by Jennifer Joy
“I can see why Anne befriended you so easily, and I am glad for it.” Lady Hannah squeezed her arm, and together, they returned to their party.
“Perfect timing, my love,” said Lord Matlock, as Lady Hannah took her seat beside him. “We are hosting a dinner party tomorrow, and I could not very well extend an invitation without the hostess present.”
Turning to Maman, Lady Hannah said, “Do say you will come. We enjoy your company, and you would ensure that an even number of ladies and gentlemen are present.” She looked also at Adélaïde, extending the invitation to include her as well.
Maman looked at Adélaïde, nodded, then said, “We would be delighted to come.”
Adélaïde went through the motions of leaving, along with Maman, but her thoughts were far removed. Somehow, it all had felt like a dream where she was part of a caring family again. She could hardly wait to return the following evening.
The same enchantment had touched Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he seemed infinitely more handsome that day than when they had first met. Her knees felt a bit wobbly as she thought of the way the corners of his mouth curled up, his eyes expressing his thoughts so clearly, she could understand him without the need of words. His firm chin jutted out over his high collar and cravat, showing the curve under his wide jawline. Even under the layers of shirts and coats, she could appreciate the outline of his muscled shoulders and arms.
“Are you well, Adélaïde?” asked Maman, reaching out to touch Adélaïde’s hand in concern. “Your skin looks feverish.”
Adélaïde cleared her throat and looked out the window before looking at Maman. “I am well, only a bit warm. I should have chosen a lighter pelisse to wear.”
Maman patted her hand again.
The carriage pulled around the corner of Adélaïde’s shop. Before the coachman could open the door, Mary came bursting in.
“Yvette received a communication from that woman on Bond Street. A shop has become available, and she says you must make your move quickly before someone else swoops in.” Mary spoke through her heaving breath. How long she must have waited by the window for Adélaïde’s return so she could deliver the message.
Adélaïde shook her head. Surely, today was only a dream.
Mary took her by the hands, helping Adélaïde out of the coach.
“This is everything you have ever dreamed of, dear. I congratulate you, and leave you with your girls to celebrate the good news.” Maman’s coachman closed the door and they departed.
Squeals of delight echoed into the street, and Adélaïde hurried in to rejoice with her girls. Her family.
Chapter 17
Richard stood in front of his mirror, discontent with his reflection. He had changed coats twice and cursed his thick hair multiple times for its inability to stay in place no matter how much it was combed. His poor valet patiently applied pomade to the rebellious locks, without so much as a look toward the stack of coats piling up on the back of the chair near the mirror.
Normally, Richard welcomed the opportunity to attend his family’s dinner parties. Mother always invited the most interesting guests— mixing artists, public figures, old friends, and new acquaintances. Her position in Society allowed her some freedom in that regard— a freedom which she took advantage of discreetly. While a lady without a title would be criticized for exposing herself and her guests to anyone considered beneath them, Mother received praise for the fine conversations her eclectic company brought to the table. Richard feared that tonight would be an exception.
That evening’s guest roster was limited, due to the season. Most of London Society had escaped from the smelly summer months to hunt on their country estates and breathe fresh, clean air.
Perhaps a different waistcoat would do the trick. He turned to the side, scrutinizing himself at the same time he chastised his vanity. Why was it so difficult to get dressed for dinner?
Dovedale would be there with his wife. Mother had not told Richard until that afternoon that she had invited them; otherwise he might have prevented it. That was one source of his nervous state— being under the watchful eye of Lieutenant General Dovedale.
Mrs. Dovedale had accepted Mother’s invitation without hesitation, and so Richard prepared himself to act as if his interaction with Dovedale went no further than the happenstance of being old neighbors.
A couple Richard would be glad to see that evening was Mr. and Mrs. Hepplewhite, the kindest man and wife in all of London, in his opinion. They were the kind of friends who quickly became as close as family, and their conversation was always agreeable. Millie Hepplewhite, no doubt, had improved Anne’s spirits during her stay with them months before. Unexpected business had brought them back to town, and it pleased Richard to have them included in their dinner party.
The Hepplewhites were not the only silver lining in the storm cloud. Mr. Thorpe would also join them. Like most young, idealistic doctors, he never suffered from want of patients who took advantage of his kindness more often than they paid a fee. A good meal and varied company would serve him well.
Richard sighed and decided against changing waistcoats. He had wasted enough time trying to improve what he could not change. Never one to feel sorry for his plainness, Richard turned his back on the mirror, so that he could concentrate on other things within his control: conversation, politeness, charm.
Aunt Beatrice would join them with Miss Mauvier. Therein lay the problem. Richard would have to pretend that he did not fancy Miss Mauvier outside of seeking more information from her— information which had proved surprisingly difficult to acquire. Dovedale had not been as impressed as he was to learn the reason for the mysterious ‘Paris’ entry in her ledger. At the risk of prying, he could not ask for anything directly, and he rarely had the opportunity for private conversation with the lady.
The remaining guests were composed of twelve other men and women to balance the table, ensuring each female had a gentleman to attend to her. He wanted to sit by Miss Mauvier, so that he might converse with her during the course of the meal, but her status as a tradeswoman would put her at the foot of the table, whereas he would be expected to sit toward the head.
The message he had received from Dovedale had said four weeks. Now, only two weeks remained— two weeks gone, and he had found nothing of consequence. Exploring every lead until it fizzled out, Richard had precious little to report. It was impossible not to note the impatience in Dovedale’s messages. Richard had to find out once and for all if any doubt in Miss Mauvier’s loyalty was justified. The more he saw her, the less he believed in her involvement in the scheme. If he could draw her out in conversation, he could free her of suspicion and signal to Dovedale immediately. Her name cleared, Richard would have completed the task assigned to him successfully, leading to promotion, and the freedom and dignity the extra pay would provide.
Not dwelling on the weight of the evening, Richard joined Mother and Father downstairs, doing his best to project the amiable air people expected of him.
Guests accumulated in the newly redone front parlor, and Richard fluttered from one group to the next, exchanging pleasantries.
Mr. Thorpe stood in the center of the room with the Hepplewhites when Richard approached.
“How good you could come, Mr. Thorpe. I see that you already know our friends, the Hepplewhites.” It pleased Richard that the gentleman need not feel like such a stranger in the room.
“Yes, it is quite fortuitous. I have worked with Mr. Hepplewhite on several occasions, and have offered my assistance to Mrs. Hepplewhite in her philanthropic work.”
Mrs. Hepplewhite beamed. “It was Mr. Thorpe who came to our aid in the spring when one of my committees took on the renovation of an orphanage. Some of the children were in poor health from living in such cramped, damp rooms, and were in need of medical attention.”
“Perhaps you should visit my barracks, Mr. Thorpe,” teased Richard. “I am certain you would have plenty to say about its condition, and the harm it can do the office
rs who dwell there. It is one of the reasons I stay here when opportunity affords me the chance.”
“Yes, you have been on an extended leave. I only recall seeing you in uniform on one occasion,” replied Mr. Thorpe.
The Hepplewhites were too polite to ask what he was up to, but the unspoken questions covered their faces.
“Ah, yes. Seeing as how Mother and Father are in town, I plan to spend as much time with them as possible. When they leave, I will return to my normal activities.” It was as good an excuse as any.
Ever punctual, Dovedale arrived with Mrs. Dovedale on his arm. Richard took an instant dislike to the lady. She sashayed into the room, confident in the attention she drew to herself. She looked like an overdressed pheasant with jewelry and feathers protruding from her head.
Their group quieted as Mother welcomed them. Richard’s nerves grew. He did not like insincerity of any sort, yet he had committed himself to a task which required it of him. Would it always be this way?
Mother steered the Dovedales in their direction, and introductions were made. Mrs. Hepplewhite complimented the lady on the embroidery on her dress, which led to an overabundance of information about its origins, intricacies, and cost. Richard could have summed up Mrs. Dovedale’s long-winded speech in one neat sentence. The gown, made by Miss Maven on Bond Street, had an inordinate amount of beads and silk ribbon in the oddest places, and cost enough to feed a family for a month. Dovedale’s eyes had glazed over, as did those of the other gentlemen present. Richard feigned interest, but he would much rather have discussed the weather.
The ladies talked politely for some minutes, the gentlemen mechanically nodding their heads when appropriate. Richard now understood the wisdom of the ladies departing to the sitting room after dinner to discuss whatsoever they pleased, while the gentlemen stayed behind and talked of matters of greater importance— like hunting, horses, and hounds.
Mrs. Dovedale’s smooth voice lulled on. “Do I not have the best husband? Any other man would accuse me of frivolity, but not he. In fact—”
Dovedale patted his wife’s bejeweled fingers. “Nothing is too good for Mrs. Dovedale, but let us not bore our hostess with the details. What a charming room, Lady Hannah. Do you not agree, my love?”
“It is elegant, to be sure,” she said half-heartedly.
The butler opened the door to announce their final arrivals, and all eyes turned to the entrance.
Richard’s breath caught in his throat at the apparition before him. Miss Mauvier wore a white dress with some sort of shiny netting over it. She looked as if she had bathed in fairy dust. Her hair, piled loosely on top of her head, seemed so much softer than Mrs. Dovedale’s harsh braids and perfect ringlets. One pull of a pin would make the whole mass fall down her back in thick, rich waves. Richard’s fingers tingled. To prevent himself from doing anything rash, he cuffed a hand around his wrist.
Mother excused herself so that she might welcome the two ladies.
Reining in his thoughts, Richard looked at Dovedale, who, like everyone else, contemplated the newest additions to the party. He did not look pleased. Neither did Mrs. Dovedale.
Mr. Thorpe stood with his jaw open, tempting Richard to pop him in the chin. He could not blame the gentleman for staring, but he began to have second thoughts on inviting the younger, more handsome doctor.
Mrs. Hepplewhite already had her hands extended, ready to greet her old friends.
Mrs. Dovedale turned her nose up. In a comment meant for her husband’s ears, but loud enough to be heard by others, she said, “I am surprised Lady Hannah would stoop to include a common tradeswoman.”
Mr. Thorpe furled his brow, but said nothing. The Hepplewhites pretended not to hear.
To his credit, Dovedale corrected her. “Lady Hannah is the wife of an earl, and an undisputed lady by both birth and deeds. She may invite whomsoever she pleases.”
With a pout, Mrs. Dovedale whispered, “I hope I am not seated near her.”
“I highly doubt that. Now, do be civil, my love.”
Mrs. Dovedale contorted her face into a smile just as Mother joined them with Aunt Beatrice and Miss Mauvier. Richard had to wonder if there was any relationship between Mrs. Dovedale and Miss Caroline Bingley. Their condescension to those whom they considered inferior was a popular attitude amongst the ton, which Richard despised. He pitied Dovedale’s choice of a silly wife.
As ethereal as Miss Mauvier looked from across the room, her beauty stunned up close. A loose curl, strategically placed to fall over her shoulder, caressed her neck. Richard wanted to twirl it with his finger. It was all he could do not to gawk with his mouth open, like a drooling, hormonal boy of fifteen.
Feeling Dovedale’s eyes on him, he composed himself. Good lord, what a night lay ahead.
Dinner announced, the guests paired up and began filing into the dining room.
Richard watched as Mr. Thorpe extended his arm to Miss Mauvier. He wished it was his arm that she wrapped her gloved fingers around, his boots that the bottom of her dress flit out to touch. She turned her face up to smile at Mr. Thorpe, and the bitter stab of jealousy pierced Richard through.
Aunt Beatrice stood next to him, tapping her cane against the floor.
Bowing to her with all the gallantry he could muster, Richard offered Aunt Beatrice his arm, and led her into the dining room.
To his dismay, Richard saw that Mrs. Dovedale sat on his other side. He would have to be polite, but he doubted he could find much to agree on with the pompous lady.
Miss Mauvier sat further down the table, on the opposite side, surrounded by Mr. Hepplewhite and Mr. Thorpe. It would be difficult not to look too often at her. The candlelight caressed her face and darkened her hair except for a shiny hairpin which called to Richard like a moth to a flame.
Richard pried his eyes away from Miss Mauvier and Mr. Thorpe. His fretting would not change their current seating arrangements, and his time was better spent making the best of the situation.
With a devilish glint, Aunt Beatrice said, “Dare I mention politics? That would liven things up.”
Things were lively enough from Richard’s point of view. Dovedale sat close enough to Miss Mauvier to overhear her conversation, which she was already engaged in with Mr. Thorpe. Aunt Beatrice could not be trusted to keep peace, and Mrs. Dovedale already sought to monopolize his conversation with comments comparing Mother’s dining room to that of Lady Hamilton’s, which by all accounts sounded like a gaudy eyesore.
“On second thought, I will behave myself. You appear anxious, Fitzwilliam. Is anything the matter?” asked Aunt Beatrice.
“If you only knew the half of it,” Richard mumbled, as the servants placed the first dish in front of them, signifying the beginning of a long evening.
Chapter 18
Course after course came and went. Miss Mauvier spoke enthusiastically with Mr. Thorpe on one side, and Mr. Hepplewhite on the other. Whatever she said, it flushed her cheeks, brightened her eyes, and brought admiration from the gentlemen seated next to her. It unsettled Richard so much that he had to make it a point to look away, satisfying himself with turning his ear to that part of the table where his eyes could not bear to look. If it were not for the constant yammering of Mrs. Dovedale, perhaps Richard could have caught the gist of their conversation. Alas, he heard nothing. Mrs. Dovedale saw to that. No wonder Dovedale worked more hours than he spent at home. His was not a relaxing refuge from a burdensome day. After two hours, Richard thought he might go mad.
Mr. Hepplewhite clapped vigorously on hearing what Richard guessed must be good news, drawing everyone’s attention.
Father said, “There seems to be some celebration here. Please, do share with us your cause for applause.
Richard felt Dovedale glare at him.
“Pray forgive my enthusiasm. I have heard such wonderful news this evening, and I fear my reaction has embarrassed the lady.” Mr. Hepplewhite looked at Miss Mauvier, who sat taller in her seat at the accusation.
Mother clasped her hands together, smiling at the young woman. “You have good news, Miss Mauvier? Do share it with us so that we might rejoice with you.”
Richard allowed himself a glimpse of Miss Mauvier and felt his heart melt. He held his breath to keep from sighing.
Miss Mauvier, her eyes tilted up at the corners, said through plump, cheerful lips, “It is the best of news for someone in my position. Only yesterday, I secured a property on Bond Street for my business.”
Aunt Beatrice huffed. Mrs. Dovedale curled her upper lip in a sort of snarl for not being the center of attention. Father ordered champagne. Dovedale folded his arms, and continued to glare at Richard.
Blast it all. Richard clenched his jaw until it hurt, pulling his gaze away from Miss Mauvier and down to contemplate his fork. Information he should have found out first had been revealed publicly and in plain sight of the very man he needed to please. No wonder Dovedale looked at him so disapprovingly. Blast! Stabbing his hand with the fork would hurt less than the cut of failure.
Richard held up his champagne fluke with the rest, but his mind worked on the implications of this newly discovered knowledge. A property on Bond Street would not come cheaply. It must have happened after Miss Mauvier and Aunt Beatrice had left Matlock House yesterday after tea.
Aunt Beatrice poked his boot with her cane. “She intends to live there as well. I suppose I will have to get used to living alone again just as before.”
Not only had Miss Mauvier leased a shop, but also the dwelling above it. Richard estimated what the cost would be to live and work in such a sought after neighborhood. It was precisely what Dovedale had instructed him to find out: large expenditures of money. On the upside, it was much closer to Matlock House. Its proximity would give him ample reasons to stroll past— that was, if he still had the assignment. The way Dovedale looked at him gave Richard cause to doubt.