by Louise Allen
'It was a late night. And then I was too excited to sleep.'
The pain had to ease, surely? In a day or two it would settle down into a perfectly manageable misery, and in the meantime all she had to do was act. Not that that was easy. She had found the little mug outside her door later that morning and had had to go back inside for ten minutes to regain her composure before coming down. It was sitting on her dresser now, waiting for her.
'How was the visit?'
'My singing was every bit as painful as you might expect, but once that was over the rest was very pleasant. The dowager had her grandchildren to stay and they were delightful.'
'Was the singing so very bad? Did your godmother insist you perform in front of everyone?'
'Of course. But Lord Danescroft said he wanted to sing, too, so we sang a duet and he quite drowned me out. Thank goodness.'
'How rude of him.'
'Oh, no, he meant it nicely, for he could see I was nervous, and he confided that he was sure to be asked so we could get it over with together.'
'I see. So you are thinking more kindly of him now?' Rowan spread out Penny's afternoon dress, even though it seemed tiresome to change, given that she would be retiring for a lie-down at four o'clock in anticipation of the ball.
Penny set down the hare's foot with a snap. 'I am quite decided about Lord Danescroft,' she said, with surprising crispness.
'Well… good.'
Penny got up and tossed aside her wrapper for Rowan to lift the afternoon gown over her head. 'I have made up my mind that you are right,' she announced as her head emerged from the floss-trimmed neck. 'I must speak up and say what I really want, what I feel, and to…hell with the consequences.' She went quite pink and looked terrified at her own boldness.
'Excellent,' Rowan said with emphasis. She only hoped that Penny felt better tomorrow than she did. No, it was wrong to think she felt bad, exactly: she felt…confused and sad, and her body felt wonderful, and her heart… Oh, Lucas.
'So you will?' Penny had obviously been talking for several minutes. She had pinned up her hair without Rowan's help and was putting on her slippers.
'What? Sorry, I was air-dreaming.'
'Come to the ball tonight.' There was a knock at the door. 'Come in!'
Two footmen staggered in, a large trunk between them.
'But that's my-'
'That's the trunk we did not think we would need,' Penny said smoothly, so the men could hear. 'I had it brought up from the inn. Thank you-that will be all.'
'I cannot come to the ball! I'm your dresser.'
'Yes, you can.' Penny threw back the top of the trunk. 'I had the idea yesterday afternoon. When they brought the mail over I pretended I had received a letter from you-the real you-saying you were staying in Tollesbury Magna. Of course everyone made much of the coincidence, and Lady Fortescue said I must write and invite you. Sol sent the groom to Alice and Kate instead, and pretended again that you had accepted with delight.'
'But how on earth am I going to get to the ballroom?'
'There's a side staircase-I think left over from the old house before this wing was added. If you go down it there is a passage, and you can slip out into the stable-yard. The carriage will be there for you at ten. You get in, it drives round to the front door, and down you get.'
'Penelope Maylin-what a pack of lies and deception! I had no idea you had it in you.'
'I know. I must say, being wicked is quite refreshing, don't you think? No one will recognise you-not with your hair dressed and all your jewellery and your best gown. Who would expect to?'
Rowan turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. No, once her hair was freed from this tight, sleek style, and she was wearing her diamonds and her new cream silk gown, quite unlike anything she had been seen in before, no one would recognise that Lady Rowan Chilcourt was Miss Maylin's humble dresser.
Lucas would, of course, but then he would not see her. The valets did not appear downstairs during such events-not like the ladies' maids, who were on hand to deal with fainting misses, torn hems and wilting coiffures. She must take care to avoid the retiring rooms.
'I will do it.' Last night had been an enchanted dream. It was time to stop being Daisy and become Rowan again. Time to forget she was in love and to think of Papa and of finding a suitable alliance with an eligible man. Time to do her duty.
CHAPTER TEN
'Lady Rowan Chilcourt!'
It was last night all over again-only now the ballroom glittered not just with silverware and glass, candlelight and crystal, but with the unmistakable gleam and glow of gemstones, silks and satins and silver buttons.
Rowan descended the stairs to the receiving line with grace, her fan held just so, her chin up, her smile perfect.
'My dear Lady Rowan, such a pleasure you could join us.'
'Lady Fortescue, I am so grateful for your invitation. My wretched carriage broke a pole, fortunately not far from a most respectable inn-but I am sure Miss Maylin explained all that. And of course I have my woman with me, and my groom and so forth. But to be stranded over Christmas is dreary indeed-now I feel I have been transported back to London!'
'Your friend Miss Maylin is somewhere here. She will soon introduce you to everyone you do not know.'
Rowan passed down the line, greeting the Fortescue family, making small talk, until she was able to emerge at the other end and mingle with the throng. The dancing had not yet started, and people were strolling back and forth. Rowan recognised some young women of her own age she had met during her first Season, before Papa had whisked her off to Vienna, and went to reintroduce herself.
'I owe my invitation to Penelope Maylin,' she explained to Miss Anstruther, when that excited damsel had finished recounting the riveting tale of how she had become betrothed to Lord Martinhoe and thought to enquire how Rowan had popped up in the middle of the snowbound countryside. 'I haven't seen her yet.'
'She's here somewhere. I saw her earlier. The poor girl seems to be trying to avoid Lord Danescroft, but then she has been all week,' Lady Fiona Davidson chipped in. 'Have you heard the scandal?'
'Yes, dreadful,' Rowan agreed, wondering if she should find Penny and stick like glue to forestall any approach by his lordship. He might have the idea of making a declaration during the evening. On the other hand Penny seemed very determined to be firm, so perhaps it would be better to get it over with while her resolution held.
A footman-James, the one with a stammer who was sweet on Edith the kitchen maid-came past with a tray of cordials. Rowan took one with an unsmiling inclination of her head and he walked on, oblivious to the fact that he had just served a woman who had teased him about his smartly powdered wig only the day before. She let out a pent-up breath and relaxed a little.
A gentleman joined them, and then another. The group began to ask her questions about Vienna and the Congress, and she relaxed even more. She could do this. She could pretend to be charming and social and gracious, and no one would guess that she was in love and pining for a man she could not have.
'Well, the shops are nothing but temptation,' she was saying to Lady Furness. 'My allowance would vanish like snow in sunshine within days of me receiving it! The tailoring is not as good as in London, of course. I still sent home for my riding habits-'
The room shifted and blurred as a dark-headed man passed across her line of sight over her ladyship's shoulder.
'Lady Rowan?'
'I am sorry-a moment's dizziness.' Of course it was not Lucas. Goodness, if she was going to have palpitations every time she saw a tall man with dark hair she would be in a decline within a week.
'Might I have the honour of a dance, Lady Rowan?' Now, which young man was this? Oh, yes-Mr Maxwell. She smiled and nodded, and agreed to the second set, while behind her Lord Furness could be heard greeting someone in his rather over-loud bray.
'Stoneley! They told me you were back from those far-flung estates of yours. Come and be introduced to my daughter and some of
the other pretty young ladies and tell us all about your adventures.'
'Unless you count a hurricane, very little that would serve as an adventure I'm afraid, Furness. Not a pirate to be seen.'
The voice was deep, dark and amused. The guard stick of Rowan's fan snapped in her gloved fingers. I am losing my mind…
'Now, then-you remember my wife, I'm sure, but you won't have met my daughter Annabelle. And this is Miss Anstruther, and-ah, yes-Lady Rowan, may I present Viscount Stoneley? Stoneley-Lady Rowan Chilcourt.'
She turned, slowly, to confront the man with Lucas's voice, a social smile fixed on her lips. She had heard people say that blood drained from their faces with shock, but she had never believed it until now. It was a physical sensation, an unpleasant one, accompanied by a rushing sound in the head and-
'Wake up. Hell and damnation, Daisy-Lady Rowan- whoever you are, open your eyes.' By sheer force of will he had made them give way to his assertion that he would carry her out to a retiring room and have her dresser summoned immediately. Lady Furness had helped him, shooing the others back, telling them Lady Rowan needed air, that she had seemed faint earlier.
What she would say now, if she could see him with the unconscious woman on a sofa, no chaperon and the door locked, he could scarcely imagine. But he could not risk whatever Daisy said when she came round.
This was insane. Yet he was not delusional, as he had feared for a moment he was. Hating the noise, the social chitchat, the need to remember the tale Will had drummed into him about mistaking the evening and calling to take his friend off to a party, he had acted his way through embarrassed apologies to the Fortescues and finally a graceful acceptance of their pressing invitation to spend the evening.
'Why sit upstairs twiddling your thumbs?' Will had demanded. 'You look thoroughly blue-devilled. Come to the ball. No one will recognise you.'
And, of course, no one did. Well-trained servants did not stare at guests, let alone allow their imaginations to ran riot over a passing resemblance between a viscount and a valet. He had thought it was a good idea-that it would stop him thinking about Daisy. But of course all it did was to conjure up visions of last night, of her warm and responsive as they waltzed, hot and passionate as they loved.
And then a slender society lady had turned slowly to face him and he'd thought he had lost his mind. He still did. Perhaps he was feverish and this was all his delirium…
'Lucas?' No, that was Daisy.
'Yes.' He knelt by the sofa and took her hand in his. Under his thumb her pulse was beating wildly. 'Yes, it is me. What in heaven's name do you think you are doing? How do you expect to get away with this?'
She opened her eyes, wide and green on his. 'Me? How do you imagine… No. You really are Lord Stoneley, aren't you? Lord Furness knew you.'
'Yes. I really am Lucas Dacre, Viscount Stoneley.' Surely now she would realise why they could not be together? Why his duty demanded he break both their hearts?
But she was smiling-not bravely, but joyously. 'And I really am Lady Rowan Chilcourt. Lucas-why on earth have you been pretending to be Lord Danescroft's valet?'
'To try and persuade him not to marry Miss Maylin. And you?'
'To support her in refusing him, of course.'
Lucas sat back on his heels, trying to accept this miracle, afraid to believe it. 'You understand why I could not-'
'Of course-and why I could not. Oh, Lucas, we've been making ourselves miserable because of honour and duty and what we owe to our families, and all the time we are each other's perfect eligible match!'
'Is that a proposal Lady Rowan?'
'It most certainly is, my lord!'
Yes, it was true. No, he was not hallucinating. His irrepressible, wonderful love was smiling at him from the sofa, her hair half down and her gown disarrayed, and an expression compounded of mischief, love and desire on her face.
'Well,' he drawled, 'I suppose as I have compromised you I had better make an honest woman of you.'
'Could we, do you think, make quite sure of that?' Rowan reached out to bring his head down to hers. 'Could you perhaps completely ruin me?'
'With pleasure. But not-'
'Lord Stoneley!' The rattle of the door handle had him on his feet and six foot away from the sofa in seconds. 'Are you in there?'
'Hell! Lady Rolesby!' He ran a hand over his hair and went to unlatch the door. 'Ma'am, the door seems to have swung to and the lock engaged. Lady Rowan is much improved. I was just about to ring again for her woman. I cannot imagine what-'
'Penelope is not here?' Lady Rolesby, ignoring Rowan's attempts to straighten her hair and her gown, swept the room with her lorgnette.
'Miss Maylin? No, ma'am, I have not seen Miss Maylin all evening.' Behind him, he heard Rowan getting to her feet.
'I have not seen her at all, Lady Rolesby. Is there some problem?'
'No.' Her ladyship frowned. 'I assumed she would have come to assist you. It is just that I cannot find her.'
'Has Lord Danescroft seen her?' Rowan queried.
'I cannot find my grandson, either. Oh, I wash my hands of them! There is no helping young people these days. And you, young man-you run along at once. Doors shutting by themselves, indeed-do you think I was born yesterday?'
'No, ma' am,' Lucas said with a meekness which earned him a painful rap over the knuckles with her lorgnette.
'Humbug. Go and make yourself useful and find Danescroft. You, too, Lady Rowan. See if you can find Penelope while you are about it.'
'Yes, ma'am,' Rowan said.
She had managed to pin her hair back up with that dexterity that always amazed him in women, and now came to stand by his side, looking, he was amused to see, as if butter would not melt in her mouth.
'I shall expect to see the announcement of your nuptials very soon,' Lady Rolesby said abruptly, making them both jump. 'And if I do not I will have a word with your father, young lady. He is back in Town-without, apparently, any notion of where you are. Now, off with you both.'
'Old witch,' Rowan said with a chuckle. 'I nearly expired with embarrassment when she rattled the door handle.' Papa was back! Was it possible to be any happier? He was going to love his son-in-law.
Beside her, Lucas snorted with amusement. 'You'd have done more than that if I'd yielded to your blandishments and joined you on the sofa.'
'I suppose you are going to become tiresomely honourable and not lay a finger on me until we are married?' Rowan sighed. It was torture not being able to touch him. She just wanted to stroke him, reassure herself that he was real.
'Of course. I will be a pattern book of respectability. But then, I do not intend having to wait very long. If I
go up to Town tomorrow to speak to your father and get a licence, what do you say to a Twelfth Night wedding?'
'Oh, yes!' Rowan tried to realise that this was truly happening-that her utterly unsuitable love was about to become her completely suitable husband. 'Where?'
'Is your Town house open?'
'It can be. St George's Hanover Square, then-?' Rowan broke off. 'Lady Smithers? Yes, thank you, I feel much better now. Something I ate, I think. Quite. Have you by any chance seen Miss Maylin? No?'
They passed on, scanning the room.
'Oh. Lord, where can she have got to?'
Lucas was nodding and chatting, his eyes running over the crowd crammed around the walls now the dancing had begun.
'Where's Will? Never mind your pea-brained friend.'
'She is not pea-brained!' They passed a door leading to the conservatory. 'Let's look in here. She might have escaped for some peace and quiet.'
'May as well. At least I can kiss you in here,' Lucas observed, making cold shivers run deliciously up and down her spine by kissing the nape of her neck as she dodged around a potted palm.
'Shh, there is someone in here already.' She tiptoed forward, conscious of Lucas on her heels, and parted the fronds of a large fern.
A tall, dark man had a young woman locked in his
arms, kissing her ruthlessly. She had no chance of escape but hung, tiny and fragile in his arms, as he ravished her mouth. There was no mistaking that gown of blonde lace and pale amber silk. She had fastened it herself that evening.
'Stop it at once, you brute!' Furious, Rowan launched herself out of the shelter of the fern, tugging on Lord Danescroft's sleeve.
'Madam!'
'Rowan!'
'Lucas!' Lord Danescroft pulled himself together first. 'I do not know who you are, ma'am, but my fiancee and I-'
'Fiancee? Penny, you do not have to do this-'
'Will, for heaven's sake think! This is the rest of your life you are-'
'Stop it-all of you.'
Rowan blinked at her friend. Penny was flushed, but her small round chin was firm and her head was up. Indignation flashed in her eyes.
'I am marrying Lord Danescroft. I love Lord Danescroft. And if anyone else tries to stop me I shall-'
'Penny, my love,' Danescroft said tenderly, 'it is quite all right. Lucas and his friend-I am afraid I do not know her name-have your best interests at heart. They just do not know yet that we love each other.'
'Lucas?' Penny glared at him. 'Your valet? That libertine?'
'Yes, that one. Lucas Dacre, Viscount Stoneley, at your service ma'am,' Lucas said with a bow. 'Will, may I introduce Lady Rowan Chilcourt? Sometime dresser to Miss Maylin under the soubriquet of Daisy Lawrence. And shortly to be my wife.'
'Really? Oh, Rowan!' Penny hurled herself into her friend's arms, knocking her back several paces. 'I love him, you see, and I was determined to tell him, and say that I didn't want to marry him just to be a mother to his daughter and a good, conformable wife, and that if he didn't want a love match then I didn't want him. But he loves me! And is that truly Lord Stoneley?'
Over Penny's shoulder, as she patted her on the back while she shed happy tears into her cream silk, Rowan watched the men gripping hands. Then Will pulled Lucas into an embrace and she saw his face: pure happiness. It was going to be all right. For all of them. But she had to be sure, for Penny's sake.
'Lord Danescroft?'