The Pilfered Plume

by Sandra Heath

  Linnet fell silent, for there was something very final in the other’s tone.

  Venetia glanced at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound sharp.”

  “It was my own fault for being ill-mannered enough to probe.”

  “And before you ask yet again, no, I’m definitely not carrying a secret torch for Mr. Coleridge, even though White’s betting book apparently believes that I do. I vow there’s nothing the gentlemen of London wouldn’t wager about, even upon Poky Withington’s chances of succeeding with me! One thing’s certain, they’ll never guess who it is that I really…” Again she broke off, this tune coloring a little guiltily.

  Linnet looked quizzically at her. “Do go on,” she urged, “for the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?”

  “Only the tail, and that’s about to be firmly pushed back in,” replied Venetia, still blushing.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me his name?”

  “No.”

  “Oo you love him?”

  Venetia paused, and then nodded. “Yes, and I have for a very long time.”

  Linnet was curious. “Does he love you?”

  “He will, in the end. Goodness, is that the time? Benedict will soon be here!”

  “And it’s all your fault, yours and that horrid ice.”

  “I fling myself upon your mercy,” replied Venetia, drawing her away from the ballroom toward the staircase.

  “Venetia, I trust you’ll forgive me for mentioning Freddy yet again, but he is a friend of mine; at least, he was.”

  Venetia ushered her up the staircase. “What do you want to say about him?”

  “Just that I still intend to write to him soon, to see if he’ll tell me what’s wrong. I can’t leave matters as they are, I like him too much for that.”

  Venetia looked at her. “My advice is to let sleeping dogs lie. If it pleases him to treat you abominably, I don’t see that there’s any onus upon you to make any effort with him.”

  “I just feel there’s been a terrible misunderstanding of some sort.”

  “Just leave well alone, that’s my advice,” said Venetia.

  Linnet didn’t say anything more, but was still determined to write to Freddy. There had to be an explanation for his conduct, and she was sure that all could be put right in the end.

  They parted at the top of the staircase. Venetia went to the room that had been set aside for her for that day and night, it having long since been decided that with all the effort she’d been putting into the ball, it was hardly right that she should drive back to Fane Crescent at the end of the day. Besides, she and Linnet were looking forward to breakfast, when they’d be able to talk ad infinitum about the night’s events.

  Linnet went to her own room, where Mary was waiting to attend her. The room smelled of roses from the basket Benedict had sent, and the perfume grew stronger as she went briefly to the window to look out. A small team of footmen was scattering ferns over the courtyard, and the silver unicorns on the gateway shone in the evening sunshine, their sequined horns glittering like diamonds.

  Before darkness fell, the courtyard would be thronged with elegant vehicles: would one of them have conveyed the Bird of Paradise on her mission? Would the Cyprian successfully carry out her foray into her long-suffering victim’s territory?

  Chapter 16

  Benedict arrived just as Mary put the final touch to Linnet’s hair. The evening light was golden, and the shadows very dark and long. Candles had been lit.

  The gray lace gown by Madame Leclerc looked perfect for the occasion, and not at all like a last-year’s acquisition. The gray taffeta petticoat was sleeveless and clinging, and the overgown was made of the richest Brussels lace available. It had a daring neckline, and long, tight sleeves, and was set off exquisitely by a ruby necklace and earrings.

  Mary had taken great pains with Linnet’s hair, leaving some soft curls to frame her face, and twisting the rest back into a smooth knot from which tumbled a cascade of little ringlets, each one twined with a thin gray satin ribbon. The ribbons fluttered a little as she rose to look out at the arriving carriage.

  Mary smiled. “Mr. Gresham will think you look lovely tonight, Miss Linnet.”

  “I hope so.” Linnet returned the smile.

  The maid hurried to fetch the gray gauze shawl and arranged it carefully over her mistress’s arm. Then she brought the carved ivory fan, and Linnet turned to examine her reflection in the cheval glass in the corner of the room.

  There was a tap at the door. “Madam?”

  “Yes, Sommers? Come in.”

  The butler entered, looking very splendid in his best dress livery, his hair hidden beneath a handsome new bagwig. He bowed. “Mr. Gresham has arrived, madam. I’ve shown him into the library.”

  “Thank you, Sommers. Is Lady Hartley with him?”

  “No, madam, she’s still dressing in her room as is Miss Minton.”

  “Thank you, Sommers.”

  “Madam.” He bowed again, and withdrew.

  Linnet took a final look in the cheval glass, and then hurried out to go to Benedict in the library.

  Joseph Carlisle had been very proud of his collection of books, housing them in a fine second floor room overlooking the garden. It was to one side of the ballroom, looking toward the mews lane and Curzon Street, and boasted a number of deep, comfortable armchairs upholstered in dark-brown learner. There was still a vague hint of tobacco smoke in the air, a reminder of the many hours Joseph had spent in his favorite chair by the fireplace. There was another reminder of the past in the painting that hung on the chimneypiece, for it was a view of Radleigh Hall, the family estate Joseph had forfeited to Nicholas’s sleight of hand.

  Benedict stood by the fireplace, one foot on the polished fender as he flicked through a book. He wore a black corded silk coat, white pantaloons, a white waistcoat, and a frilled shirt. There was a sapphire pin in his neckcloth, and his white gloves lay on the mantelpiece.

  The moment she entered, he replaced the book on the shelf and came to meet her, taking both her hands and raising the palms to his lips.

  “You look exquisite, my love,” he murmured, looking deep into her eyes.

  “I want to look my very best for you tonight.”

  “And so you do.” He kissed her fingertips. “In a few hours you will be wearing my ring, and I vow that it will seem a lifetime before that ring is joined by a wedding band.”

  “It will not be all that long, I promise you,” she whispered.

  His fingers tightened, and then he released her, standing back to survey her more deliberately. “Poor Venetia, I fancy her teeth will start to grind the moment she sets eyes on you.”

  “She’ll probably manage to put me in the shade.”

  “Never.” He went to the window, looking down into the gardens, where the footmen were beginning to light the lanterns in the trees. His glance moved to the far end of the garden, and the mews. “I see you have someone on guard down there.”

  “Our feathered friend isn’t going to get in.”

  “I doubt if she’ll even try. It’s probably all been an exercise to send you into a tizzy.”

  “If that was her purpose, she succeeded.” Linnet joined him at the window. “She intends to come here tonight, I know she does.”

  “Nothing is going to spoil our evening,” he said softly, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Tonight is ours, Linnet, and every second of every minute of every hour is going to add to our happiness.” He kissed her warmly on the lips, enveloping her in his arms.

  Almost immediately they had to pull guiltily apart, for a rather embarrassed footman knocked upon the door. “Begging your pardon, madam, but Mr. Sommers has sent me to say that the first carriages are arriving, and it is time for you and Mr. Gresham to go to the ballroom.”

  There were spots of color on Linnet’s cheeks as she nodded. “Very well.”

  He bowed, and hurried thankfully away.

  Benedict grin
ned at her. “Methinks we were observed in a moment of unseemly intimacy that will soon echo throughout the kitchens,” he murmured. “Now, then, shall we adjourn post haste to the ballroom? It would hardly be the thing for the guests to be announced, and there to be no host and hostess there to welcome them.” Taking her hand, he hurried her to the door.

  Herr Heller’s Ensemble was already playing softly as they descended the ballroom steps to take their places beside one of the African prince candleholders. The air was noticeably cooler because of the blocks of ice, and the French windows stood open to the terrace and gardens. The scent of roses was almost heady, and the column in the center of the sanded floor looked breath-takingly splendid, with the unicorns’ sequined horns glittering in the soft light of the chandeliers, which had been lit because the long summer evening was drawing to a close.

  The guests’ voices were in the entrance hall as Benedict glanced swiftly around at his sister’s clever handiwork. “Venetia’s pulled out all the stops, has she not?”

  “She’s done us proud.”

  “Perhaps I’ll forgive her for throwing away her chance with Freddy,” he said, grinning.

  Sommers announced the guests’ names just as Great-Aunt Minton, impressive in peacock blue taffeta and aigrettes, hastened down the steps to join Linnet and Benedict. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Georgiana Cavendish, Lord Morpeth, and Mr. Peregrine Withington.”

  Linnet’s heartbeats quickened, and a welcoming smile curved her lips. The evening had begun.

  * * * *

  Over the next hour the guests arrived in increasing numbers. Very few invitations had been declined, and the courtyard was soon filled with carriages and chairs. More vehicles had to draw up in the street, causing inconvenience for other traffic needing to pass that way, and a small crowd of onlookers gathered at the gates to watch the guests in all their finery.

  Darkness had fallen, but the first dance had yet to commence. There was much talking and laughter as the guests mingled, and Herr Heller’s Ensemble played sweetly in the background, waiting for the signal that Linnet and Benedict were ready to start the ball.

  Venetia had at last put in an appearance, having taken an unconscionable length of time over dressing. She looked very lovely in the primrose silk gown she’d decided upon, and her short, dark hair was completely concealed beneath a turban of cloth-of-gold. A shawl of the same cloth-of-gold was draped lightly over her arms, its long ends trailing prettily behind her, and the Hartley diamonds glittered at her throat and on her wrist. She bubbled with pleasure at the constant praise her decorations received, and the only blemish upon her horizon was the equally constant presence of a certain Poky Withington, who was determined to win his wager concerning his success with her.

  Linnet watched him with some amusement, because it was obvious to everyone except Poky himself that Venetia abhorred him. Then Linnet’s smile faded a little, for although it was obvious who Venetia disliked, it wasn’t as obvious who she did like. Was the mysterious gentleman she secretly loved here tonight? Linnet wondered again who he might be, and had to reluctantly draw the inevitable conclusion that the only reason Venetia didn’t name him was that he was already married. She hoped the guess was wrong, but had the dismaying feeling that it wasn’t.

  Glancing around the crowded ballroom, she found herself wondering instead about the Bird of Paradise. There was a sea of faces, many of them made very different by the rage in some circles for wearing elaborate wigs. The Countess of Velborough, for instance, looked unrecognizable with a mass of white curls over her normally rather mouse straight hair. What if Judith Jordan was equally unrecognizable? What if she wore a prim gown and wig, and discarded her famous plumes, as Algernon Halliday had said at the exhibition? Without her famous trademarks, the Cyprian could become anonymous, and might at this very moment be secretly smiling at her.

  It was a horrid thought, but one which had to be quickly set aside, for Benedict told her it was time to commence the first dance, and then beckoned to Sommers.

  As the butler went to inform Herr Heller that the opening dance, the obligatory country dance, was about to be required, Benedict smiled at Linnet. “Whatever happens now, the evening is a success. You know that, don’t you?”

  She smiled, thoughts of Judith Jordan receding. “Yes, I know,” she whispered, slipping her hand over the arm he offered.

  A ripple of applause went around the gathering as the orchestra played the long opening chord, and the floor was cleared for the host and hostess to lead off the dancing. The jaunty country tune began, and Benedict and Linnet moved up and down before the column of roses. They accomplished several patterns of the dance before the other guests joined them, and soon two crowded but elegant rows of dancers moved on either side of the column of roses.

  The country dance ended, and Herr Heller’s musicians proceeded smoothly into a stately allemande. Benedict and Linnet danced this measure together as well, but then separated, as convention demanded, to dance with as many other partners as possible. And so Linnet enjoyed a minuet with the Marquess of Lorne, while Benedict accompanied Lady Georgiana Cavendish, whose own ball was being triumphantly eclipsed tonight. For the polonaise that followed Linnet took to the floor with handsome Lord Granville Leveson-Gower, and Benedict with Lady Georgiana’s mother, the Duchess of Devonshire. Another country dance followed, and then a cotillion.

  Soon the ball was in full swing, and the noise was considerable as everyone strove to be heard above the Herr Heller’s musicians, who were now giving their all on this, their first important engagement. The temperature rose, and the blocks of ice began to slowly melt, dripping into their silver trays. Footmen circulated with champagne and iced water, and many guests strolled in the gardens, where the lanterns in the trees threw soft colors over the ground. In the ballroom, where the light was almost dazzling, the guests’ reflections moved richly in the wall mirrors. Ostrich plumes trembled in the warm air, and just audible beyond the music and laughter was the endless hiss of hundreds of feet moving on the sanded floor.

  It was just before the ball supper was served that Sommers had to announce a very startling late arrival. Great-Aunt Minton was in the supper room, dealing with a problem, Benedict was walking in the gardens with Venetia, and knew nothing about it, but Linnet was partnering none other than Mr. Algernon Halliday, whose gleeful enjoyment of Judith Jordan’s stories had been overheard at the sculpture exhibition.

  “Lord Fane,” declared the butler, his voice carrying clearly in the sudden hush that had greeted Nicholas’s appearance at the top of the steps.

  Linnet’s heart almost stopped, and she froze in her steps, staring at the elegant figure in the ballroom entrance.

  He wore a black coat, unbuttoned to reveal a white waistcoat, which was itself only partly buttoned, so that the lace trimming on his shirt front could peep through. His neckcloth was lace-edged as well, and in it he wore a black pearl pin. His black pumps were absolutely plain, and he wore white silk stockings and breeches. A faint smile touched his lips as he handed the uneasy butler his invitation card, and then paused at the top of the steps, toying with the spill of lace protruding from his cuff.

  Linnet couldn’t move. It had never occurred to her that Nicholas would attend. Her gaze moved to the white card in Sommers’s hand. How on earth had he acquired a card? His name had most definitely not been on the list… Oh, where was Benedict when she needed him?

  There was a great deal of whispering. Herr Heller had stopped playing, and there was no dancing. All eyes moved from Nicholas to Linnet, and then back again. Fans were raised to sly lips, and quizzing glasses took full note of all that was going on.

  It seemed that the guests standing around Linnet and Algernon Halliday somehow drew a little away, so that Nicholas couldn’t help but see her. His blue eyes rested on her for a long moment, and then he slowly descended the steps. The guests parted as he reached the floor, and his path to her was left utterly clear.

  H
er first instinct was to open her fan, for her face was suddenly very hot, but she knew that such a gesture would reveal how very nervous and uneasy his arrival had made her. She strove to remain outwardly composed, but inside her heart was beating so swiftly she was sure its pounding was audible throughout the ballroom. She could almost feel Algernon Halliday’s malicious delight as he remained firmly at her side.

  Nicholas reached her at last, sketching an elegant bow. “Miss Carlisle. Halliday.”

  Algernon nodded. “Fane.”

  Linnet couldn’t speak, for it was all she could do to retain her appearance of calm.

  Another faint smile curved Nicholas’s lips as he looked at her. “I must ask you to forgive my disgracefully late arrival.”

  Sommers was aware of the uneasy silence, and quickly gestured to Herr Heller to begin playing again. Within moments, the sweet notes of a ländler echoed across the ballroom, and the more considerate among the guests endeavored to smooth the awkwardness by beginning to dance. There were still whispers and intrigued glances, but Linnet and Nicholas were no longer the sole focus of attention.

  Linnet was about to demand of him how he’d acquired an invitation when he caught her completely off guard by asking her to dance. “Will you do me the honor?” he murmured, taking her hand and leading her onto the floor before she had time to protest.

  To have snatched her hand away and turned from him would have made a scene memorable enough to rattle teacups for weeks to come, so she didn’t demur, but instead allowed him to whirl her slowly into the measure, his arms twined around hers. Her heart still thundered in her breast as he held her, his gloved fingers warm through the lace of her sleeves.

  He smiled, noting how she averted her eyes, determined not to offer him any conversational opening. “Does this ländler take you back to our first meeting, Linnet? It was here, in this very ballroom, was it not?”

  She had no intention of remembering such things. “Why have you come here tonight? If it’s your intention to wreck the evening…”

  “Credit me with more finesse than that. As to why I’ve come, well, you did send me an invitation, albeit a little tardily.”