The orchids sat on a rosewood table by the front door. Delicate and exotic, with long waxy stems and thick petals streaked with brilliant purple hues, she had to admit Olivia had been right. They were exquisite. She lifted the card and read, For the lovely Miss Hawthorn. There was no signature.
The blood rushed to her head. She had no doubt who had sent them.
Beldon cleared his throat. “Where would you like me to put the flowers, Miss Priscilla?”
Priscilla pressed her lips together and forced a smile. “Just leave them. They’re fine where they are.”
“But dear," Olivia said, "we don’t spend any time in the entrance hall and they're so lovely. It would be a shame to keep them where we can’t see them.” She looked at the window where a steady rain was drizzling down the glass. “And it’s such a dreary day. The orchids would help brighten things up, don’t you think?”
Olivia was proving to be a major obstacle in her plan to ignore Lord Stratton. “Why don’t you put them in your bedchamber, Olivia? That way you can enjoy them.”
Her companion looked horrified. “Absolutely not. They were most definitely meant for you and you must enjoy them. I insist.”
Priscilla clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together. “Very well. Put them in the drawing room.”
“That might not be wise,” Olivia said.
“Why ever not?”
“If Lord Mallory sees that he has serious competition he could very well become all the more determined to win your hand.”
This was growing quite ridiculous. Priscilla made a sound of exasperation. “Then, where would you suggest?”
“What about your lovely little parlor? I know how much you enjoy spending time in there.”
Her parlor? Oh, no. It was too personal. Too close. She couldn't allow Lord Stratton to invade her little sanctuary. “But I’m the only one who ever goes in there,” she said. “That would be terribly selfish. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy them.”
Olivia smiled. “But dear, I’ll come visit you. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Good grief. What else could she say? She smiled tightly. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Olivia beamed. “We’ll have our tea in your parlor this afternoon. Maybe around four? That should give us plenty of time to get ready for this evening.” Before Priscilla could object, Olivia turned on her heel and left.
“Miss?”
She looked up at Beldon.
“This arrived not long after the flowers. I was given instructions to deliver it in private.” He offered her a silver salver holding a letter.
She took the missive. The wax seal was imprinted with the Stratton insignia. What else could he possibly want? “Thank you, Beldon.” She carried it upstairs to her bedchamber, then sitting on her bed, broke the seal, opened the letter and read:
My dear Miss Hawthorn, I believe I may have some information regarding the letters Miss Dearborn so desperately wants. If you would be kind enough to meet me this evening at the Danfield’s ball, we could discuss it further. I hope to bring this misunderstanding to a close. Please accept the orchids as a token of my gratitude for your patience. Yours truly, Viscount Eugene Terrance Rutherford, Lord Stratton
Priscilla tore the note into pieces and dropped them onto her bed. If this was a ruse, she was going to kill him.
Chapter Four
Later that evening, Stratton stared out the window as their carriage crept toward the Danfield’s town home. The crush of carriages was enough to set his teeth on edge, but Rand was right; he had best get used to spending time in London. It was no longer practical to spend the entire year in the country. And besides, Priscilla wasn’t in Surrey. She was in London. She was here. At least, he hoped she was here. And if she wasn’t? Then he would go to her house and demand that she see him.
He groaned and slowly closed his eyes. What an idiotic idea. She would think he had lost his mind. Because he had.
“Eugie.” He felt a rap on his knee and looked up.
“Eugie. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Mirabella held her fan poised a few inches away as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to rap his knee again. He was tempted to snatch the fan from her hand. She had been rambling off and on for the length of time they had been stuck in their carriage. After a while, the sound of her voice was enough to make him shudder. In order to preserve his sanity, he had shut out her prattle.
“I was just remarking that Mrs. Danfield gives lovely balls,” she said. “She certainly spares no expense. And her connections are such that no one dares mention the Danfield’s lack of title for fear they won’t be invited to the festivities. I heard there were several lords and ladies who weren’t invited this year for that very reason. They’re apt to find themselves uninvited to a number of balls this year." Mirabella opened her fan and waved it in front of her face. "Serves them right. It doesn’t pay to treat someone as lovely as Mrs. Danfield, poorly. She’s very well connected. I’ve heard there’s a marquise somewhere in her background. It’s said the ladies at Almack’s adore her. Though I do find that odd, given that Mrs. Danfield is such a free spirit and the ladies at Almack’s can be frightfully stuffy." She stopped briefly to catch her breath. "But that’s neither here nor there. This should be a marvelous evening. What I wouldn’t give to be eighteen again and out on the dance floor. I always loved to dance. If I were a good deal younger, I believe I might waltz. I don’t think it’s scandalous at all. It’s quite elegant and romantic.”
“I wish I were allowed to waltz,” Cecelia said wistfully.
“Patience,” Stratton said. “It will happen soon enough. Sooner than I like. I must confess the thought of my little sister waltzing with some young dandy doesn’t thrill me.”
“You aren’t planning on scaring off my dance partners are you, Eugene?" Her voice held a touch of petulance. "If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”
He reached over and touched her arm reassuringly. “I promise I will behave myself. I will only scare off the unsavory characters.”
“Mrs. Danfield wouldn’t invite unsavory characters to her ball.”
“Are you certain? I received an invitation, didn’t I?”
“Don’t be silly. You haven’t been considered a rake for several years. Though,” she added slyly, “I suppose that’s only because you don’t spend any time in London.”
“How disappointing,” he murmured. “I’ll have to remedy that.”
“Eugie!” Aunt Mirabella swatted his knee with her fan. “You shouldn’t joke about such things.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was joking.”
Cecelia adjusted her skirts. “I heard that Melanie Huston’s brother had to pay people to dance with her last year.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Stratton retorted. “Melanie Huston looks like a toad and she’s very disagreeable.
She giggled. “That’s mean.”
“And very crude,” Aunt Mirabella muttered.
Stratton ignored her comment. “You’ll have plenty of dance partners, Cecelia.”
“If you would only brighten up your colors a tiny bit,” Mirabella broke in. “And Eugie, you could use a little color as well. Why you insist on wearing black when there are so many perfectly lovely colors to choose from is beyond my understanding.”
“Aunt Mirabella,” Stratton warned. She shut her mouth and began fanning herself again. “I think Cecelia looks very elegant this evening,” he continued. She did look quite striking in her simple, ivory satin gown with embroidered overskirt and matching shawl. Long satin gloves trimmed with seed pearls reached just below her short capped sleeves. Copper ringlets curled over her forehead and at the nape of her neck and were dressed with a pearl studded clip and cluster of miniature gardenias. A last minute improvisation after it was discovered that one of Mirabella’s dogs had chewed up her embroidered evening cap. “I believe it’s fortunate that one of those bloody dogs ate your hat. The flowers are quite fetching.”
“Must y
ou swear?” Mirabella asked.
“Forgive me,” he apologized without meaning it.
“It isn’t at all attractive,” she said. “I don’t understand why men feel the need to be so vulgar. Your grandmother didn’t think twice about adding bitters to your grandfather’s drink when he cursed and I’ve a mind to do the same.”
“You’ve mentioned that before,” Stratton commented. “A number of times.” Every bloody time you hear me swear you mention it and it's damned annoying. He sighed with relief as the carriage finally pulled to a halt. They had arrived.
A footman pulled the carriage door open and Stratton stepped out. It had been several years since he had attended one of the Danfield balls and he had forgotten what a magnificent sight it was. Most every window blazed with candlelight. The strains of a waltz drifted from the ballroom. Numerous colorful lanterns lit the grounds and red and gold liveried footmen lined up along the marble steps that led to the grand entrance. Aunt Mirabella was right. No expense had been spared. Mrs. Danfield had never been afraid to spend money. He held his hand out for his aunt who was all aflutter.
She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, goodness. This is so beautiful. It’s magical, just like a fairyland. Look at all the lights. I adore the season. And the music is superb. Oh, Eugie, you must promise me that you will dance this evening. You’ve been such a recluse of late.”
“I intend to, Aunt Mirabella.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that.” She prattled on as he deposited her on the ground and reached for Cecelia. His sister’s face was glowing with excitement and he heard her intake of breath as he helped her down.
“There are so many people here,” she said in a breathless voice, “and the Danfield’s house looks so elegant. I’ve been here countless time but I’ve never seen it like this.”
“Don’t let it overwhelm you,” Stratton said as he adjusted her shawl.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever find Jennifer and Beth. I suppose this is one occasion that I’m glad I’m tall.”
He took her arm and they joined the other latecomers who were headed toward the brilliantly lit entrance.
It was only seconds before they were spotted and a female voice called out. “Lord, Stratton! Lady Fitzberry!” Groaning inwardly, he turned his head to see who had called him.
A heavily powdered, thin-faced woman dressed in gray and silver chiffon and white feathers picked her way over, dragging a young woman behind her. She was familiar, but Stratton couldn’t place who she was.
“Lord Stratton,” she cried. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it? Are you here for the season? But, of course you are. And Lady Fitzberry. I’m so glad you’re in town. You must come to tea next week.” She continued on without giving Mirabella a chance to reply. “And Lady Cecelia. You look lovely. I’m so pleased to see you.”
She placed her hand on the shoulder of the young woman she had drug along with her and pushed her in front of Stratton. Attractive with light brown curls and rosy cheeks, Stratton scarcely noticed her as he searched his memory trying to recall the older woman’s name. Brown? Bronson? What in the hell is it? Brent!
“Lady Brent.” He bowed his head slightly. “How nice to see you.” He smiled politely at the young woman. “And this is?”
“This is my daughter, Lady Millicent, my lord. Millicent dear, this is Lord Stratton, Lady Fitzberry and Lord Stratton’s sister, Lady Cecelia.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lady Millicent,” Stratton said.
She curtsied and fluttered her lashes at him. “My lord,” she said demurely. “My ladies.”
Mirabella’s eyes brightened. “Lovely to meet you, my dear.”
As the young lady fluttered her lashes again in Stratton’s direction, Cecelia’s mouth twitched with barely suppressed laughter.
Then someone else called his name. Stratton silently uttered another profanity. It was going to be a long night.
By the time they reached the elegant marble foyer and handed their wraps and invitations to one of the footmen, they had been approached by two additional mamas and their daughters. He was growing weary of the entire situation. His sister, however, seemed to find it vastly entertaining.
“I believe they actually smell you before they see you,” she murmured as they climbed the steps to the receiving line. “Some of these women would put Mr. Garret’s best bloodhound to shame. You should have Rand hide you somewhere. Though I’m not certain they still won’t sniff you out.”
Mirabella was thrilled. She tapped him gently on the wrist with her fan. “You’re quite the attraction,” she whispered in his ear. “There are so many young women vying for your attention. Now I know that you’re bound to be tempted, but you mustn’t forget who you are. You must be particular. The Stratton heirs have always made excellent matches. You don’t have to settle for anyone but the best. You are of impeccable lineage and you must take that into consideration.”
He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, Aunt Mirabella.”
“You remember that as well, Cecelia,” she added. “Don’t go fawning over the first young man who seems interested.”
“But I thought your goal was to have me betrothed before the end of the season. Have you changed your mind?”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be particular,” Aunt Mirabella said. “It would break your poor mother’s heart if you were to choose someone unsuitable. I did promise her that I would see you well matched.”
Stratton shushed her. “We’re about to greet our hosts and I’m certain Mrs. Danfield has no desire to hear about our mother’s broken heart.”
“I’m sure she agrees with me. She’s bound to sympathize as her own son hasn’t shown a bit of interest in finding a wife.”
“Hush!” Stratton glared at his aunt before turning to his host. He took Mrs. Danfield’s hand. “I’m happy to see you, Mrs. Danfield.” His words were more than a simple pleasantry as he was genuinely glad to see her. Still a handsome woman with dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an inviting smile, she seemed to have changed little over the years. It was fortunate, he reflected not for the first time, that Rand had taken after her and not his father who had been given to jowls and excess flesh.
“It has been far too long,” she chided. “You must come visit me and tell me what you hear from your parents. And bring my errant son with you.” She gave a sidelong glance toward the tall young man standing next to her. “Up until this evening, he has been avoiding me like the plague.”
“That’s very unfair of you, Mother,” Rand protested. Like Stratton he was attired in black evening clothes, his cravat fashioned in a simple but elegant knot. “I’ve simply been very busy of late.”
She offered a look of total disbelief and turned to greet Cecelia and Mirabella who was chattering nonstop.
“Is she here?” Stratton said beneath his breath.
Rand nodded at him. ”She and her companion arrived about an hour ago. She’s very popular. Hasn’t missed a single dance. I imagine she hasn’t a space left on her dance card.”
Stratton gave him a sour look. “Just make the introduction. I’ll worry about the rest.”
“I’ll meet you by the fountain as soon as I can make my escape.” Rand then turned a smile on Cecelia. “It’s been at least two years since I’ve seen you and I have to say it was worth the wait. You look beautiful this evening, Lady Cecelia.”
To Stratton’s recollection, Rand had never addressed Cecelia by her formal title before. More often than not, he’d called her brat. And he’d certainly never told her she was beautiful. Stratton wasn’t certain if he liked this.
She returned Rand’s smile. “Thank you.”
At least, she wasn’t simpering over the bounder’s every word. He had to admit that Cecelia had a fair amount of composure when she chose to use it.
She placed her hand on his arm. “Eugene, I think you’d better do something. Aunt’s holding up the receiving line.”
Stratton looked behind him and saw that Mirabella was rambling on with Mrs. Danfield. “Pardon me,” he broke in, effectively diverting her from her host. “But isn’t that Mrs. Gibbons over there?” He indicated a short pudgy woman with frizzy grey hair and a royal blue gown who was talking animatedly to a group of ladies of a similar age.
“Oh?” She squinted. “Why yes, yes it is. And Lady Murray, as well. I did want to speak with them. And I should let Mrs. Danfield get on with her other guests.” She looked at Cecelia.
“Will you be all right, dear?”
“I'll look after her,” Stratton assured her. “Go and enjoy yourself.”
They watched as Mirabella hurried over to where her cronies were congregating. Given her stout figure, full silk and taffeta skirts and blazing red hair, she was an impressive sight. The hem and bodice of her purple gown was trimmed with appliquéd silk grapes, plums and pomegranates and puffed silk fruit bobbled among the feathers on her headdress. “She looks like a large bowl of fruit, doesn’t she?” Stratton remarked.
Cecelia covered her mouth as she giggled. “She does. Though, it’s very mean of you to say so.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I tend to get that way when I’ve spent forty-five minutes trapped with her in an enclosed space with no possible means of escape.”
“I don’t suppose you could send her back to Birmingham, could you?” she asked. “Since Mama and Papa are in France with Arabella, you can do what you want.”
“Now who’s being mean?” he chastised.
“Lord Stratton!” Another older female voice.
Oh, hell.
“Eugie,” Cecelia whispered loudly as she whacked his wrist with her fan. “You’re quite the attraction. But remember what Auntie said. You mustn’t settle.”
“Hush. Pretend like you didn’t hear anything.” He took Cecelia’s arm and tried to steer her toward the ballroom.
It was too late. A stout, dark-haired matron in a voluminous gold silk swept down upon them like a predatory bird in flight. “How wonderful to see you, Lord Stratton!” she cried. “And Lady Cecelia.” Her eyes traveled appraisingly from Cecelia’s upswept copper curls down to her kid leather slippers. “My dear girl, you’re all grown up, aren’t you? And your coloring is so vivid.” She lowered her voice slightly. “I must warn you though; there seems to be a shortage of eligible young men this year. That monster Napoleon is to blame. I’m afraid you’re going to be terribly disappointed in your choices.”
The Bewitching Hour Page 6