by Laurie Brown
Mr. Foucalt explained the dance, starting from the beginning, not forgetting to mention it was the Regent’s current favorite, and again plugging his upcoming book. He rapped his stick on the floor, and Patience played with more enthusiasm than talent. After the gentlemen did their promenade, each couple, alternating sides, made the circuit in the same step-close-step manner. “While you are waiting your turn,” he said loudly as he danced down the line with Cecily, “it is appropriate to chat with your partner.”
“I missed you this morning,” Shermont said to Eleanor.
“Perhaps it was for the best,” she replied. “I can’t shoot a bow and arrow, and I might have injured an innocent bystander.”
“I missed you at archery, too,” he whispered.
Eleanor hoped her blush wasn’t obvious to all as she and Shermont took their turn and promenaded between the other couples. They resumed their places.
“May I have the first dance at the ball tonight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “If I count this, I know the steps to a grand total of one dance. There’s no guarantee “On a Midsummer Night” will be the first dance of the evening.”
“I remember another dance among the butterflies,” he reminded her. The spark in his eyes said he remembered other activities as well.
“The waltz is considered too risqué and not—”
“Ah, you are wrong,” he said with a smile. “I did some checking, and it seems the rules at country parties are much more lax than at Almack’s.”
“Even so, I truly doubt the first dance will be a waltz.”
“That depends on who calls the first set. Who do you suppose will be the ranking female at the ball?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. She had assumed Deirdre would be the one to open the ball and call the dances.
Shermont looked thoughtful as the steps of the dance caused them to separate and link up with the person across the line.
She raised her left hand as Teddy lifted his right, and they walked in a circle, fingertips touching.
“Unfortunately, I must open the ball, but I would dance the second set with you,” Teddy said when his back was to Beatrix, a statement rather than a request.
“I must decline the honor due to lack of dancing knowledge,” Eleanor replied with an insincere frown. “So sorry.”
“What did he say?” Shermont asked when she returned to her starting point.
She was taken aback by the fierceness of his expression. Regency men were so possessive and presumptuous. “None of your business.”
“My apologies. I phrased that wrongly. You seemed upset.”
“I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she assured him as they clasped hands across, left hand to left and right hand to right.
“I’m sure you are.” He twirled her under his arm, so their opposite hands were now on top. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”
They sashayed … slide, slide, slide … up the line, twirled, and then came back. While the others took turns with the same moves, they stood quietly in place.
As a grand finale, the dancers made a large circle. Each gentleman swung his partner around before twirling her under his arm and passing her to the man on his left. Another reason for Prinny to love the dance.
Eleanor went from Shermont to Teddy to Whitby, who held her too tight and stared down at her décolletage while asking her for a dance later that evening. She declined without remorse. Rockingham acted as if she were a mere imposition, his attention glued on the heiress Cecily. Foucalt swung her expertly and handed her off to Alanbrooke.
“You could smile when you step toward me,” he said with a teasing sparkle in his eye.
She did just that. “Sorry. My mind was a million miles away.”
“How flattering,” he said in a dry tone. But he returned her smile before passing her to Parker, who stammered out his invitation to a dance that evening. She regretted she could not accept and explained her ignorance of the popular dances.
Then she had a moment to breathe with Mina’s imaginary partner Raoul. Eleanor reminded herself that if she wanted to keep an eye on Shermont, she would have to mend a few fences. She approached him with a smile.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
“My apologies. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own. I forget life is different here.”
“No need to apologize. I should remember you aren’t like other females. I’m just glad we’re back on good terms.” The music ended and he bowed. “I look forward to the evening ahead.” His wicked smile promised more than his polite words.
The music stopped, and everyone applauded. “That is all we have time for today,” Patience said with a bow.
Deirdre closed her mouth.
Eleanor wanted to help Deirdre regain the status that Patience seemed determined to usurp. “What does our hostess have to say?” Eleanor asked in a loud voice, pointedly looking in Deirdre’s direction. “Do we learn another dance?”
Deirdre sent her a grateful look. “Regretfully, Aunt Patience is right.”
Eleanor hid a smile at the double meaning. Did Deirdre regret that time was up or that Patience was right?
The gentlemen gave their polite adieus and left. Then the women meandered back to the entrance hall and up the stairs in twos and threes, chatting about everything that must be done to get ready for the ball.
“Shall we bathe before our naps or afterward?” Mina asked as they entered their sitting room.
“Bathe?” After washing in a basin, Eleanor was all for a bath. “Let’s do that first.”
“Good idea. There might be a rush on hot water later,” Deirdre said as she rang for Twilla to ready the bathing chamber.
“Rochambeau for who goes first?” Mina asked.
Deirdre agreed, so Eleanor nodded without knowing what she was agreeing to do. Deirdre gathered them into a circle of sorts and held out her fist toward the center. Mina followed suit, so Eleanor did too.
“On three,” Deirdre said.
She raised and lowered her hand on each slow count, so Eleanor copied her. On the count of three her hand was still fisted like Deirdre’s, but Mina had made the two-fingered sign for scissors. Eleanor immediately understood the game played by a different name.
“I hate bathing in used water. Why do I always have to lose?” Mina stuck out her lip and marched off to the bedroom.
“Because she always does scissors,” Deirdre whispered.
“Now what?” Eleanor asked.
“Loser goes second in the tub?” Deirdre asked as she sized up her new opponent.
Eleanor reasoned out her next move. Since Mina always took scissors that meant Deirdre always took rock. But since Deirdre had just told her that, then she wouldn’t take rock next. But if she took scissors, then she would be mimicking her sister, something Eleanor didn’t think she would do. But Deirdre wouldn’t expect her to use rock twice, so …
Omigod. She was turning into Vizzini from The Princess Bride with his convoluted logic. Eleanor decided to wing it.
“Ready?” Deirdre asked, staring at Eleanor as if her choice would be flashed on her forehead a second before her hand dropped.
“Go for it.”
After the count, Eleanor ended with a fist. And her rock beat scissors.
“Congratulations,” Deirdre said in a tight little voice, unaccustomed to losing, but keeping the traditional stiff upper lip. She spun on her heel and went into the bedroom, head held high, passing her sister without a word.
In the process of donning her robe, Mina came into the room wearing her chemise and slippers. She stared after her sister as she tied her belt. Turning to Eleanor, she asked, “What’s wrong with Deirdre?” A slow smile of comprehension lit her face. “You won!” She clapped her hands. “I love it. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on. Get ready. I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Go on.” Mina shooed her into her bedroom.
&n
bsp; Eleanor still didn’t know what to expect, but she did what she’d been doing since she arrived and mimicked one of the girls. She disrobed down to her chemise, took off her shoes and stockings, and donned her robe and slippers. She was ready to go to the bathing chamber, an unfortunate name. The only other ones she could think of were a judge’s chamber, a decompression chamber, and a torture chamber, none of which sounded like a pleasant experience.
* * *
Shermont propped his feet up and accepted the drink his valet handed him. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain without a letter by letter comparison, but I’d bet my new Hessians the handwriting on Digby’s note was the same as the one from the tree.”
Carl shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would a peer risk everything? Could someone else have written the note for him? His steward? His valet? I’ve written notes for you.”
“To complete a mundane task such as ordering stationery or to decline an invitation from a stranger, but not a personal note. And never a missive to a lady.”
“I agree. He probably wrote the note himself, but that still leaves the question of why,” Carl said.
Shermont shrugged. “I don’t really care why. If he’s guilty, we arrest him.”
“If we know why, it may help us identify the other foreign agent or agents.”
Shermont was fairly certain he knew who the other was, but he held his tongue. Since omission was a form of lying, his silence counted as the first time he’d lied to his partner. He took a swig of his tea. “Probably one of the big three motivators—money, love, or revenge.”
“My research on Digby didn’t turn up any incidents that could even remotely incite a need for revenge. Just a normal, aristocratic childhood.”
“His mother was French,” Shermont reminded his friend.
“And she brought him to England in order to escape Dr. Guillotine’s diabolical invention. Well, not exactly his mother. She died on the journey, but his aunt brought him.”
“So that leaves money. We know Napoleon pays well for information.”
“You must be joking. The estate, the house, the servants—”
“All of which cost beaucoup sous to keep functioning. Digby is a strange mixture of extravagance and economies.”
Carl gestured around the luxurious room. “Economies?”
“I’ve told you. It’s all in the details. For instance, the bed linens the girls used for costumes had been mended multiple times by different seamstresses, some more skilled than others.”
“Extras. With so many guests …”
“Possible. But lots of little details add up. The house and grounds, though grand and well-maintained, have not been updated for many years—nothing in the newer styles of furniture and no modern conveniences. I noticed the drapes used on the stage were sun-faded on the back and had not been replaced or even relined. Several pieces of furniture need to be reupholstered. At dinner last night my chair wobbled so badly I feared I might land on my backside if I crossed my legs.”
“Perhaps Digby has no interest in furnishings. Many men leave that to a wife, which he doesn’t have.”
“Does he also take no interest in the gardens? New plants are the rage every year. He has none. The paths remain quite wide, a style popular twenty years ago, so that a man could escort a lady wearing the voluminous skirts of the time without stepping into the grass or flowerbeds.”
“Gardening may not—”
“I’ll give you only one more example, even though I could go on for hours.”
“Please, no.”
Shermont smiled. “The wine cellar.”
“Surely you have no complaints regarding the wine and potables served. Digby has an excellent nose. The stock is first-rate, maybe even exceptional.”
“You are a better judge than I am in such matters, but I agree. However, on the tour Digby gave me when I first arrived, I noticed something peculiar. No new vintages have been laid away for future use.”
“Hmmm.”
“I see you’re still not convinced. Start looking, and I’m sure you’ll find examples of your own. Especially in behind-the-scenes areas.”
“What about the third motivator? Who does Digby love?”
“Other than himself?”
“But it is a possibility?”
“Love?” Shermont leaned back and closed his eyes so Carl wouldn’t see the truth reflected there. “You never know what a man will do for love.”
Chapter Thirteen
Eleanor had no idea what to expect. Even though the thought of a bath was appealing after washing from a basin, she walked to the bathing chamber with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner shuffling to the firing squad.
What was so difficult about a shower that it took so many years to invent? Shermont had done it with a gargoyle and a coal scuttle. More important, why had she complained about her tiny little bathroom with the ugly Pepto-Bismol pink tiles and the showerhead that whined and sputtered? She sighed at the heavenly memory.
Mina walked beside Eleanor and asked, “Is something the matter?”
“My mind is hundreds of miles away, that’s all.”
“Thinking about your home in America?”
“Yes.” At least that part was true.
Approximately halfway toward the end of the hall a screen had been set up to block the view. On the other side, they ducked past a curtained entrance into a wide alcove. A brass tub at least eight feet long and three feet high dominated the area. Warmth radiated from the fireplace that covered the entire wall to the left. Several big iron pots hung over the flames, and steam filled the air. Five maids bustled around the room, busy with various tasks. Deirdre and Mina sat on the bench that ran around the other two walls.
Eleanor hesitated. She’d never been a fan of group cleansing rituals. As a chubby teen, gym class had been torture.
“Step to it,” the old crone seated by the fireplace barked. “Water’s not getting any warmer.”
One maid took Eleanor’s robe and hung it on a hook. Another bent down to remove her slippers. Then two others each took one of her elbows and guided her up the steps leading to the foot of the tub. Three more steps led down into the deep water, and she wasn’t given time to take off her chemise. Apparently, Regency women didn’t bathe naked.
While Deirdre and Mina chatted, Eleanor chose honeysuckle-scented soap and a cloth from the tray offered. After she’d quickly washed herself, one maid scrubbed her back with a soft brush, and then another washed her hair. She was instructed to stand, and a bucket of fresh warm water was poured over her head to rinse her off. She climbed out of the tub. They wrapped her in a large sheet and guided her to a place on the bench beside Mina.
Two maids each dipped a bucket of water out of the tub, and two others adding steaming hot water.
“Step up. Step up,” the crone said.
Deirdre jumped up to take her turn.
“I’m glad you’re quick,” Mina said. “Mrs. Tuttle doesn’t like us to dawdle.” She indicated the crone by the fireplace.
“Then she’s the butler’s wife?”
“Good heavens, no. She’s his mother and very strict about the rules. We humor her because she’s been with the family forever. She was father’s nursemaid, maybe even grandfather’s.” Mina partially covered her mouth so no one else could hear her whisper. “We heard that at a certain house party, an unmarried couple was found bathing together, in the middle of the night no less.”
Eleanor eyed the large tub, and her imagination provided an inviting image of Shermont soaking there. Several enjoyable aquatic activities came to mind. “Oh, that’s … astonishing.”
“Something like that would never happen in Mrs. Tuttle’s bathing chamber.”
Too bad. “Of course not.”
A maid brought another tray with an assortment of creams and oils, but since Eleanor didn’t know what they were for, she shook her head. She also refused a cup of lemon verbena tea.
When Deirdre was done,
she took a seat on a small stool by the fire, and Mrs. Tuttle brushed her long blonde locks.
“Whenever I think about cutting my hair, I reconsider,” Deirdre said to Eleanor. “However did you get the nerve?”
Eleanor shrugged. She’d worn her hair long most of her life, but after her breakup, she’d decided she needed a drastic change. She’d donated fourteen inches of hair to Locks of Love and decided she preferred it short. “It’s so much easier to take care of this way.” She fluffed her curls with her fingers and wished she’d brought a comb.
“A gentlewoman’s hair is her crowning glory,” Mrs. Tuttle said, her voice little more than a rasp. “If you cut it, you cut your chances of an advantageous marriage.”
“Well, I’m going to cut mine,” Mina said as she took her turn in the tub. “Not really short as in the Titus style, but I want those adorable little curls that frame your face. I’m going to wait to see the fashions when we get to London.”
In the warm bathing chamber, Eleanor’s thin chemise dried quickly and she feared she would sweat, thus negating any good done by the bath, “I’m going back to our room,” she announced as she stood.
“Have a good rest,” Deirdre said. “I’ll tell Twilla to wake you in plenty of time to get dressed for the ball.”
A maid rushed to hold Eleanor’s robe and another brought her slippers. As she ducked through the curtain, she encountered Fiona, Hazel, Beatrix, and their mothers.
After the normal pleasantries, Beatrix started toward the curtain. Mrs. Holcum blocked the way and folded her arms over her ample bosom. “We’ll wait until they are done. I don’t hold with public bathing. We’re not ancient Romans, you know.”
Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. Obviously, Mrs. Holcum didn’t consider the servants members of the public.
“I don’t know why young people today are so obsessed with bathing,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “It’s unhealthy to immerse yourself in water so often. In my day, twice a year was considered more than adequate.”