It wasn’t long before the most surprising guest of the evening stepped in front of her and her aunt and uncle.
“Lady Ravensdale and the Honorable Vivien Mosley.” Mr. Dobson’s voice carried over the noise.
Lady Ravensdale regarded her with the same polite arrogance she’d lavished on her at the Royal Academy of Art.
What the devil is she doing here? Valerie had avoided Vivien’s coming-out dance in favor of the charity ball. She thought Vivien would do the same, especially given her need to retire to Paris for a while. Maybe she was as curious as Richard about No. 10, but for a woman who despised Uncle Neville she didn’t think his residence a big enough draw. Perhaps she should suggest Henry inspect her for a bomb or a concealed gun, her motive for coming more revolutionary than respectful.
“Good evening, Miss de Vere Cole,” Vivien said with barely concealed distaste, while Lady Ravensdale exchanged a few words with Aunt Anne and Uncle Neville. After the dustup over her and Lord Mosley one would think she’d be a little more humble, but arrogance sometimes hid a lack of confidence. Vivien had arrogance in spades.
“Miss Mosley, thank you ever so much for coming.” Whatever her reason for being here, Valerie would avoid her, hoping she wasn’t so ill-mannered as to pull something while a guest in the Premier’s house. One might expect more from the granddaughter of a viceroy, but, as she discovered, lineage was simply a gilding for coarseness.
“That’s almost the end of it,” Aunt Anne said with no small measure of relief when Lady Ravensdale and Vivien moved on. The line had dwindled down to a few stragglers.
“The Honorable Dr. Richard Cranston,” Mr. Dobson announced.
Thank heavens!
“Is there any room left on your dance card for me?”
“I saved the Big Apple especially for you. I hope you don’t mind.” She couldn’t imagine anyone else joining her during the large promenade around the room or kicking and stepping with the same devil-may-care delight he’d shown during the Lambeth Walk at Grosvenor House.
“A rollicking bit of fun.” His fingers curled around hers while he wrote, his grip warm and firm, making it quite impossible for her to think of anything but him until he let go. “May I have the pleasure of taking you in?”
She smiled, near-giddy at his request. “You may.”
People streamed up and down the Grand Staircase, many making for the cooler air of the lawn that had been strung with paper lanterns to light the walks between the rose beds. Richard led her to the Pillared Drawing Room, taking in everything as he went. In the Pillared Drawing Room, the large Persian rug had been taken up, leaving the parquet floor for dancing. There were no elaborate decorations turning No. 10 into a German beer garden or a Spanish castle. The historic elegance of the house was background enough.
Valerie hoped he appreciated the understated décor. “Is Number Ten everything you expected?”
“Less ostentatious than I’d anticipated but certainly worth the cab fare.”
“You make it sound like the Tower of London menagerie.”
“Isn’t it?” He motioned to the various government and society people mingling through the rooms, bushy mustaches and boutonnieres broken only by the flash of scarlet dress uniforms and silver lamé gowns.
“It’s quite the collection of specimens, especially the men in uniform.” Her smile faded even while the chaps carried on laughing, drinking, and dancing. “I’m worried about what’ll happen to them if war comes. It sounds awfully silly to say aloud, but I’m glad they’re here to enjoy this in case it’s one of the last. They’ll need cheerful memories if things turn ugly.” Thoughts of Christmas at Aunt Anne’s had comforted Valerie more than once during the darkest times in Ascain. All of them might have to cling to the past like that again.
“Then I’m honored to be a part of it.” He laid his hand over hers where she rested it in the crook of his arm. It was the most they could exchange in the crowded room, not without her earning a few sordid lines in Mrs. Sketch’s Diary. She wished she could walk out with him in the garden as they’d done in Hyde Park, but tonight she couldn’t favor one guest over all the rest.
“I believe the waltz is my dance.” Elm cut in between Valerie and Richard, breaking the spell. “Nice to see you, old chap.”
“They finally let you out of the barracks.”
“Only because I’ve been a good boy.”
Richard, unflappable as always, handed Valerie to Elm, who escorted her onto the dance floor. Through the guests, she caught sight of Vivien dancing with Jakie, less impressed to be on the arm of a viscount’s younger son than a viscount. Valerie fell into rhythm with Elm, matching his moves step for step. They’d waltzed enough at various balls for her to know his style, the two of them the picture of grace and syncopation, and most of the room turned to watch them.
Elm pretended he didn’t notice the sudden rush of attention, but it was there in the regal set of his shoulders. “You’re shining this evening.”
“I have an accomplished partner.” He twirled her and she met his energy, making the skirt of her dress shift and sway. “Do you know, I considered going back to the country after my presentation to avoid all of this? I wasn’t sure I could face it.”
“Not a confident deb like you.”
“It’s a bit overwhelming for us girls, all but ignored our entire lives, then suddenly shoved into the limelight and expected to be witty night after night.”
“Then you’ve learned a great deal in a short time. Did the Season live up to your expectations?”
“It exceeded them.” Even the less savory moments. The old regrets and worries that used to pile on her in the middle of the night when she was too keyed up from the evening to sleep had been dulled by her friends. Mr. Shoedelin seemed like a distant memory and Mavis had proved to be little more than one of those eccentric relatives English families were famous for, an embarrassment shrugged off with a nervous laugh and a few blushes. In the rare moments when worry did get the best of her, Their Excellencies helped settled her, as did dancing with Elm.
He guided them elegantly around the floor, drawing more attention. During one turn, she caught Richard’s eye. He smiled, but it was tense about the corners of his lips. Whatever he thought of her dancing with Elm, it didn’t thrill him nearly as much as it did her.
Whatever Lady Fallington thought of them dancing, she didn’t know. She couldn’t see her. She must be in another room, mixing with more of her sort. At least the Marchioness wasn’t hovering around shooing Elm away from Valerie.
After Elm there was a string of other partners but none as dashing as the Viscount. It didn’t matter, every one of them was as polite or charming as they could be and the conversation never lagged. She saw to it, employing every trick she’d learned during the last three months to be a splendid hostess.
“You’re really turning heads tonight,” Richard said from behind her as they promenaded during the Big Apple. Dinah was ahead of them with Johnny Dalkeith, the Earl of Dalkeith’s son, while Christian, Katherine, and Eunice promenaded on the opposite side of the circle.
“It’s my coming-out dance.” They stopped to kick into the circle and back out again with everyone else. Perspiration dotted his forehead, his hair slightly disheveled from the energy of the dance. For all the world she couldn’t imagine Elm dancing like this. He was off somewhere, standing out because there were more than enough gentlemen to ensure no girl went without a partner. “I should hope to shine.”
“You deserve to collect more memories.”
“I am. Hoards of them. Including you.”
Around and around they went in the circle, kicking and swinging, wagging fingers in the air with everyone until the dance brought everything to a rousing end. Valerie and Richard came to a stop with the rest of the circle, breathing hard from the dance and the thrill of the night. “Can I take you outside to the garden for some air?”
“I wish I could.” Over his shoulder she caught sight of Mr. Ch
aplin coming to collect her for the foxtrot. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
He glanced at Mr. Chaplin, then nodded. “I understand.”
She didn’t doubt it, what with all the times Elm had cut in between him and Valerie. “Perhaps later?”
“I look forward to it.”
He relinquished her to Mr. Chaplin, who talked excitedly about his horse and their new training regimen. She listened to his steady stream of words while silently hoping nothing happened to him. He didn’t deserve the awful sorts of things she’d read about in All Quiet on the Western Front. None of the chaps she danced with did, but she didn’t say so to any of them, eager for everyone to enjoy tonight as much as she did.
She begged off the next dance, needing a breather and a good chat with Their Excellencies. She wove through the guests in the drawing rooms searching for them, squeezing through the crush of young people filling the hallways before making her way down the Grand Staircase. Girls and boys sat on the steps chatting, giving their feet a rest from biting slippers and pinching dress shoes, the string of late nights catching up with many. Downstairs, she turned a corner, surprised to see Lady Ravensdale and Vivien standing alone in the dark passage between the private secretary’s office and the Cabinet Room, the only place not filled with people. The few staff not released early ahead of the festivities were upstairs with Uncle Neville.
“They’re fools to host this party when Europe is nearly in flames,” Lady Ravensdale said to Vivien. “They’re a disgrace and not at all capable of leading us through this crisis.”
Valerie was about to rush in and defend her uncle, to say he as much as anyone in England deserved a bit of merriment, but curiosity got the better of her and she listened, careful not to catch their notice.
“Why are we even here?” Vivien sulked. “I didn’t want to come.”
“I wanted to see how far you’re failing. Someone like her is capturing the prize and what do you, a Viceroy’s granddaughter, have to show for the Season?”
“I might have a better go of it if Father weren’t embarrassing me at every turn. Why can’t he and Diana disappear? Must they be so obvious?”
“He is what he is and you’d better think on how you’ll manage it. Miss de Vere Cole has to contend with that slut Mrs. Wheeler and she’s still succeeding. Remember who you are and do better.” Lady Ravensdale stormed off, pausing when she caught sight of Valerie. She didn’t stop and apologize or sputter about not meaning what she’d said about Uncle Neville. She simply swept past her as if she owned No. 10.
The nerve of the witch.
“I suppose you heard that.” Vivien ground her teeth as if chewing on the next thing to say.
“I did.” She approached the girl as if Vivien were a snake about to strike. Eunice had said she might be nasty because of what she endured. Maybe it was true. “My father and stepmother aren’t exactly an asset to me either. It’s perfectly dreadful when relations hinder more than help us.”
Relief flashed across Vivien’s face and Valerie waited for her to commiserate the way Their Excellencies did during confessions. She didn’t want to be pals, but a truce like the one from the 400 Club would be nice. They weren’t so different. There was no reason for them to constantly be at each other’s throat.
The peace vanished as fast as it’d come and Vivien hit her with a haughty sneer. “Don’t insult me with your false sympathy. You’re glad to see my family humble me. Jumped-up girls love to see the betters torn down.”
She pushed past her, leaving Valerie in the hallway to fume.
Betters. Hah! Not with all the scandals tied to her family like tin cans on a newlywed’s car. But in this world it was strike before you were stuck, climb as high as you could by pushing others down. Vivien could bloody well live that way. Valerie wouldn’t.
She marched out of the hall, running into Eunice.
“What’s wrong?” Eunice asked, noticing the fury on Valerie’s face.
“I caught the sharp end of Vivien’s bite.”
“She can be quite rabid, can’t she?”
“She’s a right regular bitch.”
Eunice clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. “I should say a Hail Mary for that, but you’re right. I’ll confess it on Sunday.”
“What are you doing down here?”
“I needed a breather. Kick’s dancing with Billy Harrington, and it’s the talk of the ballroom. She’ll end up married to a duke and I’m simply an afterthought. Never mind that I’m the reason we’re here, not that I’m only interested in you because of this but I like you, all of you. You’ve been so nice to me. You don’t care who my father is or that he and Marlene Dietrich are an item. Oh, listen to me going on with all my gloom and doom during your ball. I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t be. We all need a good cry and complaint now and then.”
“So this is where you two have gone off to.” Dinah turned the corner, nearly as familiar with No. 10 as Valerie from her many afternoon visits here. “I’m exhausted. I’ve never danced so much at a ball.”
“Come on, I know where we can rest for a while.” Valerie led them up the stairs, meeting Katherine and Christian as they came down. “Follow me. I promise you, it’s grand.”
They slipped past the revelers and upstairs to the family’s private floor. Along the quiet corridor they giggled and laughed like thieves about to steal state secrets, especially when Valerie guided them up to the third floor and through the servants’ quarters under the attic. Everyone was downstairs serving tonight, leaving the rooms deserted. They reached the last and highest stairway in No. 10 and followed it up to the roof.
London spread out before them, Parliament and Big Ben visible in the distance, the lights of Buckingham Palace glowing behind them. The twinkling was broken by the wide swaths of dark parks dotted here and there, the cars’ headlights snaking through the streets.
“It’s beautiful,” Dinah breathed, leaning against the edge of the rooftop.
“Mary showed it to me once. She said Mr. Asquith’s children used to watch the suffragettes parading in front of Downing Street from up here.” Valerie leaned against the wall beside her friends, the breeze catching her curls and brushing them against her cheek before she tucked them behind her ear. The putter of cars and the occasional horn off a boat on the Thames drifted across the city, mingling with the music from downstairs and the conversation of people strolling along Downing Street or in the garden.
“Everything looks so peaceful from this high,” Eunice said.
Christian sighed. “Don’t you wish a night like this could last forever?”
“I do.” Valerie traced the line of grout in the brick. “Did you notice all the men in uniform?”
“Hard not to when they’re the color of lobsters.” Dinah stood beside her, chin in her hand. “Poor dears. Difficult to think they and the city might suffer the way Mr. Churchill keeps warning.”
“London’s been here since ancient Rome,” Katherine said. “It’ll endure.”
“So will we.” Valerie glanced to her friends standing on either side of her, the sleeves of their dresses ruffled by the breeze. “Promise me, whatever happens, we won’t forget one another. No matter where we go or end up, we’ll face this together.”
“Absolutely,” Christians said. “I couldn’t think to bear it without you.”
“Hear, hear,” Dinah cheered. “To Your Excellencies.”
“To us!”
Chapter Eighteen
The clink of china beneath the soft conversation of women and the notes of the piano dominated Claridge’s tearoom. Large curve-topped mirrors encased in chrome ironwork shaped into swags gave them the appearance of French palace windows. They reflected the light from the tall windows with a view of the street across from them. A gorgeous chandelier hung in the center of the vaulted ceiling above a large pink floral arrangement and a pale blue circular leather seat. Servers in white coats moved quietly throu
gh the tables, bringing plates of food and new pots of tea for the diners to enjoy.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about your mother?” Dinah asked from across the table. They were taking tea alone today, the rest of Their Excellencies engaged with other commitments. They’d decided to splurge, passing up the cheap sandwiches at Selfridges for something a touch more refined. It’d been a week since Valerie’s coming out and the whirl of the Season was beginning to quiet as many left for country estates in anticipation of Sarah Churchill’s coming-out ball at Blenheim Palace. Valerie and Aunt Anne would spend the Thursday to Monday at Cliveden with Their Excellencies, Michael, Jakie, Elm, and Richard.
“I haven’t.” They hadn’t discussed Valerie’s mother since the tea in Downing Street weeks ago, but there wasn’t a time when Valerie opened the red dispatch box and saw the address beside the books and letters that she hadn’t thought about it and what to do. There were nights when she’d lie awake imagining a tearful reunion or at the very least a polite conversation. It was all fantasy, but without having met the woman she had nothing else. “What brought that up?”
“Papa came to see me this morning. When I told him Aunt Nancy had already motored to Cliveden he said how much he and Mummy used to enjoy house parties. He hasn’t been the same since she passed. The doctors wouldn’t let him or us see her when she was sick, they were afraid it’d upset and weaken her. He wishes he’d insisted, but no one, not even the doctors, thought she’d die.” She pushed her empty plate away. “If war comes, a great many people could be lost and you might regret not having visited her before things went to pieces.”
“I might regret it if I do. I still can’t shake the nasty things my stepmother told me about her not wanting me. If that’s true, she won’t like me showing up on her doorstep.” She’d told Dinah about the awful visit during one of her many afternoons at No. 10.
“If you can speak, it might be good to hear her side of things so you aren’t left wondering. Then you can put it all behind you, have a clean slate, as it were.”
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