by Jane Toombs
As their carriage slowed, Deirdre glanced from the window at the other carriages waiting in a long line ahead of them, all waiting to leave their passengers at the front steps of the Harmon mansion. The great house, bulking massively behind six imposing white columns, blazed with lights, torches outside and lamps within.
At last they stepped down from their carriage and were ushered into a reception room where, after still another wait, they were announced and met their hosts, Lord and Lady Harmon and their son Edward, the Marquess of Lounsbury. For some reason Deirdre had expected Edward to be a dark, brooding gentleman with the disdainful smile of a Lord Byron; he was not. Of middle height and fair, his warm smile brightened a face tanned by the sun.
Phoebe, Deirdre noted, became transformed when in the presence of Lord Harmon and his heir. No longer pouting or sullen, she smiled engagingly up at the two men, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
Leaving their hosts, the Darrington party walked slowly down the grand staircase into the ballroom, the lively music from an orchestra on a low balcony swirling about them, the murmur from an untold number of conversations rising and falling, the glittering light of scores of candles reflecting from the hundreds of lusters in the chandeliers as well as from the dazzling jewels of the women.
Soon after they had settled themselves in chairs some distance from the dance floor, Phoebe opened her fan, raised it to shield her face and whispered to Deirdre and Alcida, “I do believe Edward is walking in our direction. If he should ask me for the honor of a dance, not that I expect he will, I must refuse him, of course, because I have vowed to be true to dear Clive."
Deirdre glanced from the corner of her eye. Yes, without a doubt Edward was coming to them, nodding and smiling to his other guests as he threaded his way between the chairs. He bowed to Roger, murmured a compliment to Sybil and paid his respects to Deirdre and Phoebe before turning to Alcida.
"Will you do me the honor, Miss Alcida?” he asked.
Bemused, Alcida stared up at him. She dropped her fan and awkwardly bent down to retrieve it. “I really—” she began, but before she could utter another word, Edward took her hand in his, drew her to her feet and, declaring his surprised pleasure at the mildness of the English spring after the bitter cold of the Canadian winter, escorted her to the floor.
A short time later, as Deirdre was strolling with Sybil while sipping a glass of cold punch, Alcida joined them. When Sybil turned away to speak to a friend, Alcida confided in a whisper, “Edward was quite charming and not in the least wicked. He complimented me on my gown.” She wore a pale pink lawn, simple yet attractive.
"As well he should,” Deirdre said. “Was that the sum and substance of his conversation?"
Alcida smiled uncertainly. “He also expressed a great affection for volcanoes."
"Volcanoes? What an unusual topic for a ballroom conversation."
"While in Canada—he was there for almost two years on behest of his father—he explored the site of what everyone claimed was an extinct volcano. Edward, however, refused to believe the volcano to be completely dormant. He pictured to me, in quite graphic and at times rather frightening terms, the molten rock and hot lava seething beneath the surface of the earth only awaiting its opportunity to break through in a violent and fiery eruption, spewing a torrent of molten rock into the air. All in all, I found the notion to be quite exhilarating."
"Shhh,” Deirdre cautioned, “your new-found friend from the colonies is fast approaching."
Edward bowed to them both and asked Deirdre to dance. “My pleasure, Lord Lounsbury,” she told him, pleasantly surprised to discover she was not nearly as nervous as she had feared she might be.
"Not Lord Lounsbury, Edward if you please,” he said as he led her through the crush to where the next set was forming. “We should become allies, Miss Darrington, you and I,” he murmured, “since we are both strangers to the ton.” When he glanced upward from her eyes to her head, she wondered if her hair had completely escaped confinement, as it was inclined to do.
"Allies? Are we two then engaged in a war that I know nothing of?"
"We are indeed, the ton is the site of a whole series of small wars, young gentlemen arrayed against young ladies, young ladies against gentlemen, the mushrooms striving to surpass those next above them on society's scale, the matrons with marriageable daughters waging an unceasing campaign to capture all eligible bachelors, the indebted fighting a rearguard action against the moneylenders who hold their chits, the evangelists seeking to recruit the sinners while the sinners attempt to make prey of everyone else. The list of combatants is endless."
Deirdre smiled, now almost completely at ease with him. “You make me wonder where you and I fit into this contentious scene."
The music began and the dance separated them before he could answer.
"For the moment, having newly arrived, we are able to stand apart,” he said as they came together again, “while we either cheer on or commiserate with the contestants. In another month that will be impossible for we, too, shall be engaged in one or another of the battles."
"Before I enter into an agreement with you,” she said, “I would certainly insist on references attesting to your reliability as an ally, my lord."
"Call me Edward, please.” He glanced around the room. “If only there were someone here who could speak favorably of me. Alas, there is not one soul except myself who knows me as I truly am."
"Although there are many who believe they do?"
"Rumor has it they do. Pray tell me, Deirdre, what does the ton say of me?” Again they were separated.
She quite enjoyed the challenge of conversing with Lord Lounsbury—no, Edward, Deirdre decided. Perhaps the stories about him were the malicious exaggerations of the envious or perhaps they were completely false. She trusted her own judgment more than any tittle-tattle.
"I have heard two tales about you,” she said when they came together. “The first is that a reputation for being rather wicked follows you from Canada. The other claims you returned to England with the intention of seeking a wife."
He stared at her, then put his head back and laughed. “I quite enjoy your refreshing frankness. The trait is in short supply here. In fact a tradesman could reap a fortune by importing candor to Londontown and peddling it in Mayfair."
"Would you be a buyer or a seller, my lord—Edward?"
"I possess more than enough candor to suit my needs. I may lie to you, but if I do you should take it as a compliment since one of my rules in life is to lie only to beautiful women. As for the stories you hear claiming I seek a wife and those assailing my character, one of them is true, the other false."
The set ended and they left the floor to wend their way through the crush to the room where a variety of food and drink was arrayed on buffet tables.
"And which of the two stories is true and which false?” Deirdre asked him.
"Alas, Deirdre, that must remain my secret. In my experience, any man or woman without at least one close-held secret is extremely boring. As for myself, I acknowledge having more than one.” He glanced at her. “And I suspect you do as well."
She started to shake her head, to deny having any secrets at all, but then she blushed. Clive ... her love for him was her secret, a secret that must remain locked in her heart forever.
To distract Edward's attention, she said, “Let me guess which story about you is true and which false. In my opinion, you believe yourself to be rather wicked but would profess to having no desire whatsoever to be married.” When he smiled, she went on, “I think the opposite might actually be true, that in fact you are not at all wicked but, in your heart of hearts, would like to be married."
"Most people of my acquaintance, but particularly young ladies, make a habit of believing what they want to believe.” As he handed her a glass of punch, his gaze once again centered on her hair.
"Is my hair in such complete disarray?” she asked, frowning.
"Not at all. While i
n the Canadian wilderness, I lived for a time among the Indians and your hair reminds me of a legend common among the Iroquois of eastern Canada. The story tells of a beautiful red-haired maiden who arrives from across the great Eastern Sea and becomes what we might call a goddess, a woman they referred to as their ‘golden princess of the dawn.’”
"In all my reading about the American Indians, and I have, I never encountered such a story."
He nodded. “I would be greatly surprised if you had, since I must confess the tale was a figment of my imagination, a legend the Iroquois should adopt, but alas, have not. The truth is that your flaming hair intrigues me, reminds me of something, but I know not what."
Raising her glass of punch to her lips, she looked at him over the rim. “A volcano in full eruption, perhaps,” she said with seeming innocence.
He blinked and his lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. “Much as I would like to, I dare not pursue the comparison. Not from any fear of where it might lead, but because I observe your father bearing down on us with the intent, I expect, of rescuing his princess of the dawn from the evil stranger. With this crush to impede him, however, we have time to slip through that door to the garden. I can assure you there are superb vistas to be enjoyed from our gazebo."
"At this time of night?"
"There are those who maintain that the pleasures of the gazebo in the moonlight surpass those of the more prosaic daylight hours."
"Perhaps another time."
"May I consider that a—"
Before she could reply, Roger Darrington came up to them, greeted Edward civilly, but immediately took Deirdre by the arm and, with a nod to Edward, led her away.
"—a promise?” Edward called after her.
Deirdre looked over her shoulder and smiled without indicating whether her answer would be a yes or a no.
She glanced at her father's stern face. “Lord Lounsbury is, I understand, considered something of a rake."
"Harrumph,” her father said. He appeared to debate whether to elaborate on this noncommittal remark. “Stories have circulated,” he said at last, “vague yet disturbing stories having to do with his conduct while in Canada. I never inquired as to the details nor, I trust, will the occasion ever arise that may force me to do so.” He looked past her. “Ah, here comes Aldrich to ask you to dance, I expect. Splendid chap, young Aldrich."
Deirdre danced with James Aldrich, with Charles Hampton, with Arthur Scofield, and with a succession of other young men, their names and faces finally blurring in her mind. Alcida, she noticed with satisfaction, also had her share of partners.
Still later, when Deirdre was sitting with her father, Alcida came to her, all agog, and whispered in her ear. “You must see for yourself. Will we ever live down the gossip?"
Excusing herself, Deirdre followed her stepsister to the edge of the ballroom floor and watched with a puzzled frown as Alcida stood on tiptoe to scan the dancers. “I saw her dancing,” Alcida said in shocked tones, “but now she has quite vanished."
"Who was dancing? Who has vanished?"
"Why, Phoebe, of course. After insisting she never would, she was dancing with Edward and, worse, she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. How could she? Were all her protestations of faithfulness to Clive untrue?"
"You may be judging her too hastily, Alcida. Is there anything so terribly wrong in dancing a single dance with Edward? He is our host."
"Where can she be?” Alcida asked. Sighing in frustration, she turned from the dance floor. “Would you have danced with Edward if you were betrothed to Clive?” Alcida asked as they slowly made their way back to rejoin the elder Darringtons.
Would she? Deirdre asked herself. No, of course not. “Everyone is different."
Alcida gasped and clutched Deirdre's arm. When Deirdre followed her gaze, she saw Phoebe slipping into the room through the door to the garden. Closing the door, Phoebe glanced guiltily about her, appearing both flushed and flustered. Edward was nowhere to be seen.
How strange, Deirdre thought. For a moment she wondered whether Phoebe and Edward might have been enjoying some of the promised pleasures of the Harmon gazebo by moonlight, but just as quickly she banished the uncharitable notion from her mind. No woman betrothed to Clive, she assured herself, could possibly be even slightly interested in any other man.
* * * *
They arrived home as the first rays of the sun were brightening the eastern sky over the rooftops. After opening the door for them, Morland handed Roger Darrington a letter. “Dr. Leicester called earlier and was most anxious you receive this."
Frowning, Roger opened the letter at once. “Good news, not bad. And more for your ears, Phoebe, than mine. Dr. Leicester writes that word has reached Clive Chadbourne's father that Clive arrives home within the fortnight."
CHAPTER 5
"We should plan a very simple affair,” Phoebe said at dinner a few days later, “to welcome dear Clive home from Spain and to show him our gratitude for his heroic sacrifices for England."
On the day after the Harmon's ball, Phoebe had received a brief letter from Clive, posted, as he said, in haste from Portsmouth, giving the date of his return to London. Deirdre had been relieved to learn that he made no mention of being wounded. Her dream, undoubtedly prompted by her fear for his safety, had thus proved to be false.
"Yes,” Sybil agreed, “an intimate gathering of the family, perhaps a tea where we all will have an opportunity to hear Clive describe his experiences as a member of Lord Wellington's command."
"Dr. Leicester is such a close friend of Clive's,” Alcida put in, “perhaps he should be invited."
Deirdre glanced in surprise at Alcida, who rarely ventured an opinion of any sort, but found her staring down at her plate.
Roger Darrington nodded his agreement. “We must remember how gracious it was of Lord and Lady Harmon to invite us all to the ball that was also, in effect, a welcoming celebration to mark his son's return from Canada. Since we intend to celebrate Clive's return from Spain, they might consider us remiss if we fail to return the compliment."
"In any event, Edward should be invited,” Phoebe said quickly—perhaps too quickly, Deirdre thought, “since he and Clive have always been such good friends."
"If Lord Harmon and his family are invited,” Sybil said, “we can hardly fail to invite their cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich and their son. Not to mention Mrs. Aldrich's sister, Mrs. Hampton, as well as her husband and their two lovely daughters."
Phoebe nodded. “Clive will undoubtedly insist that I play a few selections on the pianoforte during the party, for he dotes on my playing and we should provide some suitable entertainment for our guests. If I perform, Elizabeth Hampton will be certain to encourage someone to ask her to sing. She is rather talented in her untutored way."
"I do believe,” Roger said, “that our guests will deem it the height of inhospitality if we fail to serve dinner. A musical evening, as you suggest, Phoebe, followed by a simple repast would be a most appropriate celebration in honor of young Chadbourne, a welcome befitting a hero of the war against Napoleon."
"And I, for one,” Phoebe said, “would love to have dancing during the evening after my many weeks of sitting and watching others dance. Nothing elaborate, certainly, perhaps only a single fiddler. Dear Clive so enjoys dancing and this party is, after all, in his honor."
"Might we not,” Deirdre asked, “be planning too elaborate a party? Clive could well be fatigued from traveling; he might enjoy a quiet gathering on his first evening home."
"If we were living in the country,” Phoebe said, “I would agree, but in London we do things differently, Deirdre, quite differently."
Deirdre started to reply in anger, thought better of it and sank down in her chair with a sigh of resignation.
During the next hour, as the plans for the party were discussed and re-discussed and then discussed again, she said nothing more.
* * * *
The following days passed slowly for
Deirdre, her sense of anticipation growing. But along with her eagerness to see Clive again came an unease, a foreboding, a fear that something might be amiss.
At last the evening of the homecoming party arrived. The “simple affair” had, to the professed surprise of everyone in the Darrington household with the exception of Deirdre, mushroomed into a musical evening followed by dancing followed by an elaborate dinner for more than thirty guests.
The first of these guests, Edward Fox and Dr. Vincent Leicester, arrived an hour before Clive was expected.
"Have either of you seen dear Clive as yet?” Phoebe asked them.
The doctor, a stocky young man with curly blond hair, shook his head. “He was to arrive at the Harmon town house this morning and come directly here after a brief visit with his father.” Noticing Alcida playing patience at the card table, he drew up a chair, sat across from her and challenged her to a two-handed game, a challenge that Alcida accepted at once.
When Phoebe began an animated conversation with Edward about the doings of mutual friends, Deirdre excused herself and walked outside to the terrace. Ill-at-ease, still wondering if holding this rather grandiose party was a mistake, disturbed by Phoebe's all too evident delight in Edward's company. Wanting to see Clive again, yet strangely fearful, she stood for long minutes looking down at the profusion of red and white roses in the garden as the brisk though mild wind tugged fretfully at her hair.
"You appear pensive."
Startled, she looked over her shoulder and saw Edward watching her from the doorway. Walking across the terrace, he came to stand at her side. When he saw her glance back at the house, he said, “I found myself at liberty when Miss Langdon's mother required Phoebe's advice on a matter of grave import having to do, I believe, with the seating arrangements for the dinner."
Uncertain whether to be relieved or annoyed that Edward had interrupted her unhappy musings, Deirdre did not reply and for a time they stood looking down at the rose garden in silence.