by Stella Riley
Nell shot her friend a sharp glance, wondering if there had been a hint of acidity in those words. Then, deciding that it was unlikely, said, ‘Do you like Mr Penhaligon?’
‘I like him better than the other gentlemen I’ve mentioned,’ said Cassie carefully, ‘and I enjoy dancing with him. But so do half a dozen other girls I could name. As for what Nicholas may or may not think … he’s entitled to his opinion but should leave me to form my own.’
‘In other words, I shouldn’t have said anything,’ sighed Nell. ‘Very well. Let’s talk of something else. It’s the Cavendish assembly on Thursday – swiftly followed by Lord and Lady Amberley’s ball next week. Have you decided what you will wear?’
‘The blue silk and silver tissue Olivia is dying to try squeezing herself into for Cavendish House,’ responded Cassie, with the glimmer of a smile. ‘As for the Amberley ball, I’ve a final fitting for a new gown tomorrow but have begun to wish I’d been more adventurous.’
‘Adventurous? Why? You always look elegant.’
‘No, Nell. I always look the same. If you’re free, come with me to Phanie’s and you’ll see exactly what I mean.’
* * *
Lady Vennor’s rout was no different to any other. The rooms were hot, stuffy, over-crowded and heavy with far too many warring scents. Cassie soon abandoned the hopeless task of preventing her gown from becoming crushed; she spoke to all the same people she’d spoken to last night and the night before; and she made sure that Lady Vennor’s son never had an opportunity to speak to her privately. The whole evening, she decided grimly, was both tedious and hard work and she wished Mama hadn’t insisted they attend.
Twenty minutes later, Richard Penhaligon fought his way to her side and everything changed. Greeting her with no more than a smile, he said, ‘This is appalling, isn’t it? Why do you suppose hostesses do it?’
‘If it isn’t too crowded to move, it isn’t a success,’ she replied, quelling the impulse to beam up at him. ‘And people accept the invitation rather than risk anyone thinking they didn’t get one. But I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, sir. Most of the younger gentlemen avoid functions like this.’
‘True,’ he laughed. ‘And usually I’d have been one of them. But Lady Vennor is a relative-by-marriage … so here I am, dutiful as ever. And finding you here means that virtue has been rewarded and the evening won’t be entirely dull.’
Since, as compliments went, this sounded a touch half-hearted, Cassie wasn’t sure how to answer him. Then, in the seconds she hesitated, Mr Penhaligon said, ‘There must be somewhere where one can converse without shouting. I’m tired of dodging elbows – and I should think you must be, too.’
‘Yes.’ This time she couldn’t help beaming or hoping that he had something particular he wished to say to her. ‘It’s impossible to get inside the refreshment room … but perhaps the gallery?’
He nodded and offered his arm. ‘We can but hope.’
The gallery was indeed less packed, with space to breathe and even to move a little.
‘Ah – that’s better.’ He smiled at her again. ‘I haven’t been in this house for a while but if memory serves, there is a rather fine Rubens at the far end. Would you like to see it?’
‘I’d love to.’ Hope grew. It was easy to talk about anything one liked whilst appearing to study a painting. ‘Do you know much about art?’
‘Only what appeals to me and what doesn’t.’ Warm, appreciative dark eyes met hers, causing her pulse to beat a little faster. ‘Here it is. The ruins about the Palatine Hill in Rome. What do you think?’
It wasn’t hard to admire the painting. But Cassie wondered why Mr Penhaligon continued drawing her attention to certain features of it even though his gaze, when it strayed to her, was saying something completely different; and why, once he had apparently run out of observations, he said, ‘I heard, by the way, that Sheridan has a new play in rehearsal at Drury Lane. Another comedy of manners, I believe – and even better than The Rivals, if the rumours are true.’
‘Oh? I haven’t seen The Rivals. But Papa took us all to see The Duenna last year and I enjoyed that very much.’
‘The comic opera? Yes. A departure for Sheridan, to be sure … but a successful one.’
Cassie agreed and then waited.
Surely, she thought, he’s going to talk about something other than paintings and plays?
He was. He moved on to books – at which point Cassie started to wonder why he’d sought her out at all. It occurred to her that Mr Penhaligon had a tendency to blow hot and cold – a notion which raised another question entirely.
That of whether or not he was doing it deliberately.
* * *
The following morning at Maison Phanie, Mistress Delahaye stared critically at her reflection in a large mirror and, without turning her head, said, ‘You see?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Nell, sounding baffled. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Of course it’s lovely. Everything Madame makes is lovely. That’s not the point.’
Her ladyship continued to survey the gown; misty-green and lilac shot silk, over an exquisitely embroidered underskirt. It clung to the edge of Cassie’s shoulders and reduced her waist to a mere wisp. Try as she would, Nell couldn’t see anything wrong with it.
‘I’m sorry, Cassie. You’re going to have to explain.’
‘It – it’s so safe. And at Amberley House? I’ll blend into the wall-hangings.’
Nell gave a splutter of laughter.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course you won’t. Whatever is the matter with you?’
Richard Penhaligon, thought Cassie edgily, who looks at me as if I mean something and then embarks on a conversation he could have had with my mother.
‘I want … just for once I’d like to be flamboyant. I want scarlet or jade or --’
‘No, Mademoiselle,’ said a firm but slightly amused voice from the doorway. ‘Forgive me – but you do not. Those colours are not for you and neither would I permit them.’ Madame Phanie walked towards Cassie, lips pursed thoughtfully. ‘However … if what you desire is a hint of drama, of theatre … this is easily arranged.’
Cassie stared at her. ‘It is?’
‘Indeed. I shall show you. But first we will try a different style of corset.’ Madame’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘If we are to create drama, Mademoiselle, it begins not with the gown but with what lies beneath.’
* * *
Three days later and having warned no one but his servants in Cork Street, the Earl of Sarre arrived in London with Mr Audley in tow.
‘I shan’t stay more than a few days,’ Adrian told his guest, ‘but I took a year’s lease on this house so you may as well have the use of it.’
‘That’s generous of you.’
‘Not really. I don’t expect to be here much but have been keeping the house open with a skeleton staff, so you’re more than welcome to it.’ He continued flipping through a small stack of invitation cards. ‘Ah. Good. This one will do.’ And looking up with a grin, ‘Formal dress this evening, Mr Audley. We’ll dine in one of the private salons at Sinclairs and record the wager … after which, we’re off to a ball.’
Sebastian groaned. ‘Must we?’
‘Unless you want the whole of London knowing you’ve arrived and going into a ferment of excitement about when you’ll first appear --’
‘You’re exaggerating again.’
‘Am I? In that case, we’ll stroll through the main floor at Sinclairs and --’
‘Stop.’ Sebastian let his head drop back and contemplated the ceiling. ‘Fine. You win. We’ll attend the damned ball – to which, I’d remind you, I haven’t been invited.’
‘Since every hostess in London would be battering down our door if they knew you were here,’ remarked Adrian, smothering a laugh, ‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’
‘Excellent. It’s a relief to know that at least one thing won’t be.’
‘However, since we’ll be ente
ring Sinclairs discreetly the back way, I suppose I ought to tell you that Aristide Delacroix and I own the place jointly.’
Sebastian sat up. ‘You what?’
‘I’m part owner of an extremely successful gaming club.’
‘That’s what I thought you said.’ There was a long pause and then, ‘How many people know that?’
‘Outside myself, Aristide and now you? Five. And I’d like to keep it that way.’
‘I think I’ve gathered that much.’ Mr Audley started to laugh. ‘Card-counting, acting, an elopement and now this? You have been a busy fellow, haven’t you?’
* * *
Monsieur Delacroix greeted Lord Sarre imperturbably, raised one brow at mention of the private betting-book and shook Mr Audley’s hand. He said, ‘Go on up. It’s quiet yet – though, as is becoming usual, Lord Nicholas is already here, tonight with Mr Fox. But --’
‘Nicholas dines here regularly?’ asked Adrian, surprised.
‘Nearly every evening. He haunts the place.’ Adding, with a small smile and a shrug, ‘The reason is not hard to guess.’
‘Ah. Madeleine?’
‘Madeleine,’ agreed Aristide. ‘Of course, Nicholas is going the wrong way about it – but he hasn’t realised that yet. Meanwhile, Madeleine will show you to one of the smaller dining-rooms and when you have eaten, I will bring up the book.’
‘Who is Madeleine?’ asked Sebastian as they made their way upstairs.
‘Aristide’s sister. Both he and I have suspected for a while that Nick is épris in that direction but it appears he’s now given up being subtle – though it’s hard to know what he expects to come of it.’ Adrian glanced at the other man. ‘When you’ve seen Madeleine, you’ll understand. Just remember that looks aren’t everything and that she can carve out your liver at ten paces with a single sentence.’
‘Dear me. If that’s the kind of lady taking his fancy these days, Nicholas must have changed a lot since I last met him.’
‘He hasn’t changed at all. However … since both he and Charles Fox are almost certainly bound for the same ball as ourselves, it won’t matter if we meet them. In fact, it may help.’
‘And where exactly are we going?’
‘Cavendish House,’ replied Adrian with satisfaction. ‘Everyone who is anyone will be there so it gives you the advantage of making your second debut under the eyes of the entire Polite World. Ah … and here is Madeleine.’ He made a low bow. ‘Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Delacroix.’
The clear green gaze rested on him inimically.
‘Good evening, Lord Sarre.’ Madeleine dropped the merest suggestion of a curtsy. ‘I was not aware that we were to expect you this evening.’
‘And I wasn’t aware that prior notice was a requirement,’ he returned sweetly. ‘However, allow me to present Mr Audley.’
Sebastian, whose lungs had briefly ceased functioning, dragged in a breath and outdid his lordship with a flawlessly elegant bow of his own.
‘Mademoiselle … a pleasure.’
‘Mr Audley.’ Her expression said she’d heard of him but she merely accorded him a cool nod and, turning back to Adrian, said, ‘You are joining Lord Nicholas and Mr Fox?’
‘Later, perhaps. For now, Mr Audley and I would prefer to dine privately.’
‘As you wish.’ She turned, opened a nearby door and gestured them inside. ‘I shall send a footman with information about Gaspard’s specialities for the day – but alternatives are always available. As for our wine-cellar, you need only ask.’ And she was gone.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Sebastian weakly. ‘What is Nick thinking?’
‘I’ve no idea. But it had better not be a carte blanche. She’ll kill him.’
The promised footman arrived and began to describe in exhaustive detail the gastronomic delights currently on offer. Adrian silenced him part-way through the recital, ordered a bottle of Chambertin and waved the fellow away with an instruction to have Gaspard send up whatever he considered most suitable.
‘Sinclairs offers the best food in Town,’ he told Sebastian. ‘Whatever we get, you won’t be disappointed.’
‘And what of the gaming tables?’
‘Scrupulously honest. Downstairs caters for all tastes and pockets … up here, it’s solely cards – mostly basset – and the play is deep. Often, extraordinarily so.’
‘The warning is appreciated.’ Sebastian smiled wryly. ‘Staking thousands on the turn of a card was the very first thing I learned not to do.’
‘That’s going to disappoint a few people. Indeed, it would appear that you’re quite the dull fellow these days.’
Wicked laughter flared suddenly in the blue eyes.
‘Not entirely. I still retain at least one of my vices.’
Adrian grinned back and said, ‘Retain it, by all means – but you’ll have to also restrain it for the next eight weeks. Think you can?’
‘If you want the truth, I’ve been pretty much restraining it since Lisbon --’
He stopped as the door opened upon a pair of footmen bearing an array of silver-covered dishes which they proceeded to arrange with geometric precision. When they had accomplished this to their satisfaction and left the gentlemen to serve themselves, Sebastian looked at the copious amounts of food and said, ‘Are we expecting company?’
‘No.’ Adrian took a portion of salmon and crab terrine and pushed the dish across the table. ‘Equally, there’s no law that says we have to eat it all. However … you were saying something about Lisbon.’
‘Ah. Yes. That.’ Sebastian took a bite of the terrine and groaned appreciatively. ‘God. I haven’t tasted anything that good since I was last in France. Why can’t the English cook?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a mystery. Like Lisbon.’
Mr Audley took his time buttering a tiny, sweet white roll. Finally he said flatly and with a hint of bitterness, ‘She was married. After those first months of freedom and being called out, I stopped getting entangled with married women. And even in the days when I did, I took care not to leave a cuckoo in someone else’s nest and only ever dallied with ladies who’d already produced an heir or two. That wasn’t true in Lisbon. She hadn’t ‘done her duty’, as the saying goes – and I shouldn’t have gone near her. But she was incredibly beautiful. More than that, she knew just how to tease and tempt and turn me inside out until I scarcely knew what I was doing.’ He stopped and then said, ‘That’s no excuse. It happened only fifteen months ago and I was no callow youth to be bowled over by a clever, seductive female. Yet somehow, with her, I broke my own cardinal rule; and by the time I started to come to my senses, she’d begun talking about leaving her husband and divorce and how we could be married one day.’
‘I imagine that broke the spell fairly fast,’ observed Adrian.
‘Yes. I explained that divorce was out of the question and that even had it not been, I wouldn’t be party to it. So she smiled and said it didn’t matter because we could live in Italy where no one would care if we were married or not. But I knew she wouldn’t let it lie, so I ended the affair; and when she continued dogging my footsteps, I left Portugal for Spain – only to learn that she was still trying to track me down. So I fled further afield. First to Prague … and then to Buda.’ He reached for his glass, but simply stared into it. ‘I expect you think I’m an idiot.’
‘No. You’re neither the first nor the last man to make a fool of himself that way.’ Adrian helped himself to some venison. ‘You may not believe it … but that part of your life will resolve itself when you least expect it.’
‘Are we talking about love – or marriage?’
‘It’s not unknown for the two to go hand in hand, you know.’
‘Perhaps not – but it’s rare. I’ve seen how it is between you and your lady; and my youngest sister and her husband are equally besotted with each other. But how many other couples are so fortunate?’
‘I could name you at least four – one of them being Rockliffe and his duchess.’
‘You mean that, in addition to the necessary lineage and looks,’ said Sebastian cynically, ‘his Grace also managed to find love?’
‘I don’t think lineage and looks had very much to do with it.’
Mr Audley toyed with lamb cutlets in Madeira sauce for a few moments before saying, ‘I don’t know how love – that kind of love – feels. I’ve never experienced it. And how does one ever know when it’s real?’
Adrian smiled a little. ‘You expect it to arrive with a fanfare of trumpets?’
‘You mean it doesn’t?’ Sebastian applied himself once more to his plate. ‘Damn.’
By the time Monsieur Delacroix joined them they had done reasonable justice to the dishes in front of them and were broaching a second bottle of wine. Once assured that his guests had eaten their fill, Aristide summoned a footman to clear the table and, when this had been done, sat down and opened the betting-book.
‘Very well, gentlemen. Which of you has proposed this wager?’
‘I did,’ said Adrian. And proceeded to dictate the conditions.
At the end, Aristide looked with some amusement at Sebastian. He said, ‘Are these terms acceptable to you Mr Audley?’
‘They are.’
‘And you accept the wager?’
‘I do,’ replied Sebastian solemnly.
‘Then all it requires now is for both of you to sign.’
Lord Sarre’s signature was level and precise; Mr Audley scrawled his with a flourish.
Aristide sanded the page and closed the book.
‘This,’ he told them, ‘is kept under lock and key in my office. Only those who, like yourselves have recorded an entry in these pages, ever see it.’
‘Good,’ said Sebastian, rising from his chair and stretching. ‘Because if fathers everywhere find out that I’ve committed myself to merely appearing respectable, I’ll be doomed before I start.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER FIVE
Examining her reflection prior to leaving for Cavendish House, Cassie had to admit that Madame Phanie had been right about the corset. She had resisted the temptation to wear the new mauve-green watered silk which Madame had enhanced in all the right places with the addition of narrow violet ribbon … but she hadn’t been able to resist the corset. It made the neckline of the blue and silver gown look significantly lower than it had before and Cassie felt positively daring.