She did glean some news. She had a strange visit from George, berating her for being out of town without telling him. He regretted that he could not escort her to his mother's ball, since he was hosting, but assumed she would attend. He also hinted that he'd seen Davinoff at his laboratory, yet did not seem sure. There had been a theft. Some blood was missing. She could guess why George would not be sure, and her soul sang. Julien had his blood, and he had kept his promise. He had been seen at Jackson's gaming salon as well, engaging in deep play and winning most scandalously. She had that from Paulette Cantonfield when Sarah finally went out to the provisioner's shop. Davinoff seemed very adept at providing for his needs.
Jasco and Addie arrived on Wednesday and were duly picked up at the coaching inn. The butler informed her that Amelia would not be back until the third. Sarah was glad. She wanted to ease back into life slowly. But she was glad to see Jasco and Addie and tired of doing for herself.
On Thursday Jasco brought a message to the study where Sarah was writing a note to inform Mr. Thorpe she had changed her mind about excavating and wanted to cancel their engagement. "Leave it in the hall, Jasco." Sarah waved him away. "I shall look at it later."
"The boy has instructions to wait for a reply."
Sarah sat back in her chair. What could warrant so much urgency? She reached for the note and saw the ornate D pressed into the wax seal. Sarah felt herself flushing. She ripped open the heavy rag envelope, addressed in a decisive masculine hand.
I apologize for the lateness of this invitation, Lady Clevancy. I should be grateful, however, if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to Lady Beldon's ball on Saturday. I shall call at eight.
Julien
Sarah hesitated only for an instant before she snatched up her quill and a sheet of writing paper with her crest embossed on it and dashed off a single word in response. Honored. She signed it with her initials, S.A, then she folded and sealed it into an envelope. One last time, she thought. He offered her one night, and she would take it. She handed the envelope to Jasco.
Sarah called for Addie and rushed up the stairs. How had he gotten an invitation from Lady Beldon in so short a time? He got whatever he wanted. She knew that. What she wanted was one evening upon his arm, and the consequences be damned. She threw open one of the wardrobes. Addie appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Sarah, whatever are you about?" Addie asked.
"I am going to Lady Beldon's ball on Saturday," Sarah announced. She pulled the lavender dress out of the wardrobe.
"But of course you are, my lady."
Sarah turned to Addie, more friend than servant now, "I am going with Mr. Davinoff."
Addie gasped. "Never that man who dresses all in black!"
"The very one." Sarah examined the lavender dress with distaste. She tossed the dress upon the floor. "Even forgetting the fact that blond lace has never suited me, I cannot wear this rag again." She turned to Addie, speculation in her eyes.
"There is never enough time for a new dress, my lady." Addie's distress showed in her face. "Mademoiselle Courette is booked for weeks in advance."
"You are right." Sarah was thoughtful.
"We could change the blond lace," Addie offered.
Sarah brushed this suggestion aside without hesitation. "Blond lace is only the start of the problem. This is not a night for pastel colors." She paced to the window and back like a caged animal, not caring if Addie thought she had lost her mind. "I want electric blue, or royal purple, or red." She stopped, lost in thought.
"Those colors haven't been in fashion since your mother's day. Pomona green perhaps…"
Sarah turned on Addie. "You are a genius, Addie!" she crowed.
"But you don't own a Pomona green. There is no time…"
Sarah clapped Addie on the shoulder as she strode into the hall. "Not Pomona green. My mother's dresses!" She left Addie to trail after her as she climbed the stairs toward the attic.
Sarah's exuberant mood turned reminiscent as she trod across the dusty floor toward the trunks under the windows. Wintry light peeked among the crates and furniture, all that was left from Balacanell and Huntsford, sold after her father's death in order to save Clershing. Most of her mother's things had burned at that house. There was little left of her now.
She raised the lid of a trunk. The vibrant silks had not faded with age. Old gold, emerald green, midnight blue, and copper, they lay wrapped in silver paper just as they had been laid in the trunks so many years ago. The memory of her mother washed over Sarah, seen through a child's eyes. She had been diminutive, beautiful, red hair and green eyes. How Sarah had always wanted red hair. Her mother had been all her father had wanted Sarah to be, demure, a perfect hostess.
She took out the dresses one by one. They had been packed away as old even in her mother's time, else they would have been at destroyed at Clershing. Addie cooed and gasped at the fine fabrics as she related again the stories of Sarah's mother's triumphs. Sarah laid them each aside, calculating how to remove the panniers and which ones were best adapted to her figure.
In the second trunk she saw one that called to her immediately. It was soft red and black brocade, wrinkled now, but with the color singing of a time less discreet, bolder about its desires. The bosom was cut square, and tightly, decidedly decollete. The sleeves were full, with long tight cuffs. The patterned fabric would hang in lustrous folds over a stiff satin underskirt of shining black, intricately embroidered and revealed by a wide slit in the front. Sarah held it up.
"I remember just the night your mother wore it," Addie reminisced. "It did not go with her red hair, so she went poudree, but it made her skin glow. She was eighteen, just married, and the talk of the town." Sarah shrugged off her dress and slipped it over her head. She stood in front of a dusty mirror as Addie fastened the endless row of covered buttons up the back.
The stiff whalebone pressed her breasts up. Delicate black braid was arranged in complicated fleur-de-lis up the cuffs and outlined the split skirt and the hem. It emphasized the tiny waist of the dress. How scandalous to show one's waist again! For a moment, Sarah had misgivings. She would be dressed audaciously, in a style not faintly like anyone else in the room. They would wear Empire waistlines, and pastel colors. The gossips of Bath would have a subject for weeks to come. But in her heart, she knew it was right for Davinoff, right for the way she Addie stood back and beamed at her. "Your mother never wore that dress as you do."
"Do you think we can get the skirt to fall naturally?"
"No sooner said than done," Addie declared.
As she walked downstairs on New Year's Eve dressed in her new old dress, she fingered her mother's rubies at her throat. This necklace was the one thing she had never sold; four square-cut stones with a pear-shaped drop hanging between her breasts. She would pay a high price tonight for seeing Davinoff once more before he left. Why not pay it boldly, in gold pieces, for all to see? She glanced in the mirror. Her dress told the world she paid the price gladly.
Addie waited at the foot of the stairs with her mother's heavy velvet cape. Addie, at least, had no doubts. "You are a vision," she said fondly. "No one will look like you tonight."
Sarah gave a wry smile. "I may be home early if no one will talk to me."
"Nonsense," Addie sniffed. "You'll not be lonely tonight, unless you have a hankering for female companionship. Whatever they might say, they'll all be at the dressmakers next week."
At that moment, Jasco opened the door to Davinoff. The apparition at the entry, all black and white strength and the swirling darkness of a cape, made Jasco step back involuntarily.
"Good evening. Lady Clevancy is expecting me." The deep drawling voice washed into the room. Jasco stood transfixed. The cape brushed him as the man moved smoothly past.
"A moment, Mr. Davinoff," Sarah called. She stepped forward, carrying her wrap. Busy with her reticule, she did not notice the effect she had on him. She looked up suddenly, fearing that he might not be enamored of her dress
and the attention it would elicit tonight. He certainly looked stunned. "I am afraid I shall be sadly out of fashion…" she stammered.
"Fashion? Fashion is irrelevant, I believe." He stepped forward and took her wrap. "Allow me." He placed the velvet around her shoulders. She looked up with a trace of uncertainty. A smile brushed his lips. " 'You are the maker of manners,' Sarah," he quoted softly. It was Shakespeare, Henry V. "You will see that tonight." He offered his arm. As she placed her black-gloved hand on his, she found herself staring at the ruby winking in the snowy cravat. How had he known to wear a bloodred ruby? It was the only color to touch his elegant attire.
"We shall see," she said. But confidence straightened her back once more. They passed out of the door under Jasco's shocked stare and Addie's indulgent smile.
Sarah was surprised that Davinoff had procured a matched pair. She looked carefully at the magnificent beasts. She could have sworn they were the same pair that pulled his carriage from Marlborough to Bath that day so long ago. "Do I find your equipage and your horses familiar?" she asked as he handed her in. He stepped in after her and signaled to his driver.
"Yes." His deep voice cascaded over her in the dark. "I made a trip to Tattersall's—"
"Did you find who bought Quixote?" Sarah interrupted.
"I am quite resourceful," Davinoff disclosed. "The gentleman who had purchased him was quite eager to part with him, a fact I know not whether to lay at Quixote's door or my own."
Sarah raised her hand to her throat as tears of relief filled her eyes. "You have him back?"
"Yes. And Jupiter and Zeus as well, as you see." Davinoff leaned back into the corner of the landaulet. "I met their new owner at White's while I was in London. He was not eager at first to sell, but he ended by giving up some guineas as well as his new pair at the faro table."
"I am so glad." Sarah sighed. "They could only belong to you. I worried they were lost."
"You should have more faith, Sarah," Davinoff drawled.
"I suppose I should," she said, as the coach clattered up the streets toward Lady Beldon's town house. "I was amazed that Lady Beldon should extend an invitation to so notorious a person as yourself, for instance. Yet you seem to have managed it."
"Lady Beldon has a weakness for the compliment. A predilection of your sex, I believe."
"I hardly consider Lady Beldon a representative example of our sex," Sarah protested.
"Then I will not turn your head when I note that you also are not representative of your sex tonight. You are quite more lovely than the average specimen," Davinoff murmured.
"You are teasing me!" she accused.
"Am I?" he asked.
Sarah sat back in the squabs. Why was she quarreling with the man when she had resolved to savor every moment of tonight, regardless of consequence? It would be their last.
Davinoff accentuated the consequences. "I understand Mrs. Nandalay will be present."
"Oh dear." It had not occurred to Sarah that Corina would be back in society yet.
"I have been wanting to speak with her." Davinoff's voice rose out of the darkness, his face illuminated only occasionally by a passing street lamp.
"Let us both stay as far away from her as possible." Sarah foresaw a dreadful evening.
"I think not," Davinoff mused. "Since you no doubt intend to continue in Bath, we should perhaps inform her that her silence will buy our own."
"Her silence?"
"She knew you took me away," he said gently. "She will make it her business to find that you were with me at the Dower House alone. She can cause you the discomfort of a scandal."
"You are her most likely target." She glanced away. "She is obsessed with you."
"Regardless of her target, we are agreed upon our course of action?"
"Yes." Leave it to Corina to cut up her peace on tonight of all nights.
The carriage drew into the line of coaches moving toward the huge columned portico of Lady Beldon's town house. A blockish building newly built in the classic style, it was a structure of little sympathy, grand without eloquence, the emotion of former ages diluted into mediocrity. A stream of revelers swirled and eddied through the great doors.
Davinoff descended and handed Sarah down. How many times had she felt the shock of touching him? The experience would not seem to dim. She placed her hand on his arm, and stepped from the coach, lost in his eyes. She found their power reassuring now. He enfolded her hand upon his arm. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. They turned and moved up the shallow stairs to the marble portico. As they came through the doors, several groups in the foyer stopped to stare at her and her dark companion. The looks were incredulous, but they held envy as well.
Chapter Fifteen
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The butler called out their names as they stepped through the doorway of the first-floor ballroom and paused to survey all and be surveyed. Julien's name produced a wave of glances. A murmur of exclamation rolled across the hall. Several persons glanced up as their eyes moved about the room and then returned, transfixed, to the pair in the doorway. Soon everyone was staring and revelers poked their companions to turn and see. The orchestra skipped several beats as musicians looked up from their tablature to peruse the new arrivals, and two couples missed their turn to go down the line, and so fell out of the dance.
The room was ablaze, with light and with curiosity. The younger women were straight pillars of pastel. Matrons indulged in the darker colors: dull gold, olive, browns, silver grays. No one was dressed remotely like Sarah in style or color, just as none of the men could match Julien's austere elegance. Two dozen couples danced, but most people stood in groups or sat at the small tables placed about the perimeter of the grand room.
Sarah knew her heart should have been sinking at all those eyes. Many were obviously dismayed by her attire. They whispered coyly to those about them. But Sarah's hand on Julien's arm did not even quiver. As she surveyed the astonished room, she found herself smiling. Madame Gessande twinkled at her. Lady Beldon stood near the champagne fountain, looking marvelously shocked. Beside his mother, George was busy turning astonishment into anger.
"Shall we?" Julien whispered, looking down at her, the comma of his hair falling over his forehead with an artlessness Byron could never have mustered.
"We shall," Sarah said with relish. Julien took her dance program from the butler with a nod. They moved down the stairs into a sea of faces. The first to greet her was Lady Beldon.
"Sarah." She glowered, the topaz winking like yellow cat's eyes against her heaving bosom. Her dress was olive green. Sarah could hardly feel it was a wise choice, given her complexion. Lady Beldon turned to Julien and beamed.
"Mr. Davinoff, I am so glad you could attend our small soiree upon such short notice. And it was so kind of you to give an escort to Lady Clevancy, since George was needed here." Here Lady Beldon's eyes traveled to Sarah's attire and her mouth curved down in distaste.
"I am not known for my kindness, Lady Beldon," Julien remarked. "Lady Clevancy, on the other hand, was most kind to accept my invitation." Sarah could feel his eyes upon her. That almost compensated for the hard stare Lady Beldon sent her way.
"My dear, I am so sorry." George's mother smiled. "Did I not make it clear in the invitation that this was not to be a masquerade?"
Sarah suppressed a gasp of outrage. After all she had put up with from Lady Beldon, she deserved better treatment. Her embarrassment turned to cold contempt for the incivility.
"Lady Clevancy, I see Madame Gessande. Your servant, Lady Beldon." Julien moved off, with Sarah fuming by his side.
"That woman!" Sarah exclaimed between her teeth.
"She will eat her words within the week," Julien assured her. They moved toward the table where Vivienne Gessande waited, smiling, with Mrs. Piozzi.
"Sarah, you look divine," Madame Gessande greeted her, as Sarah bent to kiss her cheek.
"Just the opposite, if you ask Lady Beldon." Sarah managed to chuckle.
> "You take me back to times when women knew how to dress!" Mrs. Piozzi declared.
"Monsieur Davinoff." Madame raised her hand, and Julien kissed it. "It is a pleasure to see you back in town. We thought you were lost to us."
"I very nearly was," Julien murmured, looking down at Sarah.
Madame's sharp eyes examined him.
"How were your holidays, Madame?" Sarah interrupted her line of thought.
"I cannot think. At my age, they all tend to run together. But where have you been, ma petite? You are certainly aglow."
"I took some time for myself at the Dower House," Sarah replied.
"All alone for Christmas?" Madame clucked.
"Well, nearly so." Sarah did not like to deceive, but she didn't want to answer questions.
Madame's eyes flicked to Julien. "Well, it is good to have both of you back in town."
"Have you seen that DuFond girl eyeing you?" Mrs. Piozzi quizzed. "Mark my words, she'll be at Courette's asking for waists on Monday and she will still get it wrong."
"Wherever did you find someone to make that lovely dress so quickly?" Madame Gessande asked. "It must be your own design, for no modiste I know has such imagination."
"I will tell you the story one day, if I survive the evening." Sarah laughed. The orchestra struck up a waltz. Sarah wondered that George allowed so scandalous a dance at Beldon House.
Julien bowed to the two venerable women. "You will excuse us, ladies. I lay claim to this dance." He took Sarah's elbow and turned her to the floor. Couples parted in front of them as he led her to the center. When she turned toward him, she looked up into those marvelous, powerful eyes, and wondered how she could ever have been afraid of them. She felt as much as saw his left hand stretch out, palm upward. Without taking her eyes from his face, her right hand found it. His other hand stole about her and came to rest upon her waist. Very deliberately, she placed the open palm of her glove upon his shoulder. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips as the music swirled up and seemed to float them away on its tide. They glided about the room in sensuous circles of music and movement. His body, so close, was intoxicating. His arm around her made them a single leaf twirling on the mad music, rising and falling in the rhythm of the waltz. Sarah lost all sense of the crowd around her. She knew only the pressure of his hands on her body, the rustle of her dress as it belled out about her, the twinkle of the chandeliers overhead, and Julien's face above her. When at last the music stopped, Julien brushed her hand with his lips. She looked around, dazed. They were alone on the dance floor. Shocked silence seemed to roar in her ears. Sarah blushed and scanned the audience, for that was what the crowd had become. The older contingent whispered, disapproving. Some of the younger women looked speculative, others hostile. The men's eyes glowed.
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