‘The proprietor of the Swan. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you before. Maybe I haven’t.’
‘I think you did.’
‘I didn’t think he’d still be on the road after all this time – he must be losing money hand over fist. And then this morning I saw the down Swan, with none other than Arthur Huggett at the ribbons. A very strange thing.’
‘Strange?’ She hoped she sounded only mildly interested.
‘Huggett’s a drunkard, and has been since his wife died, but there he was, with his son up beside him, tooling the Swan along just like his old self.’ Henry took a deep breath, shaking his head admiringly. ‘The man’s a genius, a delight to watch, and seeing him again like that made me realize what a loss he was. He’d leave Sewell standing any day.’
‘Really?’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘Would he leave you standing as well?’
He grinned. ‘That’s another matter. He certainly wouldn’t if he only had that crate of a Swan to drive, that’s for sure.’ A frown creased his forehead then. ‘That’s what’s so very strange. Why the Swan? If he’s dry again, he could have the choice of any coach, but he picks the Swan, which is on its last legs in more ways than one. It’s very curious, and I confess I’m more than a little intrigued.’
‘Perhaps he’s just friendly with Mr Wheddle,’ she said, not wanting him to find the thing too intriguing.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to it than that. I think I’ll send someone along to the Feathers to have a little nose around. There’s something going on there, I know there is.’
It was more than time to change the subject. ‘How’s Blanche?’ she asked.
‘Eh? Oh, well enough, I suppose.’
‘You only suppose? Don’t you know?’
‘I haven’t seen her since the day before yesterday.’
‘Henry, are you neglecting her again?’ she demanded.
‘No, it’s just that something came up, that’s all.’
‘Something coaching, no doubt,’ she said drily.
‘It so happens that it was, but I’m not neglecting her. She’s joining us at the theater tonight, remember?’ He studied her for a long moment. ‘You should accept Charles, you know.’
‘We’ve been through all that.’
‘So we have. What was it now? Ah yes, Lewis Ardenley and grand passion.’
She flushed a little. ‘I won’t marry Charles because I don’t love him, that’s all.’ She got up. ‘I must go in. I have to see Ellen about what I shall wear tonight.’
‘The conversation is making you uncomfortable, is it?’ he called after her as she hurried away across the grass.
NINETEEN
Charles had already arrived and the carriage was waiting at the door when Jane went down. She wore an ice-blue silk gown with petal sleeves and seed-pearl trimming. Her earrings and necklace flashed with diamonds, and her hair had been dressed up into her favorite knot, the long curls tumbling from it twined with narrow blue velvet ribbons and scattered with tiny artificial flowers. Her long fringed shawl dragged on the floor behind her, and a painted fan dangled from her white-gloved wrist; she looked very well, and knew it.
Charles, splendid in black velvet, smiled admiringly at her as he drew her hand to his lips. ‘I shall not be able to tear my gaze from you to look at the stage tonight,’ he murmured.
She returned the smile. ‘For Madame Vestris’s legs, you’ll somehow make the supreme effort.’
Henry swirled the glass of cognac he was enjoying before setting off. ‘For Vestris’s legs, the entire male audience will strain to watch the stage.’
Jane eyed him. ‘You, sir, would be better advised paying attention to Blanche, and only Blanche.’
He groaned. ‘You’ve already made your point, Jane. You don’t have to start on me again.’
‘But that’s just it, Henry. It seems to me that the point has to be made over and over again, ad yawnum.’
Charles nodded in agreement, allying himself with Jane. ‘It does indeed, and it becomes exceeding tiresome.’
Henry finished the cognac and put the glass down, giving them both a disgruntled look. ‘A pox on the pair of you, and before you have notions of continuing with this unfair attack, I think it’s time we left.’ He ushered them out before him.
They went first to Berkeley Square for Blanche, and then on to Drury Lane, the carriage making a very elegant sight amid the crush of traffic still thronging the London streets. A chance remark by Charles about the merits of a racehorse he fancied soon had the two men engrossed in conversation, and it was left to Jane to quickly perceive that all was not well with Blanche, who looked particularly lovely in a dusty pink satin gown trimmed with blond bobbin lace. Her hair was concealed beneath a turban adorned with feathers, and she had a feather boa which trembled constantly as the carriage drove along. She was trying very hard to appear lighthearted, but Jane could tell that it was a façade. There wasn’t an opportunity to ask her what was wrong until they’d actually reached the theater.
The Theater Royal was a new building, its predecessor having met with the fate of so many London theaters by burning to the ground. The replacement was considered by most to be a dull and uninspiring place from the outside, but the general concensus of opinion was that the interior was magnificent. From the vestibule, where many people had gathered prior to taking their places, a splendid double staircase ascended to the domed Corinthian rotunda above, and it was on this staircase that Jane at last managed to draw Blanche aside for a moment.
‘Blanche, is something wrong?’
‘Wrong? No, of course not.’
Jane touched the other’s arm. ‘You’re fibbing. Please tell me. Perhaps I can help.’
Blanche hesitated then. ‘It’s my father. He’s been subjecting me to an almost continuous barrage of criticisms where Henry’s concerned. He keeps on and on about how I’m being neglected and insisting that I’d be so much happier and more cherished if I accepted the Duke of Dursley. It’s dreadful, Jane, especially when Henry is so guilty and the duke is indeed all gallantry and charm.’
‘Are you beginning to succumb to that gallantry and charm?’ Jane asked gently.
Blanche began to shake her head but then looked sadly at Jane. ‘No, it’s just that I wish with all my heart that it was Henry who was wooing me like that. I’ve missed him these past few days, and I was so looking forward to tonight, but what happens? He and Charles have talked incessantly about a wretched racehorse, and Henry’s said barely a word to me. I do feel neglected, Jane, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by accepting him. I love him very much, but he makes me very unhappy.’ Gathering her pink skirts, she hurried on up to the rotunda, her boa fluttering behind her.
Jane slowly followed. Then, seeing that Charles had been delayed talking to some acquaintances and wouldn’t be going directly to the box, she hurried on, anxious to speak to Henry and warn him how things were with Blanche. She caught up with him just before he followed Blanche into the box. ‘Henry,’ she whispered urgently, catching his arm and halting him, ‘if you don’t stop talking about horses and start paying proper attention to Blanche, you’re going to regret it very much indeed.’
He looked a little crossly at her. ‘Oh, lord, Jane, don’t start that all over again!’
‘I’m not starting anything, you idiot! Look at her, can’t you see how miserable she is? For heaven’s sake, stop being so thoughtless and look after her properly.’ Her hand remained on his arm and her violet eyes implored him. ‘You’re losing her, Henry, and I don’t think you’ve any notion how precarious your position is becoming. You’ve been neglecting her too much, and unless you do something about it, it’s going to end unhappily for you.’
He stared at her and then looked into the box, where Blanche sat alone, her eyes downcast and her fan resting quietly on her lap. He said nothing more to Jane but went quickly in, sitting next to Blanche and taking her hand to kiss its littl
e palm. He smiled into her eyes, exerting his considerable charm, but although she returned the smile, Jane could almost feel her hesitation. It would take more than a few smiles and kisses to repair the damage he’d had so foolishly allowed to be done.
Anxious to allow them as much time on their own as possible, Jane waited outside for Charles. A few minutes later, with still no sign of him, she wished with all her heart that she’d gone into the box after all, for she saw Lewis and Alicia coming toward her on their way to his box nearby.
Lewis looked superb in formal black velvet, his lace-trimmed shirt adding a dash of fashionable elegance to an otherwise almost austere appearance. With his golden hair and handsome looks, there was that air of grace and refinement about him, and that hint of sensuality which always turned female heads. Jane had never been more aware of the confusion of her emotions than in those brief moments as the two approached her.
Alicia was breathtakingly beautiful in white watered silk, her gown’s neckline plunging shockingly low over her creamy bosom. Her tawny hair was twisted up beneath a golden velvet beret from which sprang tall white plumes, and there were diamonds at her throat and in her ears. A suggestion of rouge colored her cheeks and lips, and her eyes had a sparkle which made her more lovely than ever. She perceived Jane immediately, and glanced quickly at Lewis, whose manner hadn’t altered in the slightest on seeing his former fiancée. Alicia hesitated and then snapped open her fan, saying nothing at all to Jane as they walked past.
Lewis didn’t speak either, although he gave a brief, polite inclination of his head. They passed by, entering his box a little further along the passageway, and as the door closed behind them, Jane was sure she heard Alicia’s tinkling laughter. Embarrassed color had already rushed to her cheeks at being so publicly snubbed, for a number of people had witnessed the incident. She felt suddenly as if the story of the trip to Brighton was common knowledge, that Alicia had been regaled with it and hadn’t wasted any time spreading it over Town. It was a horrid feeling, making her feel dreadfully conspicuous, and she was glad beyond belief to at last see Charles hurrying toward her.
She returned his smile and tried to appear composed and at ease, but as they entered the box, she was very affected indeed by the chill in Lewis’s manner. As she took her seat, she could suddenly hear his voice again. I can reach into that soul at any time and arouse that passion, but I’m not going to any more, I’m not even going to try to meet you halfway. You’re going to be treated with all the cool distance you’ve been claiming you want, and I don’t think you’re going to find it at all to your liking.
The auditorium of the Theater Royal was said to be the finest in London, having been modeled on the celebrated Grand Theater of Bordeaux. Illuminated by chandeliers, its horseshoe shape was richly decorated and boasted a particularly impressive array of tiered private boxes, most of them occupied tonight as society came out to enjoy a production which was set to remain the rage for the rest of the season. Voices murmured and jewels flashed, while down in the pit the fops and dandies displayed themselves, lounging on their seats and making a great thing of opening their snuffboxes or rattling their canes to draw attention to themselves and thus to the splendor, or ridiculousness, of their attire.
In the last few minutes before the performance began, Jane tried hard to resist the temptation to look toward Lewis’s box, but in the end she gave in, glancing around in a manner as surreptitious as possible. They were seated together, Alicia’s white-gloved hand resting on his arm, her head tilted toward him as she whispered something. There was a lazy humor in his gray eyes as he smiled and for a second his hand touched hers. Jane looked sharply away, opening her fan and wafting it busily to and fro before her suddenly hot face. It was something to do, something to occupy her and fend off the tears which that shared intimacy brought so close to the surface.
Don Giovanni in London commenced at last, and in spite of her secret distress, Jane soon saw why it had taken the capital by storm, for it played havoc with Mozart’s opera. Don Giovanni himself, or rather herself, was such a wicked libertine that he was too much even for hell and so was dispatched to that most dissolute of cities, London, where the love of a good woman at last saved him. Madame Vestris was splendid, displaying her celebrated legs in her equally celebrated tight breeches, and singing the songs very sweetly indeed in her mellow contralto voice. She was only twenty-three years old and very beautiful, and had previously captured London by playing only very suitable, proper roles; Don Giovanni was decidedly unsuitable and improper, and taking such a part had been a considerable risk, but it had paid off very handsomely indeed and her success was sealed. The performance, to say nothing of the shapely legs, drew rapturous applause, especially from the pit, where there was much stamping of approval and shouting for encores.
With the intermission a babble of conversation broke out, and under the guise of dropping her reticule and bending to retrieve it, Jane managed to steal another glance at Lewis’s box. To her utter horror, she found herself staring directly into Alicia’s triumphant eyes. Lewis didn’t turn at all; it was as if he was unaware of her presence. Jane looked quickly away again, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment and anger at having been caught so obviously looking. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she did her best to join in the others’ conversation about the performance. Determined to ignore the other box, she entered into the discussion as attentively as possible, and she soon forgot Alicia’s gloating glance as she noticed that Blanche’s mood was still rather withdrawn and quiet.
Henry was paying her every attention now, striving to put right the wrong he had allowed to happen, but he too realized that all was far from well. A little perplexed at how to go about regaining all his lost ground, he was doing his utmost to charm and amuse her, but then something happened which was to shatter his good intentions and bring about the very thing he had at last come to fear – the ending of his betrothal.
It began when the intermission was almost over. There was a tapping at the door and a head of dark brown hyacinthine curls peered around it. It was the Duke of Dursley, his soft brown eyes at once apologetic and crafty. Advancing into the box, looking very dandy in a black satin coat and tight pantaloons, he flicked open his jeweled snuffbox and took a pinch before sweeping them a very elaborate bow. ‘Greetings, schöne leute, I trust I’m not interrupting anything too private.’
Henry’s face had darkened the moment the head had appeared around the door, and now he gave a grunt of annoyance, scowling at the newcomer in a way which was anything but polite or encouraging.
Jane looked quickly at Blanche, whose cheeks had gone a little pink and whose eyes were swiftly lowered.
While Henry remained deliberately seated, Charles had no option but to rise courteously to his feet. ‘Good evening, Dursley. I trust you’ve been enjoying the performance?’
The snuffbox closed with a sharp click and the duke smiled. ‘Couldn’t find a seat, dear boy, all taken.’ He glanced deliberately at the empty place on Blanche’s far side.
Charles cleared his throat uncomfortably, but there really wasn’t any way he could avoid issuing the required invitation, since the box was his and as the host it was incumbent upon him to do the polite thing. ‘Do join us then,’ he murmured, studiously avoiding Henry’s furious face.
The duke’s smile became positively sleek, and his hand described another elaborate pattern in the air as he bowed again. ‘Bourton, dear fellow, you’re a trump, an absolute trump.’ Without looking at Henry, he took the seat, immediately leaning closer to Blanche and taking her hand, drawing it to his lips, at the last moment turning it palm uppermost.
Jane watched him. There was something very suspicious about his sudden arrival, something which smacked of conspiracy. Intuition told her that this was Mr Lyndon’s doing, that he’d told the duke where Blanche would be and had advised him that she was almost ripe for the plucking.
On Blanche’s other side, Henry was so furious he seemed in imminent d
anger of exploding, but somehow he managed to contain himself. His eyes were very bright and angry and his fist was clenched as if he’d dearly like to punch the smile from his rival’s sly face.
Charles sat down again, looking askance at Jane, who smiled sympathetically. There really hadn’t been anything else he could do; it was too bad of the duke to place him in such a difficult and embarrassing position.
The performance continued, but now their box was subjected to the duke’s constant whispering as he paid blatant court to Blanche right in front of Henry. It was quite inexcusable, and unfortunately Blanche had to take a share of the blame, for she didn’t do all she might have to discourage him.
Henry grew steadily more and more incensed, until at last he couldn’t stand it any more. ‘I say, Dursley, can’t you pipe down a little? Your damned whispering’s driving me up the proverbial wall!’
The duke made a show of being affronted. ‘There’s no need to be offensive, dear boy.’
‘I’m not the one who’s being offensive!’ snapped Henry.
Blanche bridled at that, knowing that she was guilty too. ‘You are being offensive, Henry.’
It was too much. ‘Well, I like that!’ cried Henry, his voice raised so that those in the surrounding boxes couldn’t help but hear. ‘The damned fellow hasn’t stopped whispering in your ear since he arrived, and you’ve been encouraging him! So don’t tell me I’m being offensive!’
Jane looked at them both in rising dismay, but as she sat forward quickly to intervene, Charles put his hand warningly over hers, shaking his head. Leave it, his glance said; there’s nothing you can do.
Blanche got quiveringly to her feet. ‘Henry, it evidently hasn’t occurred to you that I might have good reason to encourage such gallant attention!’
‘And what good reason might that be?’ he demanded, ignoring the interested glances the altercation was attracting from all sides.
‘It’s very refreshing to have a gentleman actually appreciate me! It’s so much more flattering than being ignored in favor of a stagecoach!’ There were titters of laughter at this, for the Marquis of Bourton’s box was now causing such a stir that the audience was ignoring the stage. Madame Vestris, unused to losing attention, hesitated a little, almost missing her cue.
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