by Mary Nichols
'You will go, Juliet, and you will deal with the offers we allow you to receive with decorum. Your mama will ensure that you are seen in all the right places and with the right people.'
`Did the lieutenant offer for me, Papa?'
Her father stared at her in astonishment. 'You surely have not developed a tendre for that young man?'
`No, but I thought that was why...' She stopped in confusion.
`Whatever gave you that idea?' He paused and looked at her closely. 'He has not been taking liberties with you, has he? I'll thrash him within an inch of his life, if he has.'
`No, Papa, nothing like that.' She wasn't at all sure what 'taking liberties' meant, but she guessed that kissing had something to do with it and she didn't want the lieutenant to be in more trouble than he already was.
`I'm glad to hear it. It seems to me the sooner you are suitably married the better.'
`I don't understand. What have I done?' she cried in real distress. 'How have I displeased you?'
His voice softened. 'You've done nothing, dear child. I am a little put out by other things. Now finish your supper. Tomorrow you may start packing, though your mama will supervise the purchase of a new wardrobe when we arrive in town. You will need that if you are to take well.'
The thought of shopping cheered Juliette and she soon forgot her father's apparent irritability. He had an important position at the Horse Guards which he never spoke of, but it meant he was often away from home and when he did return was weary beyond imagining, as if the whole conduct of the war rested on his shoulders. Her mama had often asked him to give it up because it took such a toll of his health, but he always smiled and said he could not, not until Napoleon was defeated, but a few days at Hartlea would soon put him to rights.
He loved his country home above everything, saying it was where he felt most at peace and where he could recoup his strength. Now he was proposing to spend the summer in London, at the beck and call of anyone who thought they had need of him, and all because of Lieutenant Veillard and that portrait. It was a mystery she intended to solve.
In no time at all, the family was established at their London home in Mount Street and the shopping was done, resulting in an array of gowns for mornings, afternoons and evenings, carriage dresses and riding habits, not to mention cloaks, pelisses, bonnets, shawls, shoes, half-boots, petticoats and stockings, which cost her father a small fortune.
Within days of arriving Juliette and her mother were receiving and paying calls and filling up their diaries with engagements - visits to the opera and the ballet, concerts, routs, dances, carriage rides in the park, museum visits. The Viscount seemed to view the move as an opportunity to spend more time at Horse Guards on the conduct of the war and only accompanied them when Lady Martindale insisted that his absence would cause gossip.
`Everyone knows how important he is to the War Department,' Juliette said. 'And if his work helps to bring the war to a speedy conclusion, then I suppose we must decline Lady Carstairs's invitation.'
They were sitting in the morning room, having finished breakfast, and were discussing their engagements for the week. Lady Martindale, in a simple taffeta gown of deep blue, looked much younger than her forty-odd years but there was a frown creasing her brow which had been more evident of late.
Juliette in pale lemon muslin looked fresh and innocent, as became a young lady in her come-out year, but she was far from the silly, empty-headed, just-out-of-the-schoolroom miss that seemed to typify other young ladies in her position. Her father had always encouraged her to seek enlightenment, to question and ponder, to read improving books.
Now, according to her mother, she must suppress her natural intelligence and not put herself forward because it was not becoming; men contemplating marriage did not look favourably on young ladies who voiced opinions of their own.
`Yes, of course, dear, but he is wearing himself out.' Her mother picked up the gilt-edged invitation card that had arrived that morning. 'He needs a little light relief. And I do think he should be there to see the young men who dance with you.'
`You are worried about fortune hunters, is that it? You think I shall fall into the arms of the first rake who asks me to stand up with him. I am not such a fribble, Mama. Sometimes I wish I were as poor as a church mouse and not the daughter of a viscount, then I could marry for love.'
`Don't say such things, Juliette. You do not understand what it is like to be poor and pray God you never do, but to deny your father...'
`Deny Papa! Oh, Mama, how could you think I would do that? He is the dearest man and I think it is a shame he has to work so hard. But how are we to go to the ball without him? Won't two ladies on their own cause raised
eyebrows?'
`Certainly they would, but we shall not go on our own. Your father has arranged for Mr Devonshire to escort us.'
`Mr Devonshire? Who is he?'
`He is a very close friend of your papa and has been for many years. I know very little more than that.'
With that Juliette had to be content. That Mr Devonshire would be a poor substitute for her beloved father she did not doubt. He was sure to be old and fat and pompous and if he took his escort duties seriously, her enjoyment was bound to be curtailed.
She realised how wrong she had been in her conjecture on the evening of the ball when Mr Devonshire arrived in a hired carriage to escort them.
Juliette was wearing a gown of the finest silk gauze in a pale blue-green, which covered a slip of matching satin. Its puffed sleeves were ruched with a darker green silk, which also decorated the high bodice. The skirt hung straight over her hips down to feet shod in satin slippers.
Her hair had been piled up in a classical Greek style, threaded with ribbon on which had been sewn clusters of tiny pearls. More pearls made up her necklace, with a single large drop hanging between the cleft of her breasts. She looked the picture of girlish innocence. Hearing the sounds of their escort being greeted by her mother in the hall, Juliette picked up her reticule and fan and made her way down to join them.
Philip Devonshire looked up when he heard her tread on the stairs and their eyes met and held for a brief moment. He was not old, or pompous, for there was a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes, as if he knew how much he surprised her.
He was about thirty, she guessed. His evening breeches and silk stockings displayed legs that were lean and muscular and his satin coat sat on his broad shoulders as if it had been made on him, so meticulously was it tailored. His white frilled shirt and carefully tied cravat did credit to a valet, or at least a laundress of the highest order.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and he came forward to bow to her. It was when he straightened up that she realised how tall he was; she found herself looking up at clear-cut features, a firm mouth, a dimpled chin and those deeply intelligent eyes that held her mesmerised. She heard her mother introducing him and heard him say, 'Your obedient, Miss Martindale,' felt him take her gloved hand and put it to his lips, all in a dream. It was like coming face to face with her girlhood fantasies.
But then she came to her senses. If her parents thought it would be easy to divert her, they were in for a surprise because good looks and an easy manner would not win her over. She smiled and withdrew her hand. 'Good evening, Mr Devonshire. It is very good of you to escort us. I do hope you will not be bored.'
He, too, had been surprised. Not by her clothes, or her manner, or particularly by her even features and striking hair, but by something indefinable, a sparkle of mischief in her blue eyes, a spirit of independence, almost defiance, as she met his gaze unwaveringly. And yet there was gentleness too, a kind of warmth that he would hate to see spoiled by disillusionment. How could eyes alone tell him so much?
He pulled himself together and smiled at her. 'How could I be bored with two such charming companions?' he said, offering them an arm each. 'I shall be the envy of the whole gathering.'
The ball, given for Lady Carstairs's daughter, Lucinda, was a glitter
ing affair. No expense had been spared to make it the most talked-of event of the Season. It had to be because Lucinda was no great beauty, being plump and rather short-sighted, although she had an exceptionally fat dowry in her favour.
Juliette was inclined to feel sorry for her, because Lucinda so obviously wanted to please her parents and make a good match that she had subdued her natural intellect and good humour to be a poor copy of those silly young ladies who flitted about the social scene like butterflies, beautiful for a day and useful only for breeding more of the same. Except she wasn't beautiful, but intelligent and sweet-natured.
Standing beside her parents, she greeted Lady Martindale and Juliette with a small curtsy and downcast eyes, before offering her hand to their escort.
`Miss Carstairs, I hope you will do me the honour of standing up with me,' Mr Devonshire said, as he bowed over her hand. Then he gently removed her card, which dangled on a ribbon from her wrist, and wrote his name with a flourish beside the second country dance. Then, smiling, he returned it to her and accompanied Juliette and her mother into the ballroom.
For some reason she could not define, Juliette felt put out. Mr Devonshire was her escort and yet he had not asked her for a dance. Surely he was not attracted to Lucinda Carstairs? He must be like all the other young bloods, looking for a fortune.
Who was he, anyway? As far as she had been able to ascertain, he had no title, or even the prospect of one, and his fortune or lack of it had not been the subject of any of the gossip she had heard since coming to London. And there had been plenty of that among the young ladies she had met at the various social events she had attended, besides conjecture about the marital prospects of each and every one of them, linked to the names of the eligibles of the Season. They also discussed who had offered for whom; who had won a fortune at the card table; who had been ruined by gambling debts; which married ladies had taken lovers, and stories about the Prince Regent that her mother maintained were too shocking for her ears. In all of that, Mr Philip Devonshire remained an enigma.
The ballroom was brilliantly lit by myriads of chandeliers that made the ladies' jewellery sparkle and the silks and satins of their gowns shimmer as if they had a life of their own.
A full orchestra played on a balcony at one end of the long room and there were exotic plants and hothouse flowers everywhere. The dance area was surrounded by chairs, some occupied by chaperons, others awaiting new arrivals. It was a tremendous crush and the sound of voices and laughter mingled with the music to assail their ears.
Mr Devonshire escorted them to seats and stood behind them as they surveyed the room, waiting for their presence to become known and, in no time at all, Juliette's card was being filled.
She loved to dance and was soon on the floor with Arthur Boreton, the younger son of the Earl of Wentworth. He was followed by fat George Macgregor who kept treading on her toes, and then Lord Hart, who was forty if he was a day, and who was, in turn, followed by young Selwyn Lampeter. She pretended not to notice what Mr Devonshire was up to, but from the corner of her eye she saw him take up his dance with Lucinda Carstairs and after that to dance with her mama. Lady Martindale had refused all offers up to then and Juliette wondered what had made her mother change her mind; flattery and cajolement, she supposed. The man was very good at that.
The dance finished with a flourish and Juliette dropped into a deep curtsy to her partner before laying her fingers on his arm to be escorted back to her seat. She was flushed and smiling and unaware of the looks of admiration and envy she attracted.
Almost as soon as she had taken her place beside her mother, they were approached by a tall young man in black evening breeches, black velvet coat and a white shirt with points so tall they grazed his cheeks. He bowed over her mama and asked if she would consent to him dancing with his cousin.
Juliette was startled, wondering whom he could mean, but her mother inclined her head and said. 'Good evening, Mr Martindale. I am sure Juliette will be pleased to stand up with you.'
He turned and favoured Juliette with a broad smile as he bowed and held out his hand. Bewildered, she rose and allowed herself to be led into the set.
`Mr Martindale,' she said as the music began and he executed a flourishing leg, 'you said cousin. Are we cousins?'
`That is what I have been led to believe.' He had even white teeth, she noticed, and dark eyes that seemed to flicker about as if he needed to take in everything that was happening all about him. 'Viscount Martindale and my late father were brothers.'
The dance steps parted them but as soon as they reached each other again, Juliette took up the questioning again. 'Why have I never heard of you before now?'
`You must ask his lordship, Miss Martindale. It is not for me to comment.'
`Good gracious, it all sounds very mysterious. Did Papa and your father quarrel?'
`They may have done.'
Again they parted and again returned to each other. `What about?'
`I do not know. Money, I shouldn't wonder. My father, being a second son, had very little of it.'
`Oh, but Papa has always been most generous. I find it difficult to believe he would deny his own brother.'
`Then perhaps I am wrong.'
`Are you my only cousin, or are there more?'
`No, there is just you and me. And Hartlea.'
`Hartlea?'
`I am the heir. Did you not know?'
`Oh.' She was silent as he took her hands and they moved up between the ranks of their fellow dancers. It was extraordinary that she should learn all this at a ball and not from her parents. Why had they not spoken of family connections before?
`Did you suppose you would inherit?' he asked her. 'I am sorry if I have disappointed you.'
`You have not disappointed me,' she said sharply. 'I had not given it a thought, but if I had, I would have come to the conclusion that there must be a male heir.'
`How very sensible of you!'
She wondered if he were being sarcastic, but his expression was bland and she decided to take his remark at face value. 'Mama did not seem at all put out by your appearance and she consented to me standing up with you, so the quarrel, if there was one, could not have been so very serious. Perhaps it was all in your papa's head.'
`Perhaps.' He smiled. 'We shall never know, for he died several years ago.'
`And where have you been hiding yourself since then?'
`Hiding, Miss Martindale? I have not been hiding. In truth, it is you that has not been out and about in Society, or we should have met.'
She acknowledged the truth of that. 'Papa prefers the country when he is not working,' she said. 'He has an important position at the Horse Guards.'
`Yes, everyone knows the war could not run without Viscount Martindale.'
She looked up at him sharply because she thought there had been a note of acrimony in his voice, but he was smiling pleasantly and she supposed she had imagined it. 'I am sure he would be the first to say he is not the only one,' she said. 'There are others.'
`Among whom I include my humble self,' he said. `But I am merely a cipher.'
`A very important one, I am sure,' she said. 'We must all play our part.'
`Indeed, yes.'
The dance came to an end and she put her hand lightly on his arm to be escorted back to her seat beside her mother. Of Mr Devonshire there was no sign. She supposed he had found more congenial company in the card room. She told herself she did not care what he did and constantly looking about for him was a futile exercise.
James smiled as he relinquished her to her mama. 'May I claim the first waltz, Miss Martindale?' he asked before leaving. 'I believe it is to be the dance after next.' He took her card from her. 'I see it has not been spoken for.'
`It is not for want of asking,' she said, more pertly than she had intended. 'It is because Mama was not at all sure I should be waltzing.'
He turned to Lady Martindale, smiling easily. 'Aunt Elizabeth, you surely do not object to Miss Marti
ndale dancing with me. I am her cousin, after all, and everyone is waltzing these days. It is only at Almack's they are so stuffy about it.'
Her mother, who had been very sombre of late, as if she had a heavy weight on her shoulders, returned his smile, though it did not light up her eyes. 'I do not see why not. You are family after all.'
He waltzed supremely well and Juliette found herself carried along by the music, though she was uncomfortably aware that Mr Devonshire, who had returned to the room as the dance began, was standing near her empty chair, watching them from beneath lowered brows, as if he disapproved. Well, it was not for him to approve or disapprove; her mama had given her consent and that was all that mattered. When they returned, it was the supper dance Mr Martindale requested.
`No, I am afraid that is taken,' Mr Devonshire put in before Juliette could answer. 'By me.'
Chagrined, the young man left to seek another partner and Juliette turned to the tall man at her side, eyes flashing. 'Sir, you have not marked my card at all, so why did you say the supper dance was taken?'
He smiled. 'Because I have taken it. Mr Martindale has already danced twice with you and to claim a third would invite comment of a disagreeable nature. Your papa would not forgive me if I did nothing to prevent that.'
`Mr Devonshire is quite right, Juliette,' her mother said. 'We must do things properly.'
`Then I shall sit the supper dance out, Mama. I would hate to put Mr Devonshire to the trouble of having to dance with me simply to prevent gossip.'
`Juliette!' Lady Martindale exclaimed. 'How can you be so rag-mannered?' She turned to Philip. 'I must apologise for my daughter, Mr Devonshire. She is very young and unused to Society...'
`There is not the slightest need for apology,' he said, smiling, as the supper dance was announced and the music began. 'I understand perfectly.' Then turning to Juliette, he swept an elegant bow before her and offered her his hand. 'Will you do me the inestimable honour of joining this country dance with me?'