Crimmins, also a witness to the entire scene, and not deigning to acknowledge the existence of the rustic cousin’s maid, stalked off in high dudgeon. Small wonder her poor mistress was in a state of nervous exhaustion with such goings-on. A fine thing it was for that young miss to give herself airs when, but for her mistress’s kindness, she would still be buried in the country.
However, Crimmins was alone in her position. Over the weeks, Caro’s never-failing kindness and her concern for the two lonely little boys had won the hearts of the rest of the staff, with the exception of Mr. Wigmore. Having listened to the account of Daisy, one of the upstairs maids, who had overheard the entire scene while putting things to rights in the drawing room, the household rejoiced in Caro’s success.
“She looked like a queen, she did,” Daisy reported as they sat around the kitchen table. “It made her ladyship as mad as fire to see Lady Caroline in such finery.” Daisy smiled reminiscently. Relatively new to the countess’s establishment, and in awe of Miss Crimmins and the stately butler, she had been a silent admirer of the enterprising Susan, who refused to acknowledge the absolute sway those two personages exerted over the rest of the servants.
It was not that Susan was in the least bit disrespectful. On the contrary, she was always quiet and courteous. Nevertheless, her self-possessed demeanor made it abundantly clear that, while she might accord them the respect due to their positions, she in no way considered herself to be inferior. Nor did she consider her mistress to be any less important than the countess—for all her beauty and reputation as an incomparable.
It was quite the opposite, in fact. And while Susan was ready to concede that the Countess of Welham was a diamond of the first water, she was by no means willing to admit that this gave that lady superiority to someone who was not only beautiful in her own unique way, but intelligent and kind as well. More than once, Susan had cut Crimmins short in mid-tirade of “My lady does this” or “My lady would never consider doing that” or “My lady only mingles with the likes of Duchess So-and-So” with her quiet 1 response that, undoubtedly, these were all very well and good for those who wished to shine in such a limited sphere, but the mind of Lady Caroline Waverly was on higher things, and she devoted her abundant talents and energies to nothing less than the improvement of mankind.
Lady Caroline Waverly was striking rather than beautiful, but she was certain to turn heads tonight. Susan felt privileged to have witnessed the skill that had called forth this distinctive beauty. And if the little maid were not mistaken, the countess too had appreciated the subtle but distinct transformation wrought by Violette Winwood’s artistry.
Susan could have hugged herself with glee at the look on the faces of the countess and the high and mighty Crimmins as Caro had swept regally down the stairs, but she would not for the world have betrayed her feelings by so much as a nicker of an eyelid to those two, and a precious pair they were too. She only hoped that the Marquess of Everleigh would be there tonight and would himself see that the Countess of Welham, for all her little airs and graces, could not hold a candle to Lady Caroline Waverly.
Sitting uncomfortably in the carriage across from a rigidly silent Lavinia, Caro was, to her disgust and dismay, wishing much the same thing as her devoted maid. The evening, thus far, had been quite a revelation to one who considered herself to be different from the rest of the ton and quite enjoyed being labeled a bluestocking. Now, riding along, feeling the delicate touch of a curl as it nestled against her bare neck and relishing the rich sheen of her gown picked up by the light of the torchères, rubbing an appreciative hand over the silky material, she reflected on the pleasure to be derived from knowing that one was looking one’s best.
A mocking smile tugged the corners of Caro’s mouth as she admitted ruefully to herself that an elegant, becoming, and extremely fashionable gown could do a great deal for one’s sense of confidence and well-being. Much as she despised herself for it, Caro was forced to acknowledge that she felt a certain degree of triumph over Lavvy who, though elegantly attired as usual, lacked a certain amount of éclat, and who had not been quite quick enough to hide the chagrin she felt when she realized that Caro’s costume was far more original than the tasteful but boring white-lace dress over white satin slip that she wore. The corsage of rose satin was, as Caro had put it, cut lower than Caro’s own, but despite its daring décolletage and the best adornments the Bond Street modistes could dream up—full-blown roses and seed pearls on the sleeves, heavy rouleaux of satin on the skirt—it looked obvious and overdone in comparison with the simple revealing lines sculpted by Violette Winwood.
If Lavinia could be made uncomfortable by her cousin’s appearance, then, Caro reasoned, she must be in her best looks and for some inexplicable reason, she wanted Nicholas to see her that way. Even now, she remembered the oddly intent expression in his dark blue eyes as he had accepted her stammered thanks for the trip to the balloon ascension. There had been a look there that had made her feel very special as though she meant something to him. Caro suddenly found herself wishing that she was important to him, that he would think her as beautiful and charming as he apparently thought her intelligent. Caro sighed. She might as well wish for the moon. What chance did she have to stand out among the beauties of the ton? None. And besides, was that what she really wanted? It was all very strange and confusing and, as their carriage drew up into the Countess of Nayland’s magnificent portico, she resolved to put such treacherous thoughts out of her mind.
The enormous entrance hall was awash with light and crowded with the cream of the ton making its way slowly to the head of the marble staircase where the countess, ablaze with the famous Nayland emeralds, greeted her guests effusively. “Lavinia, my dear. How delightful to have you amongst us again. You look lovely as always,” she cried, extending a beringed hand and brushing a heavily painted cheek against Lavvy’s smooth white one.
Her ill humor, somewhat mollified by this signal mark of favor from one of London’s premier hostesses, Lavvy presented her cousin with creditable good grace. However, the countess’s exclamation of “Charming! Completely charming! A credit to you, my dear. I can see she will soon be acknowledged an incomparable,” did little to improve her temper. Lavinia, who was not the least inclined to relinquish the title herself, especially to a chit like Caro, bit her lip in annoyance, but before things could deteriorate further, the ubiquitous Sir Evelyn came to the rescue.
Knowing that an event of such splendor and magnitude would induce Caro to wear one of Violette’s creations, he had arrived unfashionably early so as to help orchestrate her appearance as best he could. Though he might wish resounding success for Caro, he did not wish to infuriate Lavinia to the point of destroying any chances her cousin might have. Thus the meddling exquisite had made it a point to be on hand to pour soothing oil on troubled waters and distract Lavinia long enough for Lady Caroline to win the recognition she deserved. Consequently, he had placed himself strategically so he would be able to see them the moment they arrived and he hurried towards them as best he could as soon as they were free of the countess. “Ah, Lavinia! Now the ball has truly begun and the countess’s entertainment is complete,” he exclaimed, bowing low over her hand.
“Flatterer.” Lavinia tapped him playfully with her fan. “I am willing to wager that there is hardly a woman in this room to whom you have not addressed the very same words,” she scolded. Nevertheless, she looked pleased. The frown that had begun to wrinkle her brow smoothed out and the lips, which had been compressed, curved into a satisfied smile.
Sir Evelyn clasped a hand to his heart in mock horror. “Countess, you cut me to the quick. Why, you know I worship at your feet alone. And to prove that to you, I am going to remove your cousin and introduce her elsewhere, so that I may have you all to myself and I shall settle for nothing less than the first waltz with the most beautiful woman in the room.” With another flourish, he bowed again over her hand before taking Caro’s arm and whispering, “Come. There is s
omeone I wish for you to meet.’’
Having thus adroitly separated Caro and Lavinia, he was free to bring his protégée to the attention of some of the more notable members of the gathering. Sir Evelyn was no fool. He had caught the twinkle in Caro’s gray eyes as she observed his manipulation of her cousin and he could feel her clear-eyed gaze on him as he led her through the crowd. Turning to her, he shrugged in a deprecatory way. “Well, what would you have me do, leave you to die of ennui while Lavinia held court?” He grimaced so comically that Caro could not help laughing. “There, that’s better. You must look as though you are enjoying yourself. Then people around you will relax enough so that you actually do so. But come, I wished to provide you with companionship worthy of you and so I shall. I spoke to Castlereagh about you. He remembers your father most kindly and naturally asked to be made known to you. When I last left him, he was over by that pillar ... ah, yes. There. He is nodding at me. Come. You shall see. This evening will not be as dull as you expected.’’ Gliding behind an enormous dowager in purple satin. Sir Evelyn gained the pillars where the distinguished statesman was deep in conversation with a young man whose worshipful gaze made him appear more like a religious supplicant than a young man about town.
Without Caro’s understanding precisely how he did it, Sir Evelyn succeeded in making both men look up as they approached. “Pray continue as you were, gentlemen,” he waved a delicate white hand. “I have not brought this delightful lady over here in hopes of finding her a partner, but on the premise that this is perhaps the only place in the room where she will find the conversation to her liking. I know, my lord, that her distinguished father is known to you. However, despite Therese Esterhazy’s assertion that Lord Waverly was accompanied everywhere by his lovely daughter, I should be quite surprised if you were to recognize her in my beautiful companion.”
A singularly charming smile banished the Foreign Secretary’s preoccupied expression. “I am most happy to renew our acquaintance, for indeed I do remember you as a little girl with a mop of tangled curls who was far more interested in her new pony than in her father’s friends, even though one of them was Talleyrand himself. I lost a great ally in your father, for I had truly counted on him to help me restrain Alexander and his greedy Russians. Your father was one of the few men I knew who truly had some insight into their character. But enough of that. I collect that far from charming European potentates as you once did, you have come to take the ton by storm.” He raised one delicate interrogative brow, flashing again the smile that had enslaved more than one woman.
Caro was momentarily at a loss, but again the ever-helpful Sir Evelyn came to her rescue. “Oh, come now, my lord, you would not expect Hugo Waverly’s daughter to concern herself with such paltry matters. Leave those to lesser women. Lady Caroline is far more interested in the affairs that bring you sleepless nights than she is in the recent alteration in shape of Leghorn bonnets or the latest on-dit, which is why I introduce her to you. But you must excuse me, as the only reason I was able to wrest her from her cousin’s side was to promise Lavinia that I would partner her in the waltz.” And with an airy wave of the hand, he was off across the room, making his way gracefully between couples, bowing here, smiling there, until, in no time at all, he was back at the beauty’s side.
“It is quite obvious, since I have not been aware of such a charming presence as yours in diplomatic circles, that you are not following directly in your father’s footsteps, but are turning your attentions to other matters. Lady Caroline. And pray, what might these be? I am sure that young Wallace, here”—the Secretary gestured toward the earnest young man who now seemed to be almost as taken with Caro as he was by his idol—”is as eager to know how you busy yourself as I.”
Young Wallace, apparently bereft of speech, confirmed his lordship’s speculation by bobbing his head enthusiastically.
Having previously met, if not with outright scorn, at least with polite incredulity, Caro hesitated to elaborate, but the Foreign Secretary seemed so genuinely interested and listened so carefully to her tentative answer that she soon found herself relaxing, and in no time at all was deeper into a discussion of the problems besetting the administration of the Poor Laws than she ever had been with Helena or even the marquess.
Chapter 26
And it was thus that the marquess, leading his mother into the crowded ballroom, first saw her. Indeed, the moment they crossed the threshold, his eyes sought her out and in no time found her. Caro was half a head taller than many of the women in the room, and with her masses of dark hair, queenly carriage, and the distinctive gown that clung to her slender form, she was an arresting figure. For a moment Nicholas could hardly believe it was she, so sophisticated and almost exotic she appeared, and then he saw her ready smile and could almost hear her throaty laughter as she enjoyed one of her companion’s witticisms and he knew that this alluring woman—for that was what she had most definitely become—was in fact his Christmas Waif.
Nicholas felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Where had the large-eyed innocence gone? And how had she transformed herself into such a seductive creature? It did the marquess’s uncertain temper no good to observe that most of the male opinion in the room agreed with him, as more than one pair of masculine eyes were surveying this exquisite new addition to the ton. Damn it! She had no idea what she was doing. She was a child playing with fire. Why, Castlereagh, even Castlereagh, imperturbable statesman that he was, and old enough to be her father besides, was gazing at her like someone besotted. Nicholas stood stock-still, overwhelmed by the most intense, most confusing emotions he had experienced in his life.
On the one hand, he wanted to strangle Castlereagh and tear Caro away from all the ogling eyes. On the other, he wanted to shout to everyone in the room, “Look at her! Isn’t she beautiful? Isn’t she clever and charming? I know. I discovered all those things long ago.” Nicholas caught himself up short. In some strange way, he felt personally responsible for what was Caro’s obvious triumph. But why should he feel that way? After all, she was only Lavvy’s younger cousin.
Suddenly, he realized that it had been a very long time since Caro had been nothing more than Lavvy’s cousin to him. Very early on, she had established herself as a person in her own right. Then, ever so slowly, bit by bit, she had won his respect, his support, and eventually his admiration, until before he knew it, the marquess had become as concerned for Caro’s welfare as he was for his mother’s or his sister’s.
Good God, Mama! Fortunately for his peace of mind, the Marchioness of Everleigh, so long absent from such scenes of revelry was feasting her eyes on the glittering assemblage before her, but not before she had noticed her son’s absorption in a certain fascinating woman across the room from them. That in itself was not usual. Nicholas, much sought after since he first had appeared on the social scene, had an eye for beautiful women, but the countess had never yet seen such a mixture of admiration, tenderness, and longing on his face as she now saw. Even the incomparable Lavinia Mandeville had never inspired such a look. Hurriedly concealing a sly smile, the marchioness quickly looked away so as not to give the least indication that she was aware of the unusual drama being enacted in her son’s mind.
“May I procure you a chair, Mama?” Even to his own ears, the marquess’s voice sounded odd. Laughing to cover up any hint of strangeness in his tone, he continued, “I had best find you a place near a pillar lest you be crushed to death by the devotees of fashion.” And he went off ostensibly in search of a chair, but his eyes kept straying to a certain spot of the ballroom, where a particular person was engaged in what appeared to be a delightful conversation. Really, for one who supposedly detested such affairs, Caro seemed to be remarkably at ease. In fact, one could be pardoned for thinking that she was quite, enjoying herself. Nicholas ground his teeth and began to hunt in earnest for a chain, which he found at length—a rickety affair, more gilt paint than wood, but it would have to do.
By the time he had st
ruggled with it back through the crowd, and bowed politely to all the town tabbies who had quickly converged on his mother, and ensconced her safely, Caro was nowhere to be seen. Nicholas blinked and looked again only to realize that she had been obscured from view by the broad back of her partner, who was none other than Tony Mandeville. Nicholas blinked again. The only time he had ever seen the viscount on the dance floor, it had been under extreme and obvious duress with either his sister or someone as determined as Lady Jersey as his partner. As Caro was neither of these, it appeared that Tony was actually there of his own volition.
Had it been any other time or any other woman, the marquess would have been highly diverted. As it was, he was only further enraged. Not content with enslaving Castlereagh and capturing the attention of every man in the room, Caro was now working her charms to quite miraculous effect. Tony had the same appreciative smile on his face that he had hitherto reserved for Tattersall’s most prime bits of blood. The puppy! What right did he have to look so entranced? Why, Caro could run rings around him. She would be bored with him in a fortnight, though, at the moment, she looked far from bored. Even as the marquess glowered in their direction, she burst into delighted laughter. “Since when did Mandeville know how to approach the fair sex?” he growled under his breath.
Had the marquess but known the cause of Caro’s mirth, he might have been somewhat mollified, for having tried her utmost to follow the steps of the dance as they should be done, Caro finally gave up and allowed herself to be led to Tony’s own peculiar version of it. Practically able to hear his labored counting under his breath, she laughed. “Tony, you would not handle the reins so cowhandedly. If you simply adjust to the music as you would to the gait of any horse, believe me, it will go much better and I shall follow you whatever you do.”
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The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 22