by Sandra Heath
Summer turned, then froze as she found herself confronted by the woman in the shell pink satin gown and silver turban.
Chapter Fourteen
Francis presented Summer. “Mrs. Courtenay, may I present my father’s ward, Miss Huntingford?”
Lady Harvey’s diamond sunburst was dazzling as Melinda gave a slight smile and inclined her head. Behind her domino her eyes were an arresting shade of lilac, and although she directed her reply to Summer, it was upon Francis that her gaze was turned. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Courtenay.”
Summer was shaken to realize who her quarry had turned out to be. “And ... and I yours, Miss Huntingford.”
At last Melinda’s eyes moved to her. “I trust you are enjoying the ball?”
“I am indeed.” Summer saw how fondly Francis smiled at Melinda, and how anxiously poor Caro watched them both.
“I vow I admire your coiffure greatly, Mrs. Courtenay, and I am especially envious of your Egyptian circlet.”
“Thank you, Miss Huntingford.” It was the opening Summer sought. “May I say in return that your necklace is quite the most beautiful I have ever seen?”
A slender gloved hand crept to the sunburst, and Melinda nodded. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“Is it a family heirloom?”
Melinda paused. “Er, no. It was a gift from my brother.”
Summer felt cold inside. “Indeed? How fortunate you are to have a brother who thinks so highly of you.”
“Brand is very generous.”
Isn’t he just, Summer thought miserably. Had she been closer to the mark than she realized when she accused him of being the thief at the Black Lion? Oh, please, she thought, don’t let that be so, and yet—what other explanation was there? How else could Melinda have come into possession of the necklace? Oh, what a gull she’d been to allow him to seduce her yet again ...
Francis spoke. “Actually where is Brand? I haven’t seen him tonight.”
Melinda smiled at him, “Oh, he’s probably playing billiards with Lord Lytherby; you know how thick they’ve become of late.”
Summer’s heart reached the lowest ebb possible. More and more she feared that Brand had to be party to the plot to force Francis from Caro’s arms into Melinda’s.
Caro toyed with her fan, then glanced at Francis as the orchestra struck up another ländler, “Oh, please, let’s dance,” she begged, determined to get him away from Melinda.
“But we’ve already broken the rules a little too much by dancing three dances in succession,” he replied with a smile. “You know it simply isn’t the thing for a gentleman to dance so frequently with the same lady.”
Caro fell silent, but her crestfallen glance turned briefly toward Melinda.
Summer spoke up. “Caro, have you had any supper yet?”
“Supper? Er, no ...”
Summer tapped Francis’s arm. “Sir, it does not do to neglect the inner woman, or the inner man, for that matter. Why do you not adjourn to the supper room? I vow the spread looks most choice.”
He immediately turned to Caro. “Forgive me, my dearest, I should have thought earlier. Come.” He offered her his arm, and Caro’s little face lit up again as they inclined their heads and left Summer and Melinda.
Melinda’s lilac eyes followed them. “How very happy they seem,” she murmured.
“Seem?” Summer took up the invisible cudgels she was increasingly suspicious were necessary on Caro’s behalf.
“Well, Francis is so charming with everyone.”
“Does that mean he also proposes marriage to everyone?” Summer inquired coldly.
Melinda flushed behind her mask. “Of course not. Please don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Courtenay, for it wasn’t my intention to cast doubt upon his commitment to the match.”
Oh, yes it was, you chienne, Summer thought, but she said, “No, of course it wasn’t, Miss Huntingford, and I wouldn’t dream of thinking otherwise.”
Melinda fingered Lady Harvey’s diamonds and changed the subject. “The ball is indeed a press, is it not?”
“And therefore a great success,” Summer observed.
Melinda glanced up at the golden mosaic on the ballroom’s domed ceiling. The Chinese lantern chandeliers shone brilliantly as they moved slightly in the heat. “I love this house very much,” she murmured.
“I can quite understand that, Miss Huntingford,” Summer replied.
“I wish it were mine,” Melinda said then.
Which it will be if you marry Francis, Summer thought, angrily snapping her fan open and closed.
Melinda watched her. “Is something wrong with your fan, Mrs. Courtenay?”
“Nothing at all, Miss Huntingford.”
The two women eyed each other from behind their masks, and it was Melinda who looked away first. “Oh, dear, I have such a headache, I fear I may soon be obliged to retire,” she sighed, putting a languid hand to her forehead.
“How very disagreeable for you,” Summer murmured insincerely, hoping the headache became incapacitating.
“Yes, most disagreeable. Well, it was most pleasant speaking to you, Mrs. Courtenay. I trust we’ll meet again soon, but for the moment I must circulate a little. Lord Lytherby expects it.”
Summer inclined her head. “Please don’t let me detain you.”
Melinda moved away through the crowds, and Summer gazed sourly after her. There seemed little room for doubt that Melinda Huntingford wanted Francis for herself, she thought, absently taking a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman.
The taste reminded her of Brand’s kisses and of how wonderfully passionate his lovemaking had been; then of how suddenly again he’d become cold and distant... It was a repeat of what had happened at the Black Lion. First the sensuous ecstasy, then the hurtful conge. Oh, how she wished tonight were over...
Suddenly, she lowered the glass at the return of the unsettling thought about the length of time she’d been here in the past. It was now far too long; something must be wrong!
The disturbing train of thought was interrupted as Brand suddenly plucked the glass from her hand and gave it to a rather startled gentleman standing nearby, before forcing her to join the ländler with him. “I will have words with you, madam,” he breathed, twining his arms around hers as demanded by the dance.
“Well I have no wish to have words with you,” she replied, her cheeks reddening behind her mask.
“What were you saying to my sister?” he demanded, gripping her arms even more tightly as she struggled a little.
“I was admiring the stolen necklace you gave to her,” Summer replied accusingly. “What a complete fool you made of me tonight. Why such a gift, Brand? Is it in anticipation of the moment she wins Francis and—” She broke off hastily, for she’d almost betrayed her closeness to Caro by using the latter’s pet name.
His hold became more harsh, and he drew her closer as permitted by the ländler. “Wins Francis? What do you mean? I will have an answer, Olivia!”
“Don’t try to turn the tables, Brand, for this isn’t about me! You are the villain in all this! Your sister has just informed me that you gave her the necklace!”
“It may interest you to learn that I don’t know Lady Harvey, nor have I ever seen her diamonds.”
“Liar!” she breathed angrily.
His steely fingers dug into her arms. “If you were a man, I’d call you out for less!”
“And if I were a man, I’d accept!”
“Be wary, madam ...”
“I know what manner of low creature you are behind that mask, Sir Brand Huntingford! You are a vile seducer, a thief, a liar, and a conspirator against the happiness of others! You are beneath contempt, a maggot masquerading as a gentleman, and I wish I had never set eyes on you!”
She didn’t realize how much her voice had risen, but suddenly some nearby dancers halted in astonishment, and she glanced around in dismay to see everyone staring.
Then the rest of the
floor came to a standstill as well, and the orchestra dwindled away on a few discordant notes. All eyes were riveted upon Brand and her as they stood in bitter confrontation, their arms still linked for the ländler that was no longer in progress.
Horrified to have caused such a monumental scene, Summer wrenched herself free and fled toward the steps leading up out of the ballroom. She didn’t dare halt at the top for fear Brand might pursue her to demand an apology for the prodigious insults she’d dealt him in front of the entire ballroom. As she made her escape onto the landing, she was thankful that her uncle and George Bradshaw were in the card room, and Caro and Francis in the supper room, for there was no one else to know exactly who she was!
Intending to quit Bevincote without further delay, she dashed down the main staircase to the hall, where she asked one of the footmen to bring her cloak, but as she nervously awaited his return, glancing constantly toward the top of the staircase for Brand, it was Caro and Francis who appeared there.
“Olivia? Oh, Olivia, what a dreadful thing to have happened!” Caro cried, hurrying down toward her with Francis following.
Summer was greatly perturbed that they had witnessed the scene. “I thought you were in the supper room,” she said as they reached her.
Francis explained. “It was such an unbearable crush we decided to wait a while. We ... er... couldn’t help but see and hear what happened.”
Caro looked curiously at her. “Olivia, wasn’t that the gentleman we saw in the carriage in Berkeley? I know he’s wearing a mask tonight, but his golden hair is rather distinctive, is it not?”
Behind the mask, color flared into Summer’s cheeks, then she pulled herself together as best she could. “Yes, it was the same gentleman,” she confirmed.
Francis was bemused. “You and Brand are acquainted, Mrs. Courtenay?”
Caro’s eyes widened. “Brand? Sir Brand Huntingford?” she said in surprise, for she had yet to meet Melinda’s brother.
Summer nodded and kept her reply low because she was conscious of another footman nearby. “To be truthful, Sir Brand and I encountered each other at the Twelfth Night celebrations at the Black Lion in Tetbury. Although we were not introduced, we didn’t hit it off then, and we certainly didn’t tonight. Now, to avoid further embarrassment, I intend to plead a headache and return to Oakhill House without further ado.” It was the truth, if only a portion of it.
The footman returned at last with her cloak, and when the man had withdrawn again, Francis paused before placing it around her shoulders. “Please don’t feel obliged to leave the ball, Mrs. Courtenay. I assure you that Brand isn’t at all as disagreeable as you may think, and I’m certain that if I use my good offices to mediate—”
“Oh, no, please, for that would embarrass me still more!” Summer interrupted hastily. “Truly, all I wish to do is escape anonymously, and since Caro’s father and uncle are in the card room, and Sir Brand still doesn’t know who I am—” She broke off. “He doesn’t, does he? I mean, you haven’t spoken to him in the last minute or so since I... ?”
Francis shook his head. “No, as it happens we haven’t, and you may be assured that Caro and I will say nothing at all, but I fear you may have forgotten that I introduced you to Melinda. I saw her watching the incident, which means that she knows it was a Mrs. Courtenay who so publicly told her brother exactly what she thought of him. Then there is my father, who may recall you from when you first arrived and were introduced to him. He is likely to remember anyone in Caro’s party.”
Summer felt sick. Every time she thought she’d wriggled clear, something else happened to trap her. Heads she lost, tails she lost too! But at least she was a little reassured by Francis’s manner now, for there wasn’t any hint of concealed relief that her misconduct had offered him a solution to anything.
Caro’s eyes brightened. “As I recall, Olivia, you weren’t actually presented to Lord Lytherby at all, and you were only introduced to Melinda as Mrs. Courtenay, without any mention at all of being my cousin. Is that not so, Francis?”
He nodded. “Yes, it is.”
Summer breathed out with relief, but then looked urgently at Caro. “Uncle Merriam and Mr. Bradshaw are in the card room, but if by any further misfortune they should hear of the incident and realize that the lady described could have been me, will you fib by saying I had already left by then?”
“Yes, of course we will, won’t we, Francis?”
“Certainly,” he replied, gently placing Summer’s cloak around her shoulders.
Summer fiddled awkwardly with her fan. “For your sakes, the only proper thing for me to do is return to Kensington as soon as possible, in the hope that no one will connect Oakhill House with tonight’s regrettable incident.”
Caro’s face fell. “Oh, please don’t go back to Kensington, Olivia. You’ve only just arrived here, and I do so love having you with me!”
Francis was concerned too. “I’m sure there’s no need to do that, Mrs. Courtenay. Whatever has gone wrong between you and Brand must, I’m convinced, be a misunderstanding.”
“It’s best, believe me,” Summer replied, feeling her face go hot as she thought of what else she’d done with Sir Brand Huntingford tonight apart from argue with him in public.
“Anyway, for the moment I’ll go home in the carriage, but I’ll be sure to see it returns in time for the end of the ball.”
Caro hugged her, and Francis raised her hand to his lips. “Your wish for anonymity will be closely observed, Mrs. Courtenay,” he said gently.
Her fingers closed briefly over his. “Thank you, Mr. Lytherby,” she said, suddenly knowing that no matter what the Honorable Melinda Huntingford wished to the contrary, it was Caro that he loved.
“Allow me to escort you to the carriage,” he said.
“No, please. I’d rather you and Caro just returned to the ball.” Then, before he could protest, she hurried out into the windy night to search along the double line of waiting vehicles for the one belonging to Oakhill House.
She found it at last and called the reluctant coachman from the game of dice he was playing with some of his fellows. Within five minutes of the dreadful scene on the dance floor, she was being driven away from Bevincote. She removed her domino and leaned her head back as tears slid down her cheeks. Oh, what a dreadful scrape all this was, what a dreadful, dreadful scrape...
She gazed out at the snowy darkness and thought of the September night in the future. Why was she still here in 1807? Belatedly, she recalled the strange distortion of the recording as she was relaxing. Had the recorder broken down? A pang of alarm shot through her, but then she took a grip on herself. Something may have gone wrong in the future, but here in the past all was well. Or at least, she herself was physically and mentally well, even if all else had fallen into chaos around her.
It seemed the return journey took three times as long as the outward, but at last the carriage swung in through the familiar gates of Oakhill House and the coachman urged the team up the drive. Uncle Merriam’s servants were startled when she alighted alone from the carriage, and glances were exchanged as she hurried up to her room with a candle she’d taken from the hall. It was with some relief that she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, protecting the flickering candle with her hand.
“Olivia?”
Jeremy’s urgent whisper made her give a start of fright. Hot wax splashed over her gloved hand, and she dropped the candlestick. The room was immediately engulfed in darkness, except for the soft glow of firelight from the hearth.
Chapter Fifteen
Summer searched the shadows. “J ... Jeremy?” she breathed, wondering if she’d imagined it. Then there was movement by the wardrobe, but as he started to emerge from hiding, Gwenny’s light steps approached.
Jeremy retreated hastily into the shadows again, and Summer turned quickly toward the door as the maid entered with another candle. “It’s alright, Gwenny, I won’t be needing you.”
“But, your hai
r—” The maid broke off, realizing the room was in darkness except for the candle she’d brought with her.
Summer hastily retrieved the one she’d dropped. “I’m afraid I tripped on the rug,” she said, lighting it again from the maid’s, then placing it on the mantelpiece.
Gwenny looked curiously at her. “Is something wrong, madam?”
“No, I’m quite all right. I just have a headache, that’s all.”
“Oh, madam, I’m so sorry, for it must have spoiled the evening for you.”
“Just a little.”
“Shall I bring some lemon to apply to your temples, madam?”
“No, there’s no need.”
“Your hair—” the maid began again.
“I can attend to it myself,” Summer said quickly.
“As you wish, madam.” Gwenny curtsied, then left again.
Summer turned toward the shadows where Jeremy was hiding. “You can come out now.”
He emerged once more. He wasn’t in uniform, but wore a plain brown coat and fawn breeches, and his light brown hair was unkempt. His roguishly good-looking face was pale in the firelight, emphasizing the sword scar on his right cheek, the result of a past encounter with an irate husband.
“So it was you I saw at the Crown in Berkeley! What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and unease.
He came slowly toward her. “Forgive me for frightening you, Olivia.”
“I have a great deal more than that for which to forgive you, sir, namely a letter of unconscionably familiar tone, which you had no business whatsoever to write,” she replied coldly.
“Ah, the letter... Well, I confess I put pen to paper after nearly a whole bottle of brandy. Not that I haven’t entertained such desirous sentiments toward you from time to time,” he added.
“I assure you, they have always been unrequited.”