by Anita Mills
Caroline smoothed the shimmering fabric across her shoulders and turned sideways for a better glimpse of the fit in a mirror. Leah Barsett had done her job well, for everything was perfect from the soft kid slippers to the ostrich feathers that adorned Caro’s cropped and curled hair. The effect, while not exactly a total transformation, certainly was arresting.
“Here”—Leah slipped a single strand of pearls around Caroline’s neck—“they ought to be sapphires, but I daresay that as a maiden lady, ’twill not be remarked if you have only pearls. Your husband will provide other jewels later.”
“Are you two about ready?” Anthony Barsett, Viscount Lyndon, called through the closed door.
“Just a moment,” Leah answered. She reached to pinch Caro’s cheeks and to pat an errant ostrich feather into place. “There—’tis perfect, love.”
Tony Barsett beamed when they came out. “Well, I shall be the most remarked fellow at the Connistons’ tonight, I think, if I can but persuade both of you to hang on my arms. I can hear that damned poet Maria keeps dangling on her skirts—ten to one, he’ll bellow out that I’ve balanced the fair goddess with a dark one.”
“Fiddle,” Caro announced succinctly.
“Caroline does not succumb to extravagant compliments, Tony.” Leah smiled.
“You relieve my mind.” He grinned back.
“What she means, my lord, is that I am not a totally green girl, I think.” Caroline looked from the viscount to his lady and wondered how Lady Milbourne could have ever worried. It was obvious that the Barsetts were a devoted pair.
“Tony, do you mind very much that I have asked Marcus to accompany us?” Leah asked suddenly.
“Oh-ho! So that’s the lay of the land, is it? No, of course not, my dear, but don’t you think that a little transparent?” He met his wife’s warning look and retreated. “I mean, does he know what you are about?”
“Tony!”
“Rotherfield has been a bachelor for nearly thirty years, Leah,” he reminded her. “It won’t be as easy to lead him into parson’s mousetrap as you think. Besides, I think he’s still more than half in love with you.”
“Tony!”
Caroline could feel the color flood her face and wondered just how much Tony Barsett knew of Lady Milbourne’s plans. To hide her embarrassment, she raised her ostrich-plume fan and began to exercise it vigorously to cool her face. After hearing Lady Lyndon’s remarks on the subject, she could not decide whether it was she or the earl that was the true object of their matrimonial machinations.
“Ah, well, here’s where you put it to the touch, Leah,” Tony leaned over and whispered to his lady. “I believe Crowley is admitting Rotherfield now.”
They were at the top of the stairs when the door opened in the foyer. Caroline looked down at the same moment the earl looked up, and she thought she saw a hint of amusement in eyes so dark they appeared black. As usual, his dress was affected, with everything black but the stark white of his plain shirt and his cravat. From raven hair to gleaming highlows, he was austere in the extreme. Only the winking of diamond studs and stickpin broke the utter plainness of his clothing. Not that his dress did not speak of elegance and expense, of course, for every article was the pride of his select tailor.
Tony Barsett gave each lady an elbow and swept them down the wide staircase in the grand manner. Caroline felt rather like she was going to a court presentation instead of a mere ball. Rotherfield kissed Leah’s extended fingers before turning to bow over Caro’s hand.
“You have the advantage of me, my dear—I cannot place the acquaintance,” he murmured politely as his lips brushed over her demiglove.
“Caroline, may I present the Earl of Rotherfield,” Leah announced helpfully. “And, Marcus, this is Caroline Ashley.”
His fingers seemed to tense on hers for a moment, but his face never betrayed anything. The black eyes met hers. “Miss Ashley.”
“We have been presented once, I think, but I daresay the affair was such a shocking squeeze that you could not possibly remember it.”
“Caroline is staying with Grandmama and Grandpapa, Marcus. I believe her mother was some sort of goddaughter to my grandmother.”
“Ah, the ailing godmother then,” he mused almost to himself. To Caro he smiled apologetically. “Nonetheless, I should be called to book for forgetting such a lovely lady.”
The carriage ride was taken up with the merest commonplaces, and Caroline began to relax. There was nothing in Rotherfield’s manner that gave evidence that he knew of the Milbournes’ plans. Indeed, it seemed that he was patently but politely disinterested until they were set down at the Connistons’ doorstep. Lord Lyndon escorted his wife, leaving the earl to take Caro inside. Tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow, he leaned slightly to whisper, “You intrigue me, Miss Ashley. Really, but I should be interested to hear how you came to Milbourne House, my dear.”
He led her through the receiving line with a determination that made her marvel. Ahead of them, Lord and Lady Lyndon could be heard to remark that the extra card they’d requested was for Lord Rotherfield and Miss Ashley. There was a certain coolness, betrayed by a thinning of Lady Conniston’s smile, but she merely nodded perfunctorily and extended two fingers toward the earl. After all, if the Lyndons could take him up, she supposed she would have to endure. Turning to Caroline, she furrowed her brow as though to place her. “Ashley? I do not believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance… Oh, dear, how stupid of me,” she recollected suddenly. “You were with the Canfields, were you not?”
“Yes, I—”
“Miss Ashley is Grandmama’s goddaughter,” Lady Lyndon interjected smoothly.
“Oh, then… that is to say… how very nice for you, my dear. I had no notion, of course, but if Anne Milbourne is your godmother, I daresay you must be a most unexceptional girl.”
“She is.” Leah nodded. “I mean to procure a voucher to Almack’s for her as soon as I see Sally Jersey.”
As they passed on into the ballroom, Caroline could hear Lady Conniston whispering to someone, “Lady Milbourne’s goddaughter, you know.”
“Buck up, Miss Ashley,” Rotherfield encouraged, “for tonight you will be the object of curiosity. ’Twill pass, I can promise you from experience.”
Across the floor, Lady Canfield looked up and gasped in shock at the sight of Caroline Ashley on
Rotherfield’s arm. “It cannot be! Look at that gown! Juliana, I thought you said she was caring for her godmother!”
Juliana followed her mother’s line of vision, and started. “Caro! And Rotherfield!” Her color heightened at his perceived duplicity, and she moved purposefully toward the two of them.
“Juliana!” her mother hissed.
“Nonsense, Mama,” she answered in a brittle voice. “Caro is my dearest friend, after all.”
But once she reached them, Juliana addressed the earl first, accusing him. “I thought you were my friend, sir!” Then, turning indignantly to Caroline, she added, “And I have been half out of my mind with worry over you!”
“Miss Canfield, I assure you that I have just this evening made Miss Ashley’s acquaintance,” Rotherfield protested. “Before that, I had no notion that she was staying with Lord and Lady Milbourne or that Leah means to bring her out.”
“Bring her out?” Juliana stared.
“Ju, did you not get my letter?” Caroline asked. “I wrote as soon as I arrived at the Milbournes’.”
“I have heard nothing since—” She stopped and looked around before lowering her voice to finish, “—since you left with Mr. Bascombe.”
“Oh, dear—how everything must look to you then.”
“Er … I do not believe I would discuss the matter here, were I you,” Rotherfield warned. “A more private place, perhaps, would be better. Tell me, Miss Ashley, do you drive out?”
“I have not had the opportunity, my lord.”
“Well, then perhaps I may persu
ade Lady Lyndon to take the both of you up for a turn around the park,” he offered. “I should like to hear the tale myself.”
“But I wrote to Juliana of it,” Caro protested.
“Obviously she did not receive the letter.” He cast a meaningful look to where Lady Canfield stood glaring at them.
“Oh.” Juliana nodded. “Yes, Mama would not have given it to me, I daresay. But then, she would have had to know, and I do not believe she had the slightest notion, Caro.” Turning to Rotherfield, she shook her head. “I should like to go to the park, but Mama would never countenance it, my lord, if she had the least inkling either you or Caro would be there. She dislikes Caro, too, you know.”
“You can trust Lady Lyndon to be discreet.”
Albert Bascombe had the misfortune to come to Lady Canfield’s notice at that moment. His first impulse was to run, but by the time he’d looked around for a place to hide, she was upon him. And, while usually somewhat oblivious of his surroundings, Bertie could tell on the instant that she was less than pleased. Without preamble, she launched into a complete censure of the Earl of Rotherfield’s manners, morals, and character that left Bertie bewildered. It was not until she finished that he understood that she meant for him to retrieve his betrothed from the notorious earl’s company.
“Me?” He cast a furtive look to where Rotherfield stood, and shook his head. “Uh-unhh. Wouldn’t offend him for anything.” Just then, Juliana moved a step, and Bertie’s attention was arrested by the girl behind her. “Miss Ashley!”
“Yes,” sniffed Lady Lenore, “ ’tis Miss Ashley, as bold as brass, and looking for the world as though she belongs here. Sick godmother indeed!”
“Uh… your pardon, Lady Canfield,” Bertie managed while he still stared after Caroline. “Got to find Patrick.”
“Patrick? Here? He would not dare!”
“Don’t see why not,” Bertie insisted loyally. “If Rotherfield can do it, so can Patrick.”
“But the scandal—”
“Old story. Ten to one, half the people in this room don’t remember precisely what he did even.” With that, Bascombe left Lady Canfield standing alone.
He found Patrick lounging against a pillar, his hands jammed into his coat pockets, his face incredibly bored. The hazel eyes flicked over Bertie, and a wry smile tilted the corners of his mouth.
“Behold the pariah,” he said as he indicated the empty area around him.
“Pat, she’s here!”
“Ju? Saw her come in with my aunt earlier.”
“Miss Ashley—at least I think ’tis Miss Ashley.”
Patrick’s whole being came alive. “Where?”
“Over there—with Rotherfield and Miss Canfield.”
Patrick was unprepared for the rush of emotion he felt when he saw her. A vast feeling of relief and more flooded over him as he stared hard at the transformed Caroline Ashley. He willed her to look his way and was rewarded when she turned her head.
“Pretty thing, ain’t she?” Bertie observed.
“Beautiful.”
Although some fifty paces separated him from Caro, their eyes met. She paled for an instant and then gave him a tentative little smile. Still stunned, Patrick managed to make his way across the room. In his single-mindedness, he bumped against his aunt.
“You!” Lady Canfield spat at him. “Never say you have a card.”
“Bascombe procured one for me.”
“Then Lady Conniston cannot be very nice in her tastes,” Lady Lenore retorted. “You and Rotherfield! One can only marvel at her thinking!” With that observation, she pushed her way through to Juliana. Giving both Rotherfield and Caroline the cut direct, she addressed her daughter.
“For shame, my dear, but you would ignore your betrothed. I am sure that Mr. Bascombe means to lead you out when the music begins.”
“Betrothed?” The earl gave a start, his black eyes suddenly intent. “Am I to wish you happy then, Miss Canfield?”
“Not—”
“ ’Twas in the morning paper,” Lenore unbent enough to announce. “And Haverstoke has been most generous to Juliana, since Mr. Bascombe is his heir.”
“Mama—”
“Well, ’twill be common knowledge by the end of the evening, anyway, my love. Come—you must not neglect Mr. Bascombe—such an amiable young man.”
“Ah, Lady Canfield,” Lady Lyndon acknowledged as she joined the group. “I believe you have the acquaintance of Rotherfield, do you not? And, of course, you know Miss Ashley. She has but lately come to live with my grandmother, Lady Milbourne.”
“Lady Milbourne,” Lenore echoed faintly. “I had no idea.”
“Grandmama is Caro’s godmother,” Leah went on. “And since she has been apprised of Caro’s situation, Grandmama is quite determined that she shall be presented.”
“Presented? But she has no … ” Lady Lenore was stunned.
“Expectations? Ah, but she does. There is a small inheritance, I believe.”
The interchange between the two women was lost on Caroline, who could only see Patrick. It was as though they were standing apart, just the two of them. In the background, the musicians began playing.
“I went to see your Miss Richards.”
Her eyes widened perceptibly. “But—”
“I had to know you were safe.”
“Oh.” He’d been in her thoughts constantly since she left Calais, and yet it seemed that her memories paled against the man before her. Clad simply in a blue evening coat that would have been austere on anyone else, he presented a picture of manly perfection. Although his expression was sober, his hazel eyes were warm. She colored under his gaze.
“They are playing a waltz, Caroline,” he murmured softly. “As I recall, we did not finish the last one we danced.”
“Alas, we did not.”
“Do you think you have enough credit now to stand up with Westover?”
“Well, I certainly expect to finish what I began,” she answered with a smile.
He led her to the floor and slid his arm around her waist before whirling her to the music. For a tall man, he was remarkably graceful and easy to follow. And for once, she was cognizant of the speculative stares around her, and she did not care. She no longer needed to defer to Lady Canfield in constant, fear for her livelihood. And certainly if the Milbournes could countenance Rotherfield, they could scarce cavil at Patrick Danvers. Indeed, Lady Anne had said as much.
Bascombe, coerced by Lady Canfield into leading Juliana out, backed into them and almost stumbled. Juliana’s smile was frozen on her face, and Bertie looked to be the most miserable man alive despite the envious glances cast his way. It was obvious by the movement of his lips that he counted out the steps like a schoolboy.
“You certainly dance well for one who supposedly has not had much practice,” Caroline observed to Patrick as she contrasted him to the hapless Bertie.
“Oh, I’ve waltzed often enough, Caroline— ’twas just not in polite society.”
“Then where… ?” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could recall them, for it was an impertinence to ask. “Your pardon, I should not have said that.”
“No, you should not have.” He nodded as he repressed a smile. “ ’Tis scarce to my credit, but I never miss the Cyprians’ Ball.”
“Oh.”
“You know, I wish you had not run away,” he changed the subject.
“My lord, I could not have gone through with it.”
“Patrick,” he reminded her.
“Patrick.”
“Why did you not contact anyone? Juliana was certain that Bertie’d abandoned you to a fate worse than death.”
“I wrote to her as soon as Lord Milbourne and I returned to London.”
“She professed to know nothing.”
“I can only surmise that Lady Canfield wished to wash her hands of me and threw it away unopened.”
“You must tell m
e how you came to be with the Milbournes, my dear, for I have never been quite so surprised.”
Some devil prompted a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. “ ’Tis odd, but that is what Lord Rotherfield said. Indeed, but I am to take a turn in Hyde Park tomorrow to tell him the tale.”
“I see.” The warmth faded from his expression. “My suit is repugnant, but you will be seen with a man of Rotherfield’s stamp. A few new dresses, and now you fancy yourself a countess, I suppose. Well, let me remind you that his reputation is every inch as unsavory as my own.” He bit off each word precisely.
“Oh, no! You mistake the matter. I … ” She stared up in dismay.
“Perhaps I was mistaken in your character, after all.”
“And perhaps you are blind!” she snapped with asperity. “I am being presented by Lord and Lady Lyndon, after all, and Lord Rotherfield is a particular friend of the Lyndons. It is a natural curiosity on his part, I am sure—not that I owe you the least explanation, my lord,” Caroline added.
“On your high ropes, eh? Well, let me give you one bit of advice, Miss Ashley,” Patrick retorted acidly. “Do not be setting your cap for the Earl of Rotherfield, or you’ll find yourself in a worse basket than ever. He’s head over heels for Leah Barsett!”
“There you are mistaken, sir—I am assured he is not.”
Mercifully, the music ended, and Caroline was able to make a dignified exit from the floor. Patrick bowed over her hand, thanked her for the waltz, and moved away. Caroline watched with a heavy heart as he approached Lady Lyndon, and then her attention was claimed by a young exquisite in bottle-green coat and cream trousers whose starched cravat and collar points kept his head firmly facing straight ahead. Reluctantly she agreed to a country dance.
The rest of the evening should have been a triumph for her, but she could scarce remember that no fewer than seven bucks of the ton danced with her, or that a very preoccupied Lord Rotherfield took her to supper. To her, it was a failure, since Patrick Danvers had not even remarked her dress or her hair.