re from the very florist who is grateful for the immense order Lady Hartley has sent his way.”
“What a horridly cynical thing to say.”
“But the truth, I’ll warrant,” murmured the other, resuming her embroidery.
More than a little put out by her relative’s relentless hostility toward the man she intended to marry, Linnet moved to the window, looking out over the courtyard toward the gates and Charles Street.
Her great-aunt glanced at her. “I think you will enjoy the exhibition, my dear, for from what Lady Anne Stuart told me of it, it sounds very interesting indeed.”
Linnet sighed at the cordial tone, for it was always the same. Her great-aunt had an acid manner when Benedict was under discussion, but a warm and considerate one when speaking of anything else. She turned to look back at the seated figure. “Yes, I’m sure it will be most diverting.”
“I’m sorry I cannot accompany you, but I did invite Lady Anne to call this morning. I take it that Lady Hartley will be with you?”
“No, I’m afraid not. She isn’t satisfied with something concerning the silver unicorns, and she’s descending upon Cheapside to deal with it. Mary will be accompanying me, to see that all is proper.”
“I understand why you find the necessity of a chaperone irritating, my dear, but a lady’s reputation is all-important, as I believe I’ve said before.”
“You have,” murmured Linnet.
Her aunt shot her a sharp glance, and was about to remonstrate with her when there was a discreet tap at the door and Mary came in with the posy of roses for Linnet’s bonnet. The old lady contented herself with jabbing the needle through the taut linen cloth stretched on the embroidery frame.
Linnet stood very still while the maid pinned the flowers to the underbrim of the bonnet, and then went to inspect the result in the mirror over the fireplace. The roses were the very same color as the bonnet ribbons and the spencer, and she was very pleased indeed with the way they looked.
A carriage sounded in the courtyard, and she turned quickly to see that Benedict was in Venetia’s barouche. Venetia’s barouche. In spite of herself, she glanced at her aunt, who met her eyes somewhat shrewdly. Not a word was said, but Linnet knew full well what her aunt was thinking. Here he is again, said the look, in his sister’s carriage. Linnet sighed inwardly, returning her glance to her reflection in the mirror. Oh, how she wished Benedict would do something to prove her great-aunt wrong.
Sommers announced Benedict, who came in smiling. He wore a dark-blue coat with brass buttons, a fawn-and-white-striped Valencia waistcoat, and fawn kerseymere breeches that vanished into handsome Hessian boots with golden tassels. He sketched a dashing bow. “Good morning, Miss Minton. Linnet.”
Great-Aunt Minton sniffed, continuing with her needlework. “In my day, sir, a gentleman did not address the young lady he was to marry by her first name, for it smacked of overfamiliarity.”
He glanced secretly at Linnet, rolling his eyes in a long-suffering way.
Great-Aunt Minton looked up from her embroidery. “Tell me, sir, has Lady Hartley received any word from Mr. Grainger?”
“No, Miss Minton.”
“I must say, I find his conduct somewhat strange, and totally out of character. I always thought him such a mild, considerate, charming young man. Your sister would have been wise to accept him when she had her chance, for I doubt if she’ll do better.”
“I’ve said the very same to her, Miss Minton.”
The old lady’s eyes flickered. “I’m sure you have, sir, for it is always good policy to pursue advantageous matches, is it not?”
Embarrassed, Linnet turned quickly to Mary. “Go put on your bonnet and cape, Mary, we’ll be leaving directly.”
“Miss Linnet.” The maid gave a hurried curtsy, and went out.
Linnet had no intention of lingering, thus allowing her great-aunt to deliver any more thinly veiled barbs. “We’ll go now, Great-Aunt,” she said, going to slip her arm through Benedict’s.
Great-Aunt Minton eyed him over her spectacles. “Look after my niece, sir, or you will have me to answer to.”
“She’s in safe hands, Miss Minton,” he replied reassuringly.
“Hmm.” The needle stabbed the linen cloth again.
Linnet drew him quickly toward the door, breathing out with relief as it closed again behind them. “I fear my aunt is in a venomous mood.”
“She always is when I’m around,” he said with feeling.
“Well, it doesn’t make any difference to the way I feel about you,” she said softly, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.
He glanced quickly around to see that the entrance hall was empty, and then he swept her into his arms, kissing her passionately on the lips. He held her close, his heart beating against hers as he lingered over the stolen moment. He drew back at last, his face flushed with desire. “I love you so much, my darling.”
“I know, and I love you, too.”
He smiled, touching the posy of roses with his fingertips. “I was afraid that I would arrive before they did.”
“They’re beautiful, Benedict. I told Sommers to take them to my room.”
The butler appeared in the entrance hall, ready to hand Benedict his hat, gloves, and cane, and they moved discreetly apart. Benedict turned to her, striking a classical pose. “Do I look very sculpture exhibition?” he asked, grinning.
She laughed. “Well, thinking of certain statues, perhaps you’re a trifle overdressed…”
“Miss Carlisle, I’m shocked,” he replied, pretending to look very taken aback. “Well, if I don’t look particularly sculpture exhibition, perhaps I look messenger boy.”
“Messenger boy?”
“I’m charged with my sister’s invitation. She wishes, nay, demands, that you and your great-aunt come to dine a week on Thursday, that’s the evening before the ball.”
“Oh.” Linnet lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to go to Fane Crescent, not even for Venetia.
He took her hands. “Please come. There’ll only be four of us, you, me, Venetia, and the dragon.”
“Benedict…”
“It will be a big hurdle to put behind you. Just consider how many friends you have who now reside there. Are you going to turn down their invitations, too? There would soon be talk if you did, and I’d be in the unenviable position of hearing my future wife’s name connected yet again with Lord Fane. I would find that somewhat hard to bear.”
“I—I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Then think of it now. Will you accept?”
She knew she had to, and she managed a smile. “I’ll come, and I’m sure my great-aunt will as well.”
“Oh, I’m sure the old besom will; she won’t miss a chance like this to harp on and on about how much of my sister’s hospitality I enjoy.”
Linnet hesitated, but the opening was there. “Then don’t give her the satisfaction. Move out of Venetia’s house and set up somewhere on your own.”
‘I’m about to do just that.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I’ve found the very property. It’s in North Audley Street, and will suit me down to the ground. When it’s ready, that is.”
“Ready?”
“I’m having it refurbished from cellar to attic, for it won’t do at the moment. God knows who lived there before, but it’s been done out in the most execrable taste. There’s brown brocade on the drawing room walls, would you believe? A man could swiftly become suicidal with such a dismal color.” He raised her hands to his lips, smiling into her eyes. “When we’ve been to the exhibition, I’d like to take you to see it. It’s modest by Carlisle House standards, but will do for me until we’re married.” He glanced around the impressive entrance hall. “Of course, if the marriage takes place as quickly as I wish it to, North Audley Street may never be honored with my presence after all, for it goes without saying that when we are married, this will be our London pied-a-terre. It’s unthinkable th
at the last Carlisle should reside anywhere else.”
Mary hurried down the stairs, still tying the string of her little blue cape, and Benedict went to take his hat, gloves, and cane from Sommers. A moment later they all three emerged from the house to enter the waiting barouche.
* * *
The Hanover Square Rooms stood in the southeast corner of the square. They were contained in a four-story red-brick building that had windows gazing over the octagonal garden in the center of one of Mayfair’s loveliest areas.
The sculpture exhibition was being much patronized by society, and there were many carriages outside. With Mary following at a discreet few paces behind, Benedict and Linnet entered the building. The exhibition took up all four floors, and there were sculptures of every description, from full-length statues and decorative panels from Ancient Greece to a number of busts by Mr. Nollekens, the most sought-after sculptor in England.
They’d only been looking at the exhibition for a short while when an attendant approached Benedict to tell him that two men wished to speak to him outside. Apologizing and leaving her to examine a statue of Zeus that had been found in the Tiber, Benedict went out to speak to the men.
Curious to see them, and conscious of a stirring of the unease she’d felt at the Theatre Royal, she slipped to a window to watch as he spoke urgently to the two men. They were of unsavory appearance, their faces in shadow from their hats, and they were most definitely not gentlemen. Benedict seemed to be a little agitated, but was agreeing with what they said for he nodded, and spread his hands, as if to say that something was beyond his control, then he came back into the building.
She saw how pale his face was again. “Who were they, Benedict?” she asked anxiously. “I—I looked out, and saw them.”
“Oh, they were only workmen I’ve engaged to refurbish the house in North Audley Street. There was some problem with the new glass for the back windows, and they sought my permission before proceeding. It’s nothing to worry about.” He smiled, drawing her hand through his arm. “You shouldn’t worry so about me.”
“I love you, so of course I worry,” she replied.
He paused, turning her to face him. “Do you still promise that we’ll be married as swiftly as possible? I doubt if I can bear to be apart from you for much longer.”
“I promise,” she whispered, her voice almost lost in the mutter of genteel conversation around them.
He glanced at the crowded room. “Let’s go up to the top of the building, for I’m sure it will be less of a press there.”
On the top floor the exhibition amounted to little more than a collection of marble fragments piled higgledy-piggledy on trestle tables. One of the rooms was completely deserted, and Benedict saw that it presented an ideal opportunity to be alone with Linnet for a while. He took it upon himself to instruct Mary to wait outside, and then ushered Linnet into the empty room.
So much old stone made the air dusty, and sunbeams danced in the light streaming in through the windows. There was an alcove containing a gray velvet sofa and a very large potted fern and anyone seated there could remain unseen and very private. He led Linnet toward it, drawing her into the shadows to kiss her on the lips.
As she slipped her arms around him to return the kiss, two gentlemen suddenly entered the room, and she pulled guiltily away. The gentlemen were talking loudly, and both she and Benedict recognized their voices. One belonged to Lord Frederick Cavendish, whom they’d met outside the theater, and the other to the equally elderly Mr. Algernon Halliday, a leading light of every fashionable drawing room and the scourge of prim spinsters, who all fled the moment he approached.
Under any other circumstances, Linnet and Benedict would have discreetly slipped from the alcove to make as if they’d been examining the exhibits on a nearby table, but the subject of the gentlemen’s conversation kept them rooted where they were. A list of hilarious mishaps was being gleefully discussed, and these mishaps were supposed to have befallen Linnet herself. What was more, the stories had originated at a certain house in Portman Street, the residence of none other than the Bird of Paradise.
Chapter 13
The moment Benedict realized what the conversation was about, he made to step angrily into view, but Linnet quickly restrained him, for she wanted to know what the demi-mondaine was saying about her. Benedict gave in very reluctantly, but his eyes were bright with indignation that a creature like the Bird of Paradise should dare to spread untrue tales about the woman he loved, and he was equally furious with the two unwary gentlemen, who were so mirthfully spreading the calumnies.
Algernon Halliday was chuckling wheezily, for he was a very round person who needed to be tightly laced into the fashionable clothes he liked so much. In his youth he’d been handsome enough, but had now lost both his figure and his charm, although he apparently did not realize it, for he still pursued the ladies with a leering confidence that had the very opposite effect to the one he wished. “By gad, Fred,” he said, controlling his laughter, “I’d like to have been there. I’ve always suspected that the little Carlisle has some of the neatest ankles in town, and I’d have seen for myself when that sofa of a horse somehow managed to throw her.”
“She’s a bit thin for my taste,” replied Lord Frederick, busily examining a piece of marble with his quizzing glass, “I prefer ‘em a trifle more well-padded, like Mrs. Siddons or Miss Pope, or even the Bird of Paradise.”
“You and your wretched Mrs. Siddons. I vow you’ve carried a torch for her ever since I’ve known you.”
Algernon strolled to the nearest window, which was mercifully well away from the alcove. He looked down into the square below. “I do wish I’d been there when the Carlisle wench took that tumble,” he murmured wistfully. “No, better still, I wish I’d been there when she was walking her three dogs in The Mall, and they got their leads tangled around her legs when they saw that cat. To think I wasn’t there when she went flying into that puddle and got so soaked that her muslin gown clung to every delicious portion of her anatomy.”
Lord Frederick surveyed him. “Still too thin for me. I say, Algy, I didn’t know you found the Carlisle so appealing.”
“She, er, interests me, that’s all. I never did quite understand that business last year, I didn’t return from Ireland until after the dust had settled. Why on earth didn’t Fane just marry her, and then visit the Bird of Paradise on the side?”
“There was more to it than just that. The Carlisle also got it into her head that Fane cheated her uncle out of Radleigh Hall, and said as much to his face.”
“Did she, by gad? That would take pluck, for I vow I wouldn’t care to accuse Fane of anything, he’s too handy with sword and pistol.”
Algernon turned to look at Lord Frederick. “Did Fane cheat?”
“No. He may not be a close personal friend, but I’d stake my life on his honesty. He deceived the Carlisle girl with Judith Jordan, but he didn’t do a damned thing that wasn’t above board when it came to acquiring Radleigh.”
Algernon nodded. “If anyone could cheat, I’d say it would have been Joseph Carlisle himself. I went to school with him, and he had the sharpest pair of dealing hands I ever clapped eyes on.”
“Yes, he did, rather.”
In the alcove, Linnet was listening with stunned disbelief. They were intent upon whitewashing Nicholas and painting as black a picture as they could of her poor uncle.
Benedict slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to whisper in her ear. “We should stop them in their gossip-mongering tracks before this goes any further.”
“No. I must hear everything.”
Lord Frederick joined his friend at the window. “Well, whatever the rights and wrongs of Fane’s actions, it’s Gresham who’s going to enjoy the Carlisle now.”
“Lucky dog.”
“I saw them at the Theatre Royal recently. They seem very taken with each other.”
“They’re certainly in a rush to make the betrothal official. You
don’t think…?” Algernon allowed his voice to die away suggestively.
“Eh? Oh, I see your meaning. Well, it’s possible, I suppose, but then I doubt if they’d be making such a song and dance about the betrothal ball, do you? It would take a very cool head to do that, and know that the eyes of society were upon one.”
“There’ve been any number of such cool heads in the past,” reminded Algernon, chuckling.
“From the sound of it, you’re leading up to a wager,” observed the other.
“I am, but not on that particular subject,” replied Algernon.
“What then?”
“On La Jordan’s ability to infiltrate the betrothal ball, as she says she intends,” answered Algernon.
Linnet froze, her lips parting on a silent gasp. Judith Jordan was actually intending to attend the ball? Her eyes fled to Benedict’s. His face was very grim and still.
Lord Frederick drew a long breath. “D’you think she’ll pull it off?”
“Have you ever known the Bird of Paradise fail in anything she sets out to do?”
“Well, no, I suppose not…” Lord Frederick considered for a moment. “But it’s one thing to mingle with society’s gentlemen, quite another to attempt to do so when their wives are around. Ladies don’t like demireps.”
“That, dear boy, is a classic case of stating the glaringly obvious,” observed Algernon dryly. “I think La Jordan has nerve enough, and style enough, to carry it off. She only needs a demure dress, a wig, and a change of voice, and bingo.” He snapped his fingers.
Lord Frederick considered the matter for a long moment. “All right, I grant you that she might conceivably gain admittance, but as to carrying out the second part of her plan…”
“To steal a suitable trophy of the occasion? If she’s gone so far as to step over the threshold at Carlisle House, you can bet your last pair of boots she’ll do the other, too.”
Lord Frederick exhaled thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I don’t think she will.”
“Fane believes she’ll have a shot at it, and if he thinks it, then so do I. I’m prepared to put a hundred guineas down.” This last was said tauntingly.