Sorrel wondered if she was going to regret having asked Tammy to come tonight. More, if she was going to regret having accepted her mother's surprising invitation at all. This charity ball was the social highlight of the surrounding district and Sorrel had never been asked before, but this year, not only had a pressing invitation been extended, but her mother had suggested Sorrel brought with her a collection of her jewellery to display.
It wasn't as much as she had hoped for from her father nearly six weeks before, but since Lucas Amory had dashed all hope of advancement from Amoroso, the chance of any showcase for her work was welcome, even if it meant a large slice of her profits would go to the charity.
Thinking of Lucas Amory and his accusations could still make her squirm, and she wondered if her father had talked to him and put him straight yet. If he had, there had certainly been no apology from Mr Amory. Not that she wanted one; the thought of seeing him again gave her the shudders.
Tammy and Charlie had been surprised and very indignant on her behalf when she had told them merely that Lucas Amory had turned down her designs. They had encouraged her to try other outlets, but Lucas Amory's savage rebuff had knocked her self-confidence for six and she was only just beginning to climb out of her depression when her mother's telephone call had come. And as Tammy had been with her at the time, and her mother hadn't considered how she was to get to Thorley, she had taken up her friend's offer of transport.
'My mother's home, Tammy, never mine,' she said quietly. 'I only spent part of my school holidays here.' She suppressed a shiver, for some of the most desolate times of her childhood had been spent at Thorley.
But Sorrel refused to think of that now, and as Tammy slid the van into a parking space on the gravel sweep, she said, 'Come on, let's get unloaded.'
They lifted out the suitcase containing the dresses they would change into and the showcases of jewellery, and Sorrel led the way through the massive front entrance into the high, echoing, empty hall. It was like stepping back into her childhood, overwhelming her with the knowledge that she didn't belong.
It was the ebullient Tammy's 'Wow!' that recalled her to the present, and she told herself wryly that she should be used to her lack of welcome at Thorley by now. The sharp tap of heels had her turning towards the doorway to the ballroom to see a dark-haired woman wearing a shrimp-pink evening dress and a harassed expression appear.
'About time, too!' she exploded on seeing them.
Sorrel stared at her in astonishment. 'I beg you pardon?'
'You are the jewellery, aren't you?' the woman demanded impatiently. 'You're in the Painted Salon.' Indicating they were to follow, she turned back into the ballroom, missing the startled glances Sorrel and Tammy exchanged.
The sound of feminine chatter reached them before they stepped through the door at the far end into a smaller room with a high, painted ceiling that had been jewel-bright once but that was now faded and peeling, where they found half a dozen stalls had been set up and were being decked out with craftwork ranging from wood-carving to lace-making.
'Lady Berisford-Reid said this one was to be reserved for the jewellery.' The woman halted beside the one remaining stall. 'As you can imagine, there's been some resentment about it being reserved. Those who got here first couldn't see why it shouldn't be first come, first served.'
'Your mother's a lady? Does that make your stepfather a lord?' Tammy sounded so overawed that Sorrel grinned.
'No love, only a baronet. He's a sir, not a lord.'
A strangled gurgle from the woman in shrimp-pink recalled her attention. 'You're Lady Berisford-Reid's daughter?' she croaked. The poor woman looked as if she expected to be consigned to the dungeons for her gaffe. 'Should I let her know you've arrived?'
'Perhaps if you could find me a cloth to cover this trestle, and a couple of chairs?' Sorrel suggested.
'Yes… yes of course… only too pleased.' She scuttled off and Tammy fell about laughing.
'That made her change her tune,' she gurgled. 'Self-important old bat. I'll get this lot set out when Dracula's wife gets back. You go and say hello to your Mum.'
Grinning her thanks, Sorrel retraced her steps through the ballroom where a man was setting out small chairs on a dais for the musicians, crossed the echoing hall and began to mount the curving staircase. Rapping firmly on the door of the master bedroom leading directly off the gallery, she listened, and at an irritated, 'Who is it?' went in.
The room was large, so large that not even the dark, heavily carved furniture diminished its proportions, certainly too large for the antiquated heating system to make much impression. Every bit as shabby as Sorrel remembered, threadbare patches in the Turkish carpet, wooden shutters holding back the night at the tall windows, because to have released the heavy red curtains from their golden cords would risk damage to the rotting fabric.
Her mother sat at the dressing-table, a petite woman in her middle forties, blonde hair fading now, bare, plump shoulders rising from the ice-blue satin of her evening gown, the diamonds in their ornately old-fashioned setting that had been in the Berisford-Reid family since the days when they had wealth to go with their social position scintillating against her white skin.
'Sorrel!' Pale blue eyes stared at her daughter as if she was the last person she had expected to see. 'What's the matter? Hasn't that Angela Millwall shown you where to go?'
'Good evening, Mother. And it's lovely to see you, too!' Sorrel's gentle mouth twisted ironically. How long since she and her mother had last met? Six months? Nine? And that, only a hurriedly shared tea at Richoux in Piccadilly.
Her mother flushed as she crossed the room and reached up to peck her eldest daughter's cheek. 'I'm sorry you think my manners are lacking but there's been so much to see to…'
Nothing had changed. It had always been her mother's constant theme, so busy, so much to do that was of more importance than the daughter whose existence was a reminder of a mistake she would rather forget. Sorrel sighed, breaking in, 'Apart from wishing to say hello to you, I need to know whether my friend and I are invited to dine with the family or take our sandwiches with the staff.' She hadn't meant to phrase the question so bluntly but the disappointing lack of welcome removed any conscience about putting her mother on the spot.
'It never occurred to me you'd want to dine with us.' Her mother turned back to the mirror, her colour even more heightened. 'You've never shown an inclination for our company before.'
Sorrel flinched at the injustice of this accusation. 'Perhaps because I've never been invited, Mother.'
Feeling herself on the defensive, Elizabeth Berisford-Reid's hands stilled as she reached for her ear-rings. 'Since when do you need an invitation to come home? Your room's always ready for you.'
Except that this had never been her home and Sorrel had never spent any time in it except at an express invitation. 'So I'm to eat with the staff,' she said flatly.
'If you'd given me some warning…' Elizabeth irritably fixed diamond clips to her ears. 'You young people… no consideration. Why, it was as late as this afternoon when Julia told me she'd asked a boyfriend from London to stay. If you insist on upsetting my table arrangements as well… I do so hate making people sit elbow to elbow.'
So even her sister's boyfriend took precedence over herself, Sorrel thought bleakly. 'Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of upsetting your arrangements.' She lifted her chin, refusing to show how wounded she was.
There was a hard, painful lump in her throat that threatened to turn to tears as she left her mother's room. Knowing she couldn't return downstairs until she had got herself together, she turned blindly for the passage leading to the room she had always occupied at Thorley, praying she wouldn't bump into her young half-sister who had the larger room opposite. The corridor remained empty and, reaching the desired haven, she pushed open the door, her hand reaching for the light switch.
But the light was already on and, though the room was empty, there was evidence of occupation—a suitcase o
pen on the bed, masculine hairbrushes lying on the dressing-table. So much for her mother's assertion that her room was always ready for her, she thought bitterly, closing the door and retreating down the corridor. At a guess this was where Julia had installed her boyfriend, which left the problem of where she and Tammy were to change.
They managed in one of the downstairs cloakrooms, after they had set out her display of hand-crafted jewellery which included a few of the smaller items she had made up from the 'medieval' range Lucas Amory had turned down. But although her mask of cynical amusement had been firmly back in place by the time she had returned downstairs, the hurt was there in the painful tightness of her chest and throat.
It was still there three hours later when the music drifting in from the ballroom rose to a crescendo, and after a drum roll, the voice of the bandleader announced the supper interval. 'Didn't they say they'd bring refreshments to us in here?' Tammy asked.
'Yes, but I could do with something stronger than coffee,' Sorrel said feelingly. 'You hold the fort here while I fight my way to the bar.'
'Good thinking.' The flamboyant Tammy flopped into one of the chairs. 'I could murder a pint.'
Sorrel followed the departing crowd, tall, slender, unafraid to add extra inches to her height with spiky-heeled gold sandals. She had considered her own ankle-length brown velvet skirt and pin-tucked cream silk shirt quite elegant when she had set out, but compared to the elaborate ball gowns the other women wore she felt like a common sparrow trying to compete with birds of paradise.
Moving with unconscious grace she was skirting a group blocking the doorway into the stone-flagged hall when a hand fastened on her arm. 'Sorrel, I've been looking for you,' her mother hissed.
Allowing herself to be drawn aside, Sorrel's eyebrows rose. 'I wouldn't have thought I'd be difficult to find. This is the first time I've left my post all evening.
If the irony in her voice was noticed, it was ignored. Her mother's pale eyes flickered over her eldest daughter's understated outfit, registering disapproval. 'Surely you could have worn something more suitable, Sorrel. A lot of people here tonight know we're related, and it's not as if you have to watch your pennies like we do. I don't know what they must think…'
The intricately fashioned gold hoops in Sorrel's ears swung as she stiffened defensively. 'That I'm here to work, of course.' Her retort was tart, but retaliation had never gained her her mother's approval and wouldn't now. 'Anyway, you're elegant enough for both of us,' she managed lightly. 'If you were looking for me to find out how your charity's going to do out of me this evening, I don't think you'll be disappointed.'
Her mother stared at her blankly, then frowned. 'No! No, it wasn't that. Something much more important.' She drew Sorrel further out into the hall. 'You live in London, so you must be able to tell me something about this man Julia's brought home. A Lucas Amory?'
Sorrel was so staggered she could only gape. Lucas Amory, here at Thorley? How ironic! She had expected to be able to meet him through her father, not her mother. If only she'd waited they would have avoided all that stupid misunderstanding over her father's letter. Not that it would make any difference now. She certainly didn't intend to cross his path again.
'Well? Do you know him?' Her mother broke into her chaotic thoughts.
Sorrel pulled herself together. 'I've met him,' she said shortly, thinking of the queue there would be at the bar and wishing herself miles away from this inquisition. 'He owns Amoroso Jewellery, though I believe he has numerous other interests. Has quite a thing going with that Italian model, Bianca Fratelli, according to gossip, and they were together when we met. It doesn't seem to stop him getting between the sheets with any woman who's willing, though.'
At her mother's gasp, Sorrel's eyes widened. 'Did you say Julia brought him? How on earth did she meet him?'
'You might well ask!' Anxiety etched a furrow between her mother's fair brows. 'She was so set on going up to town to get a new dress for tonight, so I let her stay with a schoolfriend. I can only suppose she met him then. When she said she'd invited someone down, I naturally assumed it was a boy her own age. You can imagine how I felt when I met him at dinner, especially as Julia seems besotted.'
From that, Sorrel deduced that Julia had turned a deaf ear to any motherly warnings. Something twisted painfully inside her breast. Her mother had neither known nor cared whom Sorrel had been associating with at Julia's age. Pushing aside her own feelings she said with a frown, 'I can understand Julia losing her head over him, but why would he accept her invitation? He must be twenty years older than she is.'
'Far too old for her, even without his unsavoury reputation,' her mother agreed. 'Can't you talk to her, Sorrel?'
She gave a breathy, incredulous laugh. 'Mother, since when has Julia ever listened to me?'
'Perhaps if you'd cared for her… but you were always too wrapped up in your father's family to have any time for mine.'
The injustice of this accusation took Sorrel's breath away, but she knew better than to argue, protecting her vulnerable feelings behind a mask of derision.
Her mother's truculence subsided and there was a gleam of speculation in the blue eyes she turned on Sorrel. 'It's a pity you didn't trouble to dress up, and I can't say I care for the impression you give of laughing at us all, but I dare say a man like Lucas Amory might find it intriguing. You're not as pretty as Julia, but you are nearer the man's age.'
Sorrel gasped aloud as she followed her mother's tortuous train of thought. 'You're not suggesting I try to cut Julia out with this man! Oh no, Mother. I don't like him and the antipathy was mutual.'
She might as well have saved her breath. 'It would have been better if you had been at dinner,' her mother pressed on. 'But I'll bring him to the Painted Salon after the interval.' And before Sorrel could raise another protest she was gone.
The interval was over and the dancing had resumed by the time Sorrel had secured their drinks. The fun waxing faster in the ballroom had almost emptied the smaller salon where the stalls were housed when Tammy suddenly gasped, 'My God! Isn't that Lucas Amory? Sorrel, now you'll be able to have another stab at interesting him in your designs.'
With a sick lurch of her stomach, Sorrel closed her eyes and muttered, 'Oh hell!'
Certain the malevolent fates were about to deal her another dirty hand, because having to meet Lucas Amory again was bad enough without having him insult and humiliate her in front of her mother, Sorrel turned slowly and felt a measure of relief that there were only two people strolling towards her.
As golden-blonde as their mother had been in her youth, Julia had piled her hair high in a sophisticated style. That, and the slinky sapphire-blue jersey gown that revealed more of her precociously voluptuous curves than was decent, made her look older than her years.
But as her gaze flickered to the man at her sister's side, her heart suddenly slammed against her ribs. He was even more darkly attractive than she remembered from that one traumatic meeting. No wonder her little sister had been swept off her feet. He had a charisma a girl as young and inexperienced as Julia could have no possible defence against. A hard lump of anger settled in Sorrel's chest. Bianca Fratelli hadn't been more than nineteen, now he was turning his attentions to her sister who was still only seventeen. Were his sexual appetites so jaded he needed nubile young girls to titillate them? She was surprised how forcefully she hated that idea. Well, there was nothing she could do about Bianca Fratelli, but she'd certainly frustrate his intentions concerning Julia or she'd die in the attempt.
But none of her turbulent thoughts were visible on her face as the couple stopped in front of her, neither did she flinch when that hateful voice said silkily:
'Well, there's a thing! You do manage to pop up in the most unlikely places, Miss… Valentine.'
Sorrel lifted her chin and stared him right in the eyes. 'On the contrary, Mr Amory, I believe it's you who is out of place tonight.'
Julia looked like an actress who'd just had her
best lines stolen. 'Do you two know each other, then?' she demanded jealously.
'No, we don't know each other at all.' Sorrel flicked him a dismissive glance and then ignored him. 'Hello, Julia.' Her deceptively lazy gaze noticed the necklace she had given her sister for Christmas and the way it drew the eyes to the girl's voluptuous curves, and it occurred to her this man might have no idea how young Julia really was. Taking a deep breath she went on deliberately, 'You're looking very grown up tonight, love.'
As she expected, her sister's sapphire-blue eyes flashed furiously at the patronising comment. 'And you're looking even more of a dried-up old spinster,' Julia retorted spitefully.
Lucas Amory's eyebrows climbed in surprise. 'Is this a private fight or can anyone join in?' he queried.
Sorrel's chuckle brought his head swinging back to her, his eyes narrowing. 'Strictly family.' The lazy amusement in her eyes mocked him. 'Julia hasn't learned yet that it's not done to keep it up in front of strangers.'
The further allusion to her youth had Julia's colour high. 'Oh, but you're not a stranger, are you, Luc?' she said quickly in a transparent attempt to recover her surface veneer of sophistication. 'Anyway, I didn't come to quarrel with you, Sorrel, but to look at your jewellery.'
Sorrel watched resignedly as her sister noticed the other prototypes of her 'medieval' range of designs, pouncing at once on the ear-rings that matched her necklace. 'You admired my pendant, Luc, so what about these?'
'Let me see.' He took them from her reluctant grasp and examined them closely before relinquishing them again to Julia's avid hands. Slanting a strangely searing glance at Sorrel he demanded, 'You make all your own jewellery?'
This Man's Magic Page 4