by Sandra Heath
“And Dominic Lexham is behind it, you say?” inquired Lord Carstairs.
“Don’t be tiresome, Charles, of course he is!” replied Hal, a little irritated. “He has to be implicated if he was the one who reported things in the first place! Now then, you have done your duty, and you can report your findings—which can only be that Miss Lexham has done nothing to contravene the terms of her uncle’s will.”
Lord Carstairs cleared his throat uncomfortably, his cheeks coloring a little at the hint of sarcasm in Hal’s reply. “Yes, well perhaps you are right. As for you, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, turning to face the six culprits, who were no longer as slyly clever as they had been, “I think it would be best if you left immediately, unless Miss Lexham wishes to press charges against you.”
Caroline hastily shook her head. “No, I don’t, I just want them to leave and never return.”
The six needed no urging, and within a minute they had vacated the apartment and were being shown out through the front door by the porter. The gentlemen of the watch descended to the vestibule, where they waited for Lord Carstairs, who stood for a moment to offer his apologies to Caroline.
“Again I must ask your forgiveness, Miss Lexham, for I did not gladly undertake this night’s work, but in my capacity as magistrate I truly had no choice.”
“I quite understand, my lord.”
He drew her hand to his lips. “I pray that that is indeed so, for it would grieve me to think that I had alienated myself from your friendship by my actions.” He looked a little shamefaced. “The truth of the matter is that I was anxious because of Jennifer. If there had been anything untoward here tonight—which there would have been but for Sir Henry’s intervention—her character might in some way have suffered. I do trust that you understand and forgive my anxiety on her behalf.”
“Of course I do.”
Still a little embarrassed at the whole affair, he glanced at Hal. “My carriage is outside, can I convey you anywhere?”
“Yes, that would be agreeable, Charles. I will join you in a moment, after I have spoken with Miss Lexham.”
Charles nodded and left them, and Caroline looked at Hal. “I must thank you, Sir Henry, for if you had not come when you did ...” She hesitated. “Why did you come here tonight?”
“As I said, Miss Lexham, I made it my business to find out what was happening.”
“Because of Jennifer?”
He smiled a little. “Certes, Miss Lexham. Because of Jennifer.”
Although she knew she should not wish to hear him say more, she was still inestimably hurt by this fresh evidence of his disinterest in her, but she managed to return the smile. “Then I am indeed most fortunate that your brotherly concern has saved me from my cousin’s spite.”
“Most fortunate. However, my intervention has only saved you on this occasion, Miss Lexham, for I have no doubt that your odious and disagreeable kinsman will try again. He has not been idle; both he and your other relatives have busied themselves since learning of your activities by spreading word among their friends and acquaintances that the entire Lexham family will be displeased if any sign of favor is shown to the Lexham Hotel.”
She lowered her eyes, wondering if Marcia and Lord Fynehurst had also been thus busying themselves against her—and if they had, did Hal know of it? Slowly she raised her eyes to his face once more, inevitably wondering whether he would do anything to aid her if he knew about Marcia and her brother. lt was one thing to thwart the plans of the Earl of Lexham; it was quite another to move against the actions and wishes of the woman he would soon make his bride.
He smiled again, his glance sweeping over her, taking in her cloud of honey-colored hair, the little bare toes peeping from beneath the voluminous nightgown, and the way she clutched her plain white shawl about her.
“Sometimes you are still a little country mouse, are you not? Tonight you stood in need of assistance from this wicked town rat in order to be kept safe from the vile plots of other town rats.”
“It seems I am destined to be always in your debt, Sir Henry.’’
“Then tomorrow you may thank me properly.”
“Properly?”
“Tomorrow is the occasion of the grand opening, is it not? I understand my sister intends to return here by hook or by crook in order to celebrate with you.”
“Yes, at least that is what she said.”
“If she said it, Miss Lexham, then you may count upon her doing it. You may also count upon me calling upon you, for I shall make time in order so to do. Oh, by the way—”
“Yes?”
“Did you receive a reply from Gaspard Duvall?”
She was a little surprised. “No, I’m very much afraid I did not.”
His eyes seemed to clear, although until that moment she had not realized that a veil had descended over them. “So, you are still without your chef de cuisine.”
“Unfortunately that is indeed the case, although I still hope that somehow I will find another chef—certainly in time for your sister’s wedding.”
“I am sure that she will be quite content with what Gunter’s can offer.”
“That isn’t really the point, is it?”
He searched her face for a moment. “No,” he said softly, “I don’t suppose that for you it is. However, I am sure that all will be well in the end.”
“I hope so, Sir Henry.”
“Until tomorrow then, when I trust you will see fit to broach a bottle of old Lexham’s finest champagne with me, for I believe I will have something of interest to celebrate.”
“Something of interest?” She could only think that he was referring to his betrothal to Marcia.
“All will be revealed, Miss Lexham. Good night to you.”
“Good night, Sir Henry.”
She remained where she was as he walked away.
Chapter 19
She slept poorly for the rest of the night, rising especially early the next morning in order to attend to the remaining arrangements before the opening at eleven o’clock. After Dominic’s attempt to destroy her careful plans, she felt more uneasy than ever about having chosen Friday the thirteenth, but it was too late to change her mind now.
The morning was dull and wet, gusts of wind carrying the low, gray clouds swiftly over the heavens. It was the very worst kind of spring morning, not at all the sort of weather she would have wished for. She stood by the window of her apartment with a cup of black coffee, gazing out over the forlorn courtyard, where the rain lashed the puddles that had already collected in the dips.
As she looked out, wondering how many of the beau monde would choose to stay at home rather than sally forth to inspect London’s newest hotel in such conditions, a very bright and gaudy yellow chaise drew into the courtyard from Mayfair Street. It passed the Lexham’s two footmen, who, although well trained and used to the ways of the wealthy, were nevertheless startled enough to gape after it. They stared even more as it halted by the hotel’s entrance and two men alighted. One was the strange, eccentric Gaspard Duvall; the other was his dark, discomfiting entremettier, Boisville.
Never one to shun bright colors, the chef wore a purple frock coat, beige trousers, a loosely tied black satin cravat, and a floppy green beret which rested jauntily over his left ear. He advanced to the door with swift, light steps, rapping upon it with his gold-tasseled cane. He was followed at a respectful distance by the more soberly clad Boisville, whose gloomy presence Caroline believed would have cast a shadow over the sunniest of days, let alone one as dismal as this. But the mere fact of the chef’s arrival at the hotel was gladdening enough for her to set aside any thought of the strange entremettier. Putting down her cup and crossing her ringers for luck, she hurried into the vestibule to greet Duvall.
Mrs. Hollingsworth had been supervising the setting out of the glasses in the dining room, and she emerged just as Caroline reached the two Frenchmen. The housekeeper remained discreetly beneath one of the arches which led to the inner
hall, watching as Duvall took Caroline’s hand and drew it gallantly to his lips.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Lexham, how good it is to see you once more. I trust that we have not called too early, but I knew that later you would be very busy.”
“Of course it isn’t too early, monsieur, and I’m so glad that you have called.”
“Forgive me that I did not come more swiftly, but there has been so much to do.” His dark eyes moved briefly to Boisville’s stern, unsmiling face. Then he caught sight of Mrs. Hollingsworth, and he looked at her with obvious and immediate interest, admiration shining in his dark brown eyes. Caroline looked at him with some surprise, and then was more surprised to see that Mrs. Hollingsworth’s reaction to him was scarcely less obvious. The housekeeper’s cheeks flushed with pretty color and she lowered her glance as coyly as any young girl.
He looked at Caroline again. “Who is the lady in brown?” he asked softly.
“She is my housekeeper, Mrs. Hollingsworth. Allow me to introduce you.” Caroline conducted him to the arches. “Monsieur Duvall, allow me to present you to Mrs. Hollingsworth. Mrs. Hollingsworth, Monsieur Gaspard Duvall of the Oxenford.”
The chef took the housekeeper’s hand, drawing it warmly and slowly to his lips. “Enchanté, madame. Mr. Hollingsworth is a very fortunate man to have so beautiful a wife.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth’s cheeks were aflame now and she was covered with confusion as she drew her hand away. “Mr. Hollingsworth is dead, monsieur.”
He said no more, but his eyes were very eloquent as he smiled at her.
Caroline was aware of Boisville, who watched everything without uttering a word and without even the slightest smile touching his straight lips. She spoke again to the chef. “Monsieur, I wonder if you could advise me about the kitchens here?”
“The kitchens? Ah, mademoiselle, there is no one in the world who can better advise you than I, Gaspard Duvall.”
With another smile at Mrs. Hollingsworth, he offered Caroline his arm, and together they went through into the dining room, through the butler’s pantry, the safes of which were filled now with valuable plate, and into the kitchens. Mrs. Hollingsworth followed, walking beside Boisville, who glanced at her but still said nothing.
Caroline and Mrs. Hollingsworth stood watching as the chef, accompanied by the entremettier, inspected every inch of the Lexham’s wonderful kitchens. Nothing slipped Duvall’s attention, and his admiration was complete. He could not have been more impressed by Baron Rumford’s magnificent closed ranges, and he spent a considerable time upon them before at last returning to where the two women stood.
“Mademoiselle Lexham, you wished for my advice, but I see nothing upon which I may advise you, for everything seems to be in the most perfect of order.”
She felt uncomfortable, for Boisville’s shrewd eyes rested coldly upon her face, as if he knew full well what she was about to say and as if he knew also exactly what Duvall’s reply would be. She didn’t want to ask the chef in front of his oppressive companion, but she did not have any choice.
“Monsieur, I have not been entirely honest with you; it is not your advice I would like, it is your presence here, at the Lexham Hotel, Monsieur Duvall, I would very much like to offer you the position of chef de cuisine here.”
Many emotions seemed to pass through his bright eyes. He glanced very briefly at Boisville’s cold face and then turned back to Caroline. “Forgive me, mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “but I fear I must refuse your so kind invitation. There is nothing I would like more than to leave the kitchens of the Oxenford and take charge of these magnificent offices instead, but I regret that it is impossible.”
She stared at him in the utmost dismay, for somehow she had convinced herself that he would accept. She saw an unpleasant gleam in Boisville’s eyes, and she could not help wondering if the chef might have accepted had it not be for the presence of this subtly insubordinate subordinate.
Duvall took her hand and raised it to his lips again. “I am most honored that you should have offered this prize to me, and I am truly sorry that it is not in my power to accept.” He looked for a moment at Mrs. Hollingsworth. “Believe me, madame, if it was possible for me to come here, I would come.”
A short while afterward, Caroline stood on the steps of the house with the housekeeper, watching as the gaudy yellow chaise swayed away across the windswept courtyard. “Why did he refuse, Mrs. Hollingsworth?”
“I don’t know, and that’s a fact. I was so sure that he would accept; he was so interested in the ranges.” She paused for a moment. “I did not care for that Boisville fellow.”
“No, in fact I dislike him somewhat, although he has never said or done anything to make me so feel,” Caroline turned to walk slowly back into the vestibule. “So, it is to be Gunter’s for Miss Seymour’s wedding after all.”
“They will do it handsomely,” reassured the other quickly, sensing Caroline’s dampened spirits.
“As they do for everyone else. The feast will not be a novelty, Mrs. Hollingsworth, and I think that Miss Seymour is disappointed, even though she hasn’t said so to me.”
She turned to the housekeeper. “I am afraid that her kindness and loyalty to me is to cost her the sort of wedding she wished for, and I feel very badly about it.”
Gathering her skirts, she hurried off to her private apartments, and Mrs. Hollingsworth looked sadly after her.
* * *
At eleven o’clock precisely, the first carriage rolled across the courtyard, and at the same moment Caroline positioned herself in the vestibule to receive the Lexham Hotel’s first guests. She wore her turquoise lawn, the dressmaker not having completed her other gowns, and she wished that she still possessed her grandmother’s necklace, not only because she loved it so, but also because it set off the gown’s plain but pretty neckline so well. She felt a little drab, but then as Mrs. Hollingsworth pointed out, the visiting ladies would not wish to find themselves being challenged by the mistress of the house.
As the carriage came to a halt at the foot of the hotel steps, the rain stopped and the sun shone through a break in the clouds. The ladies and gentlemen occupying the carriage were laughing and chattering as they alighted, and the porter threw open the doors as they came up the steps.
Her heart thundering, Caroline stepped forward to greet them. This was the all-important moment, for she was only too conscious that a great deal of the interest in the hotel centered upon her. Did she strike just the right note as far as they were concerned? Did she look acceptably London? Or was she hopelessly provincial still? Smiling, she sank into a curtsy. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Lexham Hotel.”
The gentlemen bowed and inclined their heads graciously, while the ladies gave her that minute examination which only ladies can manage in a glance of a second’s duration, decided she was tolerably pretty but in no way to be placed on their level, and were therefore pleased to accord her their smiles of approval.
The dreaded moment was over, and with a secret sigh of relief, Caroline escorted them into the dining room, where the long mahogany table was laden with numerous ice buckets containing bottles of champagne, with tray after tray of crystal glasses, and with silver-gilt dishes of Gunter’s very finest wafers and comfits.
In an affable mood, the ladies and gentlemen accepted their first glasses of the late earl’s champagne, sipped them, and murmured favorably. They then strolled through the house, admiring the magnificence of the red saloon and recalling various incidents that had happened there during the late earl’s lifetime before going on to inspect the countless books in the library. They proceeded through the entire building, taking note of everything with their critical, knowing eyes.
And so it went, as London’s beau monde sallied forth to Mayfair Street to survey the unexpected enterprise of a young woman whose name had been on every tongue in every drawing room since her arrival in Town such a very short time before. They all made leisurely circuits of the house, pronoun
cing themselves to be much impressed and to be beginning to understand why that clever Miss Seymour had deserted the Oxenford and wished to marry here instead. The ubiquitous Mrs. Hollingsworth was able to report with great delight that she had heard several parties compare the comforts of the Lexham favorably with those provided by the Oxenford, the Pulteney, and Mivart’s.
As she had promised, Jennifer returned sometime after midday, and was pleased to be able to tell Caroline that such was the crush of carriages in nearby streets that she had almost forsaken her landau in favor of walking. Glancing around at the crowded room and recognizing many important faces, she told Caroline that the grand opening could only be described as a success—Dominic and the Lexhams had been put to rout.
Glancing around too, Caroline knew that for the moment this was indeed so. But if Dominic had failed, there were others who might still succeed, and they had actually chosen to honor the Lexham’s grand opening with their presence. She had known a feeling of great dismay and wariness when Marcia and her brother had alighted from a carriage, together with a number of their friends.
Caroline’s smile of greeting was very guarded as they approached. Marcia looked very beautiful in lemon-yellow muslin, a particularly dazzling silk shawl trailing along the floor behind her. She leaned elegantly on her brother’s arm, and she paid hardly any attention to Caroline. Indeed, as they passed on into the dining room, Caroline distinctly heard Marcia’s purring tone as she extolled the countless virtues of the hotel which was so soon to be the scene of “dearest Jennifer’s” wedding.
Bearing in mind the unpleasant threats these two had issued to her at the Oxenford, Caroline took this new behavior very much with a pinch of salt. They were up to something—but what was it? Nervously she watched their progress around the house, but everywhere they were sweetness and light, pointing out things which pleased them and always being sure to bring the Seymour name into the conversation if they possibly could. A reluctant Jennifer was inveigled into joining them, and Marcia made a great point of linking arms with her, as if they were sisters by marriage already.