by Jo Beverley
Harry turned to speak to a pretty young lady by his side, smiling at her words. Amy felt her teeth clench together at the sight.
Sir Cedric asked how she was enjoying the lecture. Amy turned to him with a brilliant smile and assured him she was fascinated. Harry Crisp was nothing to her, nothing.
But as the lecture resumed, her eyes were drawn back to him and his party. The young woman leaned to her other side to make a quiet comment to a handsome blond man. Perhaps he was her partner, not Harry. On Harry’s other side was a gray-haired man. Amy ignored the speaker and studied the trio for any further sign of their alignment.
Did people really feel eyes upon them? The blond man turned. His eyes locked with Amy’s and he stared at her. He was truly the most handsome man she had ever seen and she found she could not look away. Amy feared she was going mad. Then his lips curved in a thoughtful, intrigued smile before he turned away.
Short of breath, Amy concentrated her gaze on the stage and planned how she could get herself and Sir Cedric out of the building ahead of the crowd.
They were seated not very far from the stairs, but Sir Cedric had, on the last visit, showed a habit of waiting for the crush to abate before leaving. That would be disastrous, for she would be fixed here like an object on display as the people filing out of the lower hall passed within feet of her. Instead they must be first out.
As soon as the lecture was over, she put her hand to her head. “Oh, Sir Cedric. I feel faint. Please, let us leave quickly!”
He was all concern. “My dear Miss de Lacy. You should have spoken before. It will be far better now to wait a few minutes rather than leave in this crush.” He used his program to fan her vigorously.
The moment had been lost and the stairs were already filling. She could see Harry Crisp and his friends already on their feet. They would turn at any moment. The blond man did turn his head slightly and raised his brows to see her sitting there.
She leapt to her feet. “I will feel better if I am moving,” she declared. “Please let us go.”
“Very well,” said a worried Sir Cedric. “Come along.” He put his hand on her elbow and steered her toward the stairs. Once there, however, the pressure of his hand turned her down them, not up.
“What are you doing?” Amy cried.
“You are not well, Miss de Lacy. There is an exit behind the stage. I am sure we will be able to use it.”
Amy pulled out of his grasp. “I am already much recovered,” she insisted and turned to join the line leaving the hall.
But the damage had been done. Harry Crisp had seen her. He went pale and almost looked as if he would speak, though there would be no point at such a distance unless he were to bellow. Then he turned his attention back to his companions.
It was not a cut. At such a distance there was no question of such a thing. But it felt like one to Amy. It felt like a sword in the heart. Seeing him again, she realized her feelings went far deeper than she had ever thought possible after such brief acquaintance.
If only, if only, her father had not been so foolishly improvident, how happy she could have been.
In the carriage, Randal opened the subject with ruthless good humor. “That, I suppose, was Amethyst de Lacy.”
Harry was staring out of the window. His head jerked around. “Why do you suppose such a thing?”
“I was told she was a diamond of the first water, and they don’t come any more beautiful than that. Or at least, she’s the only raving beauty I can imagine staring at you in such a way.”
“Staring?”
“Assuredly.”
“Damn impudence!” snapped Harry, then colored. “Sorry, Sophie.”
“Not at all,” she said amiably. “Was I the only one attending to the lecture?”
“I was attending,” said Harry, and proved it by grimly discussing steam engines all the way to Mayfair.
When Randal dropped him off in Chapel Street, however, Harry asked as if impelled, “Who was that old man she was with? A relative, I suppose.”
“Quite possibly,” said Randal. “I think it was Sir Cedric Forbes, the banker.” His mouth turned up in a wicked smile. “Doubtless a very high bidder.”
Harry slammed the door of the coach.
As the coach rolled off, Sophie said, “Was that not a little unkind?”
“’Tis cruel to be kind,” Randal mused, absentmindedly drawing his wife into his arms. “I think your instinct is once more correct. It is time to meddle.”
“But if she was with a rich, old banker she really is a fortune hunter. Harry is well rid of her.”
“But does he know that? And she may have declared herself a fortune hunter, but the girl I saw back there was looking at Harry as if he were a lost treasure.” He looked down at Sophie and smiled. “As if he were something very precious which she could not have. I know that feeling.”
Sophie colored. “You only ever had to ask.”
“It didn’t seem that way at the time.”
“You think this, too, may be a misunderstanding?”
“I don’t know, but like all happily married people, I want to propel my friends into the same state. I do not see either Harry or the exquisite Miss de Lacy heading that way, and I think it behooves us to try to steer them aright.”
Chart was summoned to Upper Brook Street. To Randal and Sophie’s surprise he brought his sister Clyta with him.
“She has an important contribution to make,” he announced.
Clyta looked flustered but said, “Amy de Lacy was a school friend. She was always kind to me. I’d like to help her if I can.”
“Well,” said Randal, “we’re not at all sure the objects of our concern will appreciate our meddling, but you could certainly play a strong part in our plans.”
“What are our plans?” asked Chart.
It was Sophie who outlined them. “Amy de Lacy and Harry only really met a few times. There was the storm, the tea party, and a few moments in the garden.” She wrinkled her brow. “It almost defies belief that they could have got in such a muddle over tea.”
“Really?” queried Randal with a heavy-lidded smile. “I remember a tea party at Maria Harroving’s and some cakes…”
“Yes, well,” said Sophie, turning rosy. “But that was hardly the first time we’d met.”
“Nor was tea the first time Harry met his fatal charmer.”
“No, that was the storm,” said Chart, “and we don’t know what happened there.”
“What we do know,” said Sophie, taking control again, “is that neither of them was unaffected. Two meetings later he asked her to marry him and she hit him. Neither action indicates indifference. Clyta, does it surprise you to hear that Amy hit him?”
“Yes,” said Clyta, eyes very wide. “Amy is gentle and sweet. She doesn’t give in to unkind impulses.”
Sophie nodded and continued. “Harry acts like a scalded cat if ever the woman’s name is mentioned, and if Randal is correct, she was looking at Harry with her heart in her eyes.” She frowned at her husband. “It doesn’t make sense when she rejected him.”
“And dash it all,” said Chart, “they only met three times, and two of them were so brief as to be of no account!”
“So who believes in love at first sight?” mused Randal. “The point is, be it love or infatuation, it is a case of absence making the heart grow fonder. We must bring them together so they can either work out their differences or work out their obsession. Moving as they do in different circles, this will not be easy.”
Sophie said, “A little investigation has revealed that she is staying with a Mrs. Claybury in Chelsea. A ship chandler’s widow. A wealthy lady but not one who moves among the ton. That doesn’t make sense either,” she said with a sigh. “This is all a conundrum. I can’t wait until it is solved.” She looked, bright eyed, at her husband. “Shall we invade the cits, Randal, Harry in tow?”
“I fear he’d have to be in chains,” Randal replied.
Clyta spoke up.
“Why don’t I simply invite her to my ball next week? I’m sure she’d like to come.”
Everyone smiled. “Perfect, and perfectly simple,” said Randal. “Congratulations, Clyta. But deliver the invitation in person, cousin. She may take a little persuading now she knows Harry is in Town.”
When Clytemnestra Ashby called, Amy began to feel she was assaulted on all sides.
After the encounter, if such it could be called, with Harry Crisp at the Surrey Institution she had revoked her acceptance of Sir Cedric’s invitations to the Russian Embassy and to Carlton House. She could not, would not, move in circles where she might encounter Harry Crisp face-to-face.
Sir Cedric, however, was proving to be unfortunately persistent and had recruited Aunt Lizzie and Nell Claybury to his side. Amy had no idea what he thought to gain from it, for Aunt Lizzie clearly supported Amy’s move into higher circles in the hope that she would find a better match.
“I have always said it,” Lizzie declared as they retrimmed Amy’s pink dress with blond lace. “You have only to be seen.”
“But there’s no point to it,” Amy protested. “Sir Cedric is clearly very interested in me. I don’t need any other suitors.”
“If you’re set on him,” said Lizzie tartly, jabbing a needle through the lace, “then you’d be best advised to conform to his wishes.”
“We are going to the theater tomorrow,” Amy pointed out. “That is at his insistence. And if the haute ton are going to swoon at my feet, that will give them ample opportunity.”
“That is not the same thing,” said Aunt Lizzie, stopping work and looking up. “Think how it would have pleased your dear mother to see you take your proper place.”
Amy reflected that there was no weapon too low for Aunt Lizzie. “I will flaunt myself before the ton with pleasure, Aunt, when I am married.” She abandoned her work to go and stare out the window.
Nell Claybury entered to catch the last of this.
“It is perfectly understandable, Amy, that Sir Cedric wishes to be seen with you among the fashionable throng. Any man would be proud to have you on his arm, and your gentle birth merely increases the effect.”
“And if I do not care to be shown off like Napoleon’s Eagles—a prize of war?”
Nell sat to take up Amy’s work. “You were admirably honest, my dear, about your purpose in coming here. You should not cavil now.”
Amy could feel her face heat. “I am not caviling. He can crow over his victory all he wishes within his own circle.”
“But the ton is his circle, too. The walls dividing Society are less high and strong than you seem to imagine. It is almost,” Nell added thoughtfully, “as if you are avoiding something. Is there perhaps a scandal attached to your name?”
Amy swallowed. “No. Except, of course, my father losing his money. But there are no unpaid creditors.”
Nell looked up. “Then I cannot see how a little mingling with the glittering elite can harm you, Amy, and it seems important to the man you seek to win.”
Amy failed to find a response and took refuge in her room.
It was ridiculous, perhaps, to fear the meeting so much. Among the hordes of people gathered for the Season, there was no reason she should encounter Harry Crisp at all. If she did, it would only be a momentary embarrassment. He would surely be as eager to avoid her as she was to avoid him.
Amy shivered. It wasn’t that simple. She realized she was twirling something around her finger and looked down. Unconsciously she had opened a drawer and taken out this tuft of wool, the one he had gathered for her from a hedge an eon ago.
This wasn’t the first time she had handled it like this, and it was now soiled and twisted into a crude kind of yarn. Impatiently she moved to throw it on the fire, but of course there was no fire in the grate in this warm weather. As she looked for a place to destroy the foolish memento, there was a scratch on the door.
Amy shoved the wool back in the drawer. “Yes?”
A maid entered and presented a card. “There’s a young lady calling, miss.”
Amy looked. “Good heavens. Clyta! I will be down in a minute.”
She found her guest being entertained by Nell in the best reception room, tea already ordered by her kind hostess. As soon as Amy appeared, Mrs. Claybury excused herself.
“Clyta,” Amy declared with delight. “Goodness, it must be quite two years since we parted at the doors to Miss Mallory’s.”
“And promised to write every day,” said Clyta, hugging her friend. “I did write. I am sure it was you who stopped, you know.”
“You are probably correct,” Amy admitted ruefully. Even the cost of a letter had been a consideration, and time to write had been scarce. “Things have been difficult, I’m afraid.” She was determined to get her dirty laundry out in the open immediately. But the thought flashed a memory of wringing a blue dress dry and ending up so close to Harry Crisp. Oh, she hated the way her mind played these tricks.
“What do you mean?” prompted Clyta, and Amy realized she had lapsed into silence.
“My father died soon after I left school. We found we were all rolled up.”
“Oh,” said Clyta. “I’m sorry.”
Amy shrugged. “We’ve managed. But I’m afraid I found I had very little time.” She smiled at her friend. “I am delighted to see you again, though. How on earth did you find me?”
“It is a little out of the way,” said Clyta, then colored at what could be seen as snobbery. “I…er…saw you drive by and made inquiries. I simply had to come and call.”
It sounded a little strange, but Amy did not feel she could question the story. “So you are doing the Season,” she said. “I thought you would have made your curtsy last year.”
Clyta blushed. “No. Mama delayed, hoping I would gain more composure, as she puts it. I think now she’s decided that rather than becoming more composed, I’m decomposing due to old age. So here I am.”
Amy gave Clyta’s hand a comforting squeeze and wished she were in a position to help her. Clyta’s problem had always been that she was painfully shy with strangers, and yet with her strong, mature looks she did not appear so. She had developed an excellent ability to act a part but not always the part appropriate to the moment.
“I’m sure you are a great success,” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Clyta sadly. “I’m not ambitious. All I want, Amy, is to find a man I can be comfortable with. Someone who’ll treat me like Chart or H—Oh well,” she said gaily. “One day I’ll meet my hero. But Amy, dearest, it would be so much easier if I had your company.”
Amy stared and tried to understand this sudden change. For a little while Clyta had been herself; now she was acting the part of the gay Society miss. That probably meant she was unhappy about something.
Amy tried a light tone. “I don’t see how it would help to have me acting your shadow.”
Clyta giggled. “Well, for one thing, it would attract all the men like honey.” Amy let the silence run while Clyta fiddled with her reticule. In the end Clyta said, “It’s just that I usually feel like being myself when I’m with you, Amy. I don’t know why. I think it’s because you’re always honest with yourself.”
“Am I?” asked Amy, guiltily aware that she’d been acting a part for weeks.
“Yes,” said Clyta firmly. “You don’t watch people, trying to guess what they want and then trying to be it. It’s horrible actually, but I can’t seem to help it.”
Yes, it is horrible, thought Amy. She took her friend’s hand again. “Oh, Clyta, what is it you want of me?”
Clyta gripped Amy’s hand. “Will you come to my ball next week?” she said in a rush. “It will be fun if you’re there. We can ask your aunt and Mrs. Claybury. I’m sure they’d like it, too. Please say yes. I need you, Amy. And that,” she added, with strange intensity, “is the truth.”
Amy stared at Clyta. It looked like a conspiracy, but that was ridiculous. There was no connection between Sir Cedric and the Ash
bys. “I was not intending to move in such high circles,” she demurred.
“Why not?” asked Clyta. “You’re entitled to. I’m sure there will be any number of people there you know.”
That was what Amy was afraid of. She wanted to ask if Clyta knew Harry Crisp but didn’t dare. Then she realized something. “Good Lord. Your brother’s Chart, isn’t he?”
Clyta nodded, looking scared.
“You only ever used to call him Charteris.”
Clyta licked her lips. “That’s because Mama insisted. But he prefers to be called Chart. Do you know him?”
“We met once,” said Amy dryly. “I suppose he is in Town.”
Clyta nodded, and the guilt was clear on her face.
Amy knew then if she went to Clyta’s ball she would at least be in the same room as Harry Crisp. Chart Ashby would bring his friend along, and there might be some plan afoot to bring them face-to-face, though why Amy could not imagine. Were they planning revenge by humiliating her in public? She remembered her shift, but surely they wouldn’t sink so low as to shame her at Clyta’s ball.
And Clyta probably did need her support. It had never been easy for her to make friends. Amy couldn’t imagine that Clyta would be part of a malicious plot against her.
Amy thought of Clyta’s belief that she was so honest. Perhaps the time had come for honesty. It was ridiculous to be pretending to be a pretty wigeon in order to catch a husband. She couldn’t keep it up for the rest of her life. It was equally silly to be hiding for fear of meeting a gentleman she hardly knew.
She would be herself, face down the devil, and by showing that she belonged in the very highest stratas of Society, bring Sir Cedric to the point.
“I will be delighted to attend, Clyta,” said Amy.
10
CHART WAS CONVINCED his hair was turning gray by the minute. It was close to the time to leave for his sister’s ball, and Harry was sitting in his shirtsleeves playing with a doll. The music tinkled and the dancing lady raised her leg and pointed her toe.
“Will you stop fiddling with that damned thing!” he snapped.