“How kind you are, Miss Woodforde,” the Marchioness replied, turning away from the servant. “Actually, the floral arrangements are the most pressing problem at the moment.”
“Have all the vases been made up?” Chloe asked. “If not, I would be happy to assist you.”
“I would never dream of imposing on you, my dear.”
“It would hardly be an imposition, my lady. Besides, I am rather good at creating arrangements.”
“Are you?” asked the Marchioness with a quizzical smile. “I confess I lack inspiration and end up sticking the blooms and greenery any which way in a container. The gardeners can do wonders with the grounds, but they know nothing about cut flowers. And as luck would have it, the maids can do little better than me.” She paused a moment, obviously considering Chloe’s offer. “But what about Lady Milbanke?”
“There is Hannah, her abigail, at her disposal, my lady.”
“In that case, I would be grateful for your assistance. The truth is, my dear, I am in a fair way of being completely done in, running between the conservatory and the kitchen. Armand, our French chef, has picked this day to display his touchy Gallic temperament. The kitchen staff is near revolt with my housekeeper having threatened twice to give notice if the silly man raises the meat cleaver at her one more time. These Frenchmen and their prickly egos,” concluded the Marchioness feelingly before sending for the head gardener, whom she instructed to do whatever Chloe bid.
Chloe did indeed possess a flare for arranging flowers. Upon becoming a part of her aunt’s establishment in Mount Street, she had taken it upon herself to brighten the townhouse with fresh floral bouquets the housekeeper purchased from the flower girls who were among the many street vendors hawking their wares on the streets of London.
Thus supplied with a profusion of blooms and greenery garnered from the Court’s extensive gardens and exotic hothouse flowers from the conservatory, Chloe spent an enjoyable morning letting her artistic juices flow, deftly creating dramatic floral designs. When the urns and vases were placed throughout the halls and ballroom, the Marchioness reviewed the results and showered Chloe with praise.
The Marquis returned with the other guests around lunch time, all in high spirits from the tour of the district. Several guests made flattering observation about the floral decorations, which highly pleased the Marchioness, who was quick to give Chloe due credit. Their gaiety carried over to a picnic luncheon of cold chicken, sliced ham and mutton, a variety of cheeses and breads with fresh fruits and plenty of wine, served out on the terrace. Since the dining room was being prepared for the elaborate dinner, the Marchioness hoped this would cause a minimal disruption in the preparation of the evening’s meal.
Throughout lunch, Chloe stayed by her aunt. Still, it was impossible for her not to notice the sly looks Judith Palmer directed toward her from where the widow sat with Leslie Pearson and the French émigré. Of Camden there was no sign, which caused Chloe to worry that his absence might well be due to his wound, especially when she learned from Sir Morley that the Viscount had been absent from the morning’s excursion about the neighborhood.
Lady Milbanke had been suspiciously gay throughout lunch, and Chloe found the source of her aunt’s mood when the old gal nearly tipped the table over trying to rise from her seat. The infamous silver flask tumbled from the folds of a cashmere shawl that had been in the baroness’s lap and hit the terrace stones with clanging racket, drawing everyone’s eye. With Sir Albert’s supportive arm about Lady Milbanke’s waist, Chloe managed to get the thoroughly soused baroness up to her room and deposited her on the bed. Before Chloe had finished removing her slippers, the old lady was snoring softly.
Afterwards, most of the guests drifted off either to their rooms for a nap or to the back salon to pursue quiet activities. While the ladies applied themselves to needle work, the men played cards or billiards, for all were conscious of keeping out of the way of the harried staff.
The remainder of the afternoon Chloe used to take special pains preparing her toilette for the grand evening. She chose the ball gown Lady Milbanke had given her on her last birthday made by a French modiste. A luscious cream chiffon, it had a low, square cut bodice and tiny puff sleeves, all trimmed with gold ribbons. While the baroness slept off the effects of her earlier libation, Hannah offered to arrange Chloe’s honey-gold locks in a thick knot with a gold braid laced through it. Her mother’s single strand of pearls graced her slender neck with matching pearl drops dangling from her ears. The image of the slender young woman in the cheval glass, dressed in the first stare of fashion with shining tresses crowning huge hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation, gave Chloe confidence.
At the close of the afternoon, she and Hannah joined forces to rouse the baroness to get her dressed. After giving her a tisane for her headache, the women finally had Lady Milbanke decked out in a flowing dark rose silk gown. Her wispy gray hair was tucked under a turban of the same material, adorned with two white plumes and a diamond pin. She was further bejeweled with diamonds at her throat, wrists, and rings on several fingers.
Since Lady Sophia had slept a good part of the day, Chloe hoped the baroness’s behavior would be unexceptional. Of course, that would hinge partly on Sir Albert, who had prearranged the seating at dinner so he could be seated next to her incorrigible aunt. His intention was to monitor his dear lady friend’s intake of wine so that she wouldn’t have shot the cat before the ball began.
Feeling very grand, Chloe held Lady Sophia’s arm and together they descended to the drawing room. Almost everyone had assembled to mingle with neighbors who had also been invited to dinner. Chloe’s excitement was such that even Mrs. Palmer’s dazzling attire couldn’t dampen her sprits.
The widow was dressed in a pale pink gown that clung provocatively to her supple curves. Where the slinky silk gown didn’t cling, it dipped, exposing an incredible amount of bosom. Though stunning, her fragile beauty was marred by her frowning countenance, no doubt due to the notable absence of the Viscount. He, along with Leslie Pearson, did not appear until minutes before dinner was announced. Chloe also was relieved that there was no sign of Pierre Guyot.
Camden slipped in barely ahead of the other late comers. Chloe noticed he looked somewhat pulled with dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise she detected no other symptoms that he suffered from a gun shot wound. Indeed, he was extremely handsome in black formal dress with a white satin waistcoat. He wore the points of his collar slightly higher than usual, though far from the height ascribed to as fashionable by those members of the dandy set. In his snowy white cravat, the emerald stick pin shot green sparks as it refracted the candle light. His eyes scanned the room until he located Chloe seated with her aunt and Lady Reaves. He gave her a briefest of nods before he turned to the stunning Mrs. Palmer.
Moments later, Pearson arrived, resplendent in periwinkle pantaloons, a mauve satin jacket and silver embroidered waistcoat. He anxiously looked around and then joined Lady Sarah and Sir Clarence. Still, his eyes darted about the room as though he was waiting for something.
Chloe suspected there was some significance to these late arrivals, yet she felt a terrible let down. Staring sightlessly at her clinched hands, she hung her head and mentally castigated herself for expecting anything more than a casual greeting from Camden. His continual preference for the widow’s company deeply hurt, and it was with great effort that she gathered her composure once more, determined to get caught up in the gaiety that prevailed the crowded room and forget about the boorish brute. Unfortunately, Judith’s high tinkling laugh rang out periodically, an audible reminder that the Viscount enjoyed consorting with the beautiful widow and compounding her heartache.
When the Marquis and his Marchioness grandly led the way into dinner, Chloe dutifully trouped out of the drawing room behind her aunt and Sir Albert. She plastered a smile on her face, only to be startled by Pierre Guyot who made his belated entrance through the outside terrace door.
Appearing sl
ightly winded, he sidled up to Chloe, latching on to her arm, and greeted her with inane pleasantries as he led her into the dining room. Seeing her seated, then taking the chair beside her, he remained quiet throughout the first remove. But after a footman ladled lobster bisque from a tureen carried on a silver tray by another servant, he targeted Chloe for another one of his inquisitions, much to the determent of her already frayed nerves. This time, he pelted her with questions about how she’d spent her day, in particular, the morning hours.
“No one saw you this morning?”
“I did not go riding with the others,” answered Chloe, disinclined to be communicative.
“Non?”
“No.”
“You remained closeted with your tante in her room, oui?”
“Actually, I had planned to, but things did not work out that way.”
“Ahhh . . . .” He remained quiet until a roasted quail smothered in a delectable orange sauce rested on the Sevres plate in front of him. “And where did you say you went this morning?”
“I did not say, monsieur.”
“You went out, oui?”
“No, I stayed in the house.”
“All morning?” With suspicious intensity, his deep-set brown eyes studied her expression, and Chloe began to understand how important it was for him to know where she had been. That there existed a way to torment the obnoxious Frenchman greatly appealed to her. Thus, she decided he’d have to apply thumb screws to her first before she’d divulge a single shred of information. Inwardly laughing to herself, she gave him an enigmatic smile yet remained silent, goading Guyot into gnashing his teeth in frustration.
Guyot said little else, which suited her mood perfectly since his reticent anger allowed her to ponder her own problem—the Viscount Camden.
Judith Palmer had said she had an understanding with Camden. And if Chloe believed her eyes, she’d accept the widow’s word as true. While Camden’s dark blue gaze often settled on Chloe, when he entered a room, he always went to Judith’s side. Yet, Chloe foolishly responded every time he showed her even the slightest courtesy.
Though Chloe knew better, she’d let her heart rule over her head. No more, she promised herself. She would stop acting like a schoolroom miss with a crush and instead heed what her eyes told her. It was obvious that the Viscount was dallying with her.
At the end of the meal, it was mutually agreed that the gentlemen would take their port with the ladies, allowing the servants to remove the covers and reset the table for the late night buffet. Though the Frenchman was on Chloe’s heels when they left the dinning room, he was no where to be seen once she’d settled on a settee in the drawing room.
As more guests for the ball began arriving, her eyes wandered about the elongated room. Try as she might, she could not stop herself from seeking out Camden. At last she espied him and his beautiful paramour, standing in a small window enclosure and was amazed to witness Judith Palmer practically bear-jawing the Viscount who appeared unfazed, wearing his habitual mask of ennui. Chloe sighed inwardly. No matter how much it hurt, she had to accept the proof she saw of their understanding.
*** Chapter 16 ***
In actuality, Camden was seething inside, wishing the blond beauty to perdition. With any luck, he mentally deduced, this entire affair would be played out by the end of the night. Thankfully, that also meant it would be the last he’d have to see of this annoying woman. He had not gone riding with the Marquis and the others that morning, opting instead to sleep late and give his shoulder a rest. Throughout the afternoon, he’d deliberately avoided Judith’s company, hoping to provide Pearson ample time to swap the jewels for the packet of marked currency Judith had in her possession.
He managed to outmaneuver her at dinner, sitting across from her with Lady Sarah. That had been no mean feat, either, the way she hung on to him. Hence, this was the first opportunity she’d had to have a private word with him, dragging him to the window, setting them somewhat apart from the rest of the guests. He was regretting ever having taken up with the foolish female as she harped on about his late appearance for dinner.
“Where have you been, Oliver? I looked for you half the day.”
He raised one dark eyebrow to forestall any further questions. “I take it your afternoon proved successful?” he drawled.
“Yes, the jewels are in my possession, which you would know if you had not vanished today,” snapped Judith angrily as she crossed her arms underneath her breast. The gesture raised her generous bosom, enough so that more of her creamy breasts were exposed.
While this once would have encouraged Camden to eye the bare flesh with amorous designs, he found her actions wanton, especially when compared to the more subtle and enticing charms of Chloe Woodforde. But he would do better keeping his mind on the matter at hand. “Did Pearson balk over the packet of bills?”
“He hardly looked at them, though he was far from pleased,” she said. “He kept repeating how he’d made it plain as pikestaff that he wanted payment in sovereigns as part of the deal. Still, he was easier to handle than that annoying Guyot. That rodent was forever hanging about my skirts after lunch. I had the devil of a time shaking him.” She gave Camden an expectant look. When he did not react or appear jealous, she asked, “Do you suppose Guyot suspects something or wanted the jewels himself?”
If she thought Camden would enlighten her about what was afoot, she was doomed for more disappointment. “That’s not likely,” he said and scanned the room trying to locate the émigré, who had disappeared again. “You’ve performed admirably, Judith. I believe that diamond broach can be justifiably included as part of your reward.”
She gave him a radiant smile before coquettishly lowering her long lashes. “What about you, Oliver? Have I perhaps earned a small place in your heart?”
“I hate to disillusion you, my dear, but I have no heart. As I stated at the onset, this whole affair has been nothing more than a business transaction, though a very delightful one, to be sure,” he said, softening his dismissal with a smile.
Her eyes flew open, revealing her hurt and anger. “I suppose you deem the diamond pin as payment in full. Well, I am not some whore,” she spat at him. Her eyes slid over to where Miss Woodforde sat on the settee with her aunt. “You think I am unaware of your, ah, liaison with the prim and proper Miss Woodforde, my lord? Well, my own eyes have seen the little hussy coming from your bedroom as well as you entering hers in the middle of the night. Such behavior from the baroness’s companion would never be tolerated by the ton.”
“Have a care, Judith,” growled Camden under his breath. “I’m already aware of your tongue wagging.”
“Why?” asked Judith saucily, still watching Chloe. “You have given me your conge.”
“You’ll say no more about what you saw, my dear Mrs. Palmer, not if you value your own place in the ton,” he drawled in a dangerous tone.
She glanced up at him but said no more, but neither did she put on a polite face.
Which was just as well, for Camden had had enough. “Funny, Judith, in all the time I’ve known you, I never took you to be stupid.” Then he turned on his heel and quit the room.
He was livid, and while heading for the back salon intending to slip out the French windows, he contemplated his anger. Judith was still a young woman and, he admitted, her circumstances demanded she marry well. But she had been foolish beyond belief if she’d truly thought to ensnare him, using this assignment and the cover of a respectable house party. In truth, he did not actually begrudge her blowing off some steam over his callous use of her. What he could not countenance was her vile attack on Chloe Woodforde’s character.
Chloe’s large hazel eyes were forever on his mind, not to mention the memory of her soft curves when he’d carried her that night after finding her unconscious in the woods. And heaven help him, every time thereafter when he’d gotten the chance to caress her lovely body. He felt such a need for her, yet it wasn’t all physical. Somehow, she filled an
emotional void in him. And, he laughed incredulously to himself, she’d managed to resurrect his conscience.
There was little time to reflect on this, however. He soon reached the edge of the woods where Raikes stepped out from behind a large tree trunk, directly in his path.
“Things ain’t gone right, Gov.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The Frenchy snuck away after dinner. I tracked him to an old game keeper’s hut. I figured he meant to meet up with that giant blackguard. He met him, all right,” said the wiry agent, giving the nobleman a meaningful look. “Weren’t ten minutes and out come that knave, but no Guyot. I waited a bit before checking the cabin. Found the little Frog dead--knifed through the heart.”
“The killer?”
“Long gone, ran off through the woods in the direction of the main road. Hawker’s men are underfoot everywhere, too, so they’re bound to come across him roaming about. That’s if he ain’t hightailed it altogether.”
“Damn, he’s got to be in the one we’re after. If Captain Hawker gets wind of Guyot’s murder, he might move in before Pearson contacts him.”
“Can’t make sense out of why the émigré didn’t deal with Pearson himself, Gov?” Raikes scratched the back of his head in a thoughtful manner, then spat on the ground. “Instead, he gets himself kilt by one of his own kind.”
“On the surface, it doesn’t appear to make sense unless the French were suspicious of Guyot all along. There’s always the possibility he tried to double cross them. Lately, he’d been snooping around and dogging Pearson’s every move.”
Both were quiet for a moment, digesting this unexpected catastrophe before Camden continued. “It’s rumored Guyot barely escaped Madame Guillotine, forcing him to leave France with only his hide. Could be he had visions of evening the score by fattening his pockets.”
“Seeing as how things been going, I ain’t easy about this.”
The Poor Relation Page 13