by Regina Scott
Emily sighed. “And in doing so, you settle for less.”
Priscilla’s fingers tightened at her sides. “Do you think I like it? But every day I’m reminded of the necessity. Father is a shadow of himself, scuttling around as if he caused the scandal. Mother has lost all confidence. She frets and moans over every decision, as if my debut alone can save us.”
Emily crossed the room to her side and lay a hand on her arm. “I am truly sorry for your aunt’s madness. You do deserve better.”
Tears clustered on Priscilla’s golden lashes. “And you deserve a handsome, charming husband who appreciates your art. You also deserve the most wonderful ball any artist has ever received.” She stomped her foot as if to set her mark on the matter. “Let me find Mr. Warburton, and I’ll show you!”
5
To Squander One’s Dowry on Fripperies
Emily wasn’t sure what Priscilla intended, but, in very short order, the four girls found themselves in His Grace’s green-lacquered town carriage, rumbling past Hyde Park. Priscilla was ever good at managing. Between her charm and her own good sense, she could convince most anyone to do most anything.
A shame Lord Robert was not more susceptible.
“But where are we going?” Ariadne asked, peering out the window at the elegant town houses that lined Park Lane. Beside her, out the opposite window, Daphne was obviously watching the horses and riders making the most of the rare spring sunshine and exercising on Rotten Row, the sandy track that ran along the edge of the park.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Priscilla promised.
A few moments later, Mr. Phillips, His Grace’s coachman, pulled the carriage up in front of a three-story building of white stone, with fluted columns along the front and a stonework ledge between the first and second floors.
Ariadne evidently recognized it from Priscilla’s descriptions. “The Elysium Assembly Rooms! This is where we’re going to have the ball!”
Emily felt a lurch that had nothing to do with the coach. It was more like the world had righted itself at last. This was where she would triumph. She could feel it.
“Indeed,” Priscilla said as the groom opened the carriage door to help her out onto the stone pavement. “I thought it high time we all saw the place.”
Emily could only agree, but Ariadne protested as they followed her out. “But someone would have to let us in.”
Priscilla smiled and snapped open her white lace parasol as if to shield herself from any other concerns. “Of course. Which is why I asked Mr. Warburton to dispatch a footman before we ordered round the carriage.”
A small gentleman in a long, dark coat and darker trousers was waiting for them inside. Before Emily could gain more than an impression of light wood and polished floors in the entryway, he’d thrown open the doors to the ballroom itself.
There it was, the room they’d been dreaming about. Emily stepped through the tall double doors, the sound of her slippers as soft as the tiptoe of a kitten. She could feel the others fanning out behind her, gazing around them.
“Oh, my,” Daphne said, and her awed voice echoed.
Priscilla ventured into the cavern of a room, letting her free hand trail along the first of the dozen alabaster columns. Emily’s gaze followed the fluted white column up the nearly two stories to the gilded, domed ceiling where hung two chandeliers, with tier upon tier of sparkling crystal that tinkled faintly in the breeze from the open door. She’d thought Priscilla’s invitation list of three hundred people a bit ambitious, but nearly twice that many could have fit within the ballroom.
Priscilla closed her parasol and used it as a baton. “There,” she said, pointing to the recesses running behind the columns on either side of the room. “That’s where our family and friends shall sit to watch us dance or promenade. And there, on the right, is where we’ll place buffet tables, covered with delicacies. And near the entrance I’ll have the receiving line, to graciously greet each guest.”
Daphne had wandered across the room to another set of double doors. “Here’s the garden,” she called. “And a lovely veranda, just right for taking a little air between dances.”
Ariadne sighed. “Or exchanging a moonlight kiss.”
Turning, Daphne tapped a foot against one of the polished stone tiles inlaid in the center floor, then lifted her skirts and slid a few feet. She grinned until she caught Emily’s gaze, then stood straighter, marched up to her, and swept her a bow.
“May I have this dance?”
Emily couldn’t help grinning as well. Before she knew it, Daphne had taken her hands and was twirling her about the floor. The air caressing her face smelled of beeswax and lemon, but she knew the night of the ball it would be scented with roses and the lavender and violet scents of ladies in fine silk. The music would dance on the air more lightly than the waltz Ariadne was humming from the musicians’ platform, where she waved her hand as if conducting a ghost orchestra that sat among the golden stands and little gilt chairs.
And La Petite Four would all be dancing with fine gentlemen in black jackets and spotless white cravats. Priscilla swayed back and forth, gazing up as if she were already imagining what it would feel like to be held in the arms of a very handsome fellow who found her utterly charming. Of how it would feel to finally join Society, to be seen as a true lady at last.
Then something warm and strong rose up inside Emily like a hot-air balloon ascending over Hyde Park. She spun out of Daphne’s hold, her skirts billowing, a laugh bubbling up. Daphne started laughing as well, and Ariadne and Priscilla quickly joined in. The joyous sound echoed to the ceiling, filling the room, filling her.
To think that just because of Lord Robert Townsend, she could lose all this!
Emily spun to a halt, sobering. “We must stop him.”
The smile faded from Daphne’s face. “We must.”
Ariadne climbed down from the musicians’ platform as Priscilla moved closer. “Agreed,” Priscilla said. “It might help if you told your father how selfish Lord Robert is being.”
Emily shook her head. “His Grace doesn’t see it as selfishness. He thinks it perfectly fine that I forgo the ball, that I marry immediately. No, we must make him see that Lord Robert Townsend is not the man for me.”
“How?” Ariadne asked, joining them as well.
Emily sighed. “If only I could prove he was up to something nefarious. I know he must be. Why refuse the ball? I cannot help but think there is more here than meets the eye.”
“Like what?” Daphne asked, obviously fascinated.
“Who can say?” Emily said with a shrug. “Some kind of ulterior purpose. Perhaps he hopes to squander my dowry on fripperies.”
Ariadne stuck out her lower lip. “If I were writing the scene, I’d say he’ll use your father’s consequence to engage in some criminal activity—like smuggling young ladies of good family to be sold in the slave markets of the far East.”
Priscilla laughed. “Only you could come up with such a tale.”
Ariadne smiled. “Why, thank you.”
“I need more than a story,” Emily told them. “His Grace is ever practical. I need facts, proof.”
“With Lord Robert as your fiancé,” Daphne put in, “you’ll be expected to spend time together. That should give you an opportunity to learn his secrets.”
Priscilla shook her head. “There isn’t enough time before the ball. What if you hired a Bow Street Runner? You know, the fellows who investigate crimes?”
“And told them what?” Emily replied. “That I wish to investigate Lord Robert because he won’t let me attend a ball? They’d laugh me out of the magistrate’s office.”
“Ask a servant to follow him, then,” Daphne suggested.
“His Grace is already running short-staffed. Warburton will hire some help for the Season soon, but they’ll be new and I couldn’t be certain I could trust them.”
“I think,” Ariadne announced with great feeling, “that we should be the ones to mount an i
nvestigation, just like the gallant men of Bow Street.” She stood taller, as if trying to make the most of her small stature. “I’ve read any number of stories in which the Bow Street Runners question family, acquaintances, servants. They’ve been known to follow a criminal all over England to catch him in the act. I daresay if we tried it, we’d have a better picture of Lord Robert.” She glanced around, as if expecting censure.
Priscilla’s smile widened. “Brilliant.”
Daphne nodded. “I could not have devised a better plan myself.”
Emily looked at her with surprise. “But surely Lord Snedley would find it improper in the extreme.”
Daphne blinked. “Only if we are caught.”
“Which I do not intend to be,” Priscilla said gravely, one arm wrapped about the waist of her soft blue gown. “There’s scandal enough already.”
“You don’t have to come, Pris,” Emily said. “I have Father’s consequence to hide behind, and Daphne and Ariadne have their mother’s renowned sense of decorum. You have the most to lose.”
Priscilla dropped her arm. “Precisely. Which is why I must go with you. La Petite Four must discover Lord Robert’s secret and save the ball, and if that means following him from one gaming hell and pleasure palace to another then so be it!”
6
A Duchess Never Drives in Puce
They left the Elysium Assembly Rooms with great purpose. Ariadne drew her leather-bound journal from her reticule and proceeded to draft a plan that included interviewing Lord Robert’s friends, family, and servants, as well as watching the man himself.
“I have read,” she said as she wrote, “that a gentleman is generally found during the day at his club.”
“But which club?” Priscilla replied. “My father once belonged to White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodle’s, all at the same time!”
Neither did they know Lord Robert’s intimates. Which of the fine gentlemen strolling and riding through the park, top hats dark in the sunlight, might be privy to his secrets? They could hardly accost the fellows and ask!
In the end, they decided to start at the Townsend town house. As Lady Emily could visit the Townsends as often as she liked, now being affianced to Lord Robert, she did not think His Grace would be concerned if she kept the carriage a bit longer. Goodness knows, she was delighted to have an excuse to get out of the house!
Priscilla seemed just as pleased. “When I am a duchess,” she said, running her hand over the plump cushions, “I shall insist on velvet in all my coaches, a different color and coach for each day. I think Tuesday will be a fine blue, like this.”
“What if you decide to drive in puce on a Tuesday?” Daphne asked.
Priscilla looked down her nose at her. “A duchess never drives in puce.”
“I suppose,” Emily said, “it depends on the duke. They are generally old and crotchety, Pris, except for His Grace.”
“You are referring to the royal dukes, the brothers of the prince,” Priscilla said with a sniff. “Of course I would not settle for one of those. I rather thought I’d seek introduction to the Duke of Rottenford. He’s said to be rather dashing.”
“He’s the youngest of the bachelor dukes and has a fortune of ten thousand pounds per annum and a seat just outside London,” Ariadne said. “I read it in DeBrett’s Peerage.”
“You see?” Priscilla said with a sigh. “He’s perfect.”
Emily felt nearly as breathless. She would never have thought it possible, but it was rather a lark to be dashing about after a gentleman, trying to discover his secrets. What would she learn about Lord Robert today? Daphne must have had the same thought, for she was fairly bouncing against the cushions, putting herself in danger of crushing her straw bonnet against the paneled ceiling.
“What do you think Lord Robert is doing right now?” she asked as the carriage trundled through Mayfair, passing town houses as grand and even grander than His Grace’s.
“Going to a cunning loan broker to borrow gambling money against Lady Emily’s dowry,” Ariadne predicted. “Or to whoever helps him dispose of the virgins he’s probably selling into slavery.”
“Consulting with his tailor, more likely,” Priscilla said. “We shall be lucky if we find him at home.”
They were quite unlucky indeed. The carriage stopped before a tall, redbrick town house with green shutters on the multi-paned windows and a large park opposite in the center of the square. When Lady Emily showed the wizened butler the calling card His Grace had had made for her, he reported that neither Lady Wakenoak nor Lord Robert was at home.
“It is the Season,” Priscilla reminded them as they returned to the carriage.
Emily frowned back at the dark green-lacquered door engraved with a lion’s head. “True, but if Lady Wakenoak is so devastated by her husband’s loss, why is she out making calls?”
“At the very least,” Daphne agreed, “there should be a black wreath on the door to show they are in mourning. Lord Snedley advises at least a year for a husband, more for someone you loved.”
Emily eyed her. “Then shouldn’t Lord Robert also be in mourning for his father? If Lady Wakenoak is supposed to forgo Society, why may Lord Robert marry? What does the sainted Lord Snedley advise for a son?”
“To spend his inheritance as soon as possible,” Daphne replied cheerfully.
Well, that was no help. As they settled in the carriage once more, Emily thought hard. London was so large. How could they possibly trace Lord Robert’s footsteps? She gazed at the park in the center of the square. The trees were leafing out in a bright spring green, and the daffodils were just beginning to bloom, bending over the grass like yellow teacups. It wasn’t hard to spot the young man, standing just inside the path that led through the center of the garden as if he had been waiting for her. She recognized that mop of russet hair that begged to be painted. Emily didn’t dare move even within the carriage, lest he notice.
“Pris,” she hissed, “do you see the man standing under the trees over there?”
Immediately Daphne and Ariadne craned their necks as well.
“The fellow with the common coat?” Priscilla asked.
“The mysterious stranger with the muscular build?” Ariadne added.
“The gentleman standing in the Terpsichorean Slouch that Lord Snedley favors?” Daphne put in.
“Yes!” Emily whispered. “His name is James Cropper. He was at Barnsley, and he tried to see His Grace last night.”
Daphne gasped. “Is he following you?”
Emily shook her head. “I thought so at first, but I can see no reason for it. Still, he may know where Lord Robert has gone, and I intend to find out.”
She reached for the door handle, but Ariadne caught her arm. “You can’t go out there!”
Emily started to protest, but Priscilla was nodding, her lovely face solemn.
“She’s quite right, Emily. You’re betrothed and shouldn’t be seen with another man.” She turned to Daphne. “You go.”
Daphne stared at them all, her blue eyes narrowed. “Why do you always ask me to do such things? Priscilla never dashes through the bushes; she knows better than to ruin her gown. And Ariadne never peeks around corners or hides behind horses.”
Ariadne shrugged. “I know what happens at that end of the beast.”
“So do I,” Daphne declared, nose in the air. “And I am trying to be a lady. What gentleman wants to marry a girl with more dash and skill than he has?”
Emily couldn’t wait for them to decide. “There, he’s ducked deeper into the shadows. We’ll lose him!” She turned the brass handle, clambered from the coach, and waved to Mr. Phillips to wait.
Daphne climbed down behind her. “Oh, very well,” Emily heard her mutter as Daphne caught up. “I’ll come along, but only to give you a proper chaperone.”
They hurried across the street. Emily peered around the bushes at the edge of the park and over the top of shrubs. Where had he gone? What was she to do, drag Daphne through the undergrow
th in search of him?
Daphne apparently had other ideas. She linked her arm in Emily’s.
“Lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?” she said in an unusually loud voice, pulling Emily along the pebbled path lined with daffodils that led deeper into the park. “I’m so glad you insisted upon it.”
What on earth was wrong with her? Had she gone as mad as Priscilla’s aunt? As if Daphne knew Emily’s thoughts by the frown, she offered her a broad wink and waited expectantly.
Oh, of course! She was using subterfuge. Rather wise, actually. Whether Daphne liked it or not, there truly was a reason they asked her to do things like this.
“Ah, yes,” Emily said, though she could not manage quite so bright a tone. “A lovely day. Shall we stroll?”
“I’d be delighted.” Daphne continued at a leisurely pace across the park. Her eyes were narrowed, gaze darting about, as if she could see through the greening shrubbery. Daphne’s sky blue gaze had held the same look when she and Emily had joined His Grace for a fox hunt. She had watched, carefully, from horseback as the hounds coursed across the fields, like streams rushing in the spring. It was easy to spot the moment when they all coalesced, caught the scent, and took off in pursuit.
“He’s just gone to ground,” Daphne whispered to Emily. “But we shall catch him.”
Emily kept the smile on her face. “Do you see him?” she whispered back.
“Not at the moment . . . wait! To your right, behind that laurel shrub.”
Something was indeed moving there, and Emily fancied she caught a glimpse of russet hair. Excitement coursed through her, sharp and bold, and she could feel Daphne’s grip tighten on her arm. Their footsteps quickened.
“You could not ask for a finer day,” Emily said as they closed in on him. She hoped Daphne was the only one who heard the tension in the tone.
“Unseasonably warm,” Daphne agreed, keeping an eye on their quarry. He seemed to have crouched down, as if to spy on them. The bushes rustled with his movement.