“Are you doing something differently with your rouge, Tremble?” Katherine demanded, peering at her. “Have you been bled recently or taken physic?”
“The invitation, Katherine,” Tremble said impatiently. But she preened and looked pleased.
“It’s from Lady Peter. An assembly.” One offered only tea or coffee at an assembly. The point was cards and conversation, gossip really, usually among a small number of intimates, although an assembly could be large and public.
“She’s doing it on the cheap,” Aunt Tremble sniffed. A sly look brightened her expression. “I’ll wager Lady Peter wishes to be first to have a look at our Blusette.”
“I was thinking the same.”
“Shall we attend, Mama?” Cecile clapped her hands. “Do let’s accept. Blu will dazzle them all!”
The thought of launching Blusette at Lady Peter’s assembly, before a company of strangers in a situation outside her own control, made Katherine feel as if she had swallowed a barrel of poisoned oysters.
“I think not,” she murmured faintly, pressing a hand to her stomach. But she could not delay Blusette’s unveiling forever. If the messages scribbled across the cards in her foyer could be believed, all London Town knew of Lady Katherine’s beautiful young niece, and everyone wished to view this ravishing creature for themselves. Speculation had begun.
Katherine rubbed her temples and closed her eyes, knowing they watched with expectant faces, awaiting her decision. What to do? The invitation from Lady Peter felt like an execution writ signaling the demise of her name, her reputation, her very life.
“Blusette will not disgrace us,” Cecile promised loyally, reading her mother’s expression.
“I know;” Katherine lied, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. It was true Blusette had made enormous progress. It was also true she committed appalling errors on occasion.
“We can’t hide her away forever, Katherine,” Aunt Tremble gently pointed out. “She must try her wings.”
“I know.” But must she risk crashing before the eyes of Lady Peter’s assembly? “I wonder... yes!... we shall launch Blusette here, at a dinner party.” Sitting up straight, she stared at a point in space, her mind racing forward. “Small, I think, only a dozen people. Edward, of course, he will be sympathetic. Who else? Lord and Lady Batten. Perhaps Lord Whitesall. And Lady Walter.” She tapped her fingertips against her chin. “We’ll have cards afterward for those who wish to play. And we’ll light the garden. Mr. Apple has put away the torches, but he can bring them out again. Shall we have music, I wonder? Lady Walter plays the pianoforte and Lord Whitesall is skilled on the flute, or so I’ve heard...”
“What a marvelous idea!” Cecile’s cheeks flushed pink with anticipation. “Blusette can make her debut in familiar surroundings with sympathetic company. How clever you are, Mama. What shall we wear? I think the emerald silk for you, dear Blu. It’s your best color. And you must have my pearls for the occasion. We’ll shop for gloves and a painted fan, something with a leafy green scene.”
“Yes, indeed,” Aunt Tremble agreed, smiling her pleasure. “We’ll visit the Exchange this very day. I’m in desperate need of dress plumes for my evening wig. And I need a new tin of mauve powder.” She stamped her cane on Katherine’s carpet. “A party! How lovely. Do invite Lady Crume, Katherine. She’s a bit hard of hearing, but we owe her from spring. Her ear trumpet is a bit of a trouble, but if we seat her at the end of the table...”
Blu sat quietly, hands folded in the lap of her morning gown, listening as the dinner plans progressed. She had only to glance at Lady Katherine’s anxious brow to guess her mother’s fears.
“I will not dishonor you, Madame,” she said stiffly at a pause in the conversation.
“I’m confident you will be on your best behavior,” Lady Katherine said. But the words were obviously more polite than true. Doubt lingered in her gaze.
“You will present me as your niece?”
“Of course.” Their eyes met and held. “I believe we agreed on your status shortly after your arrival.”
“I see.” In some secret corner of her heart, Blu had dared hope Lady Katherine would confront the past and acknowledge her. She was a bloody fool; by now she understood the inevitable consequences of such a scandalous admission. Still—she had hoped. After setting aside her chocolate, she stood and brushed at her gown. “If you will excuse me, I have a riding lesson this morning.” Lifting her head to hide her emotion, she left her mother’s chamber.
But the sense of crushing disappointment lingered, bordering on betrayal. It wasn’t until she had cantered across the meadows behind Charlton Mews, flying over the dewy grass, that her heavy heart lifted.
“Excellent, Miss Morgan!” Her riding instructor reined to a stop beside her and beamed. “With your permission, I shall speak to Lady Paget regarding instruction in the hunt. I believe you will find hunting an excellent foil for your skills.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hapley.”
Of a sudden she missed Thomas. After her first lesson, he had begged off further instruction, pleading a crowded business and social schedule. Today she longed for him. It would have pleased her to share the brisk cool day in his company. It would have been good to hear his reassurances.
But why should Thomas be pressed to reassure her about a buffle dinner party? It was he who had predicted she could never be one of his kind. If she shamed herself at table, he would have the pleasure of knowing himself correct. She sensed she was not being just, but she was in too hipped a mood to care.
Leaning forward, she stroked her horse’s neck, concealing her flushed cheeks from Mr. Hapley’s gaze.
Everything depended upon her success; Lady Katherine’s reputation, Cecile and Aunt Tremble’s honor, her own future.
Just or no, she wished Thomas were here. She wished she could see him alone for just a few minutes. It would have done her a world of pink to have five minutes wherein she could be herself. She would have cursed and shouted and bled the nerves from her system.
~ ~ ~
Lady Katherine bustled into Blu’s chamber and circled round her with a critical eye. “Speak only when spoken to,” she cautioned, leaning to fluff Blu’s skirts. She touched a hand to the back of Blu’s glossy curls. “For God’s sake, remember not to wipe your hands on the table linen. If you laugh, laugh quietly and do not throw your head back.” Pausing, she closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “One way or another, I’ll be relieved when this evening has ended!”
“Have you so little faith in me?” Blu asked, looking at her mother in the mirror’s reflection. Tonight Lady Katherine was stunningly beautiful. She had chosen not to powder her hair and each movement sent showers of candlelight glowing through the golden waves sweeping back from her pale face.
“I... I don’t know,” she answered simply, dropping her hand from her forehead to meet Blu’s eyes in the mirror. “I know you dislike me,” she said, the words emerging in a reluctant rush of honesty. “If you wish, you can ruin me tonight. A careless word, a crude gesture. A mention of your past or our true relationship.” Her shoulders dropped and she stared at Blu’s image. Her voice sank to a whisper. “It would require so little.”
The same thought had occurred to Blu.
Because she had imagined this moment so often during the weeks of learning, the weeks of hunger, she let a punishing silence expand. In the end, pride conquered her diminishing need to repay Lady Katherine for the years of abandonment. Reluctantly, against her will, she had learned enough of aristocratic form to understand why Lady Katherine had left her behind on Morgan’s Mound. Understanding was not the same as forgiveness, and she comprehended the distinction. But she had moved nearer that state.
“I will do nothing to tarnish your name,” she said quietly. Something of her emotion must have been revealed in her gaze because Lady Katherine’s shoulders squared in relief and she made a small sound of gratitude.
Moisture glistened in Her L
adyship’s eyes when she lifted her head. “Thank you, Blusette,” she murmured.
For one long, suspense-filled moment, they regarded each other with something approaching affection, and in the headiness of the instant, Blu thought they would embrace. But neither could take the first step toward the other. Both turned with regret and relief as Cecile wheeled through the door.
“Oh, you both look lovely!” she enthused, rolling forward to inspect them. Eyes twinkling with the excitement of the evening’s event, she offered extravagant compliments which were returned in like measure.
In truth, compliments rolled easily off the tongue, for Blu had never seen Cecile look more beautiful. Her hair gleamed like brushed sunlight, her cheeks bloomed with pink blossoms. Her blue eyes were bright beneath darkened lashes. The pale ivory gown she wore molded a small perfect figure.
Of a sudden, Blu imagined Thomas bending his tanned cheek to Cecile’s creamy throat, and her own throat constricted. Unbidden, the images opened across her inner vision. Thomas, pressing his need to Cecile’s slender body. Cecile, raising her lips for his kiss. Hands touching, caressing...
A small sound tore from her throat, and she spun toward the windows, pressing her palms to her eyes, trying to blot the unwanted visions.
Immediately, Cecile rolled to her side and caught her hand. “Dearest Blusette. I beg you not to give way to nerves. There is nothing to concern yourself about, you will do us all credit. You’ll have us to assist if you require it. And Edward. We all love you.”
God’s teeth. Bloody hell.
“Thank you, Cecile,” she whispered, pressing Cecile’s gloved fingers. “I love you too. You know I love you, don’t you?”
“I have never doubted it.” Cecile pulled her down for a kiss on the cheek. “Now then,” she said, eyes bright. “If you will ring for Mouton to assist me, Mama, we shall go downstairs to await our guests.”
Tonight Mouton was clad in the Paget green and gold livery. Blu inspected him with twinkling eyes, her smile widening when he scowled at her. Though it amused her to see his massive body dressed in livery, it saddened her also, for the livery diminished his fierceness.
“I thought I instructed you to remove that earring,” Lady Katherine said, stretching up on tiptoe to examine Mouton’s gold earring. A stubborn expression stiffened his neck and he stared straight ahead, pretending not to hear. Silently, Blu cheered. “Well,” Lady Katherine said, releasing a breath. “Is there anyone in this household who obeys?” Complaining, she led the way downstairs.
Aunt Tremble was waiting in mauve splendor in the drawing room. She fussed over everyone and was fussed over in return. Then they seated themselves, arranged their skirts, and waited for Mr. Apple to announce the first arrival.
When they heard Mr. Apple’s murmur in the foyer, they all looked at Blu. Cecile with love, Aunt Tremble with encouragement, Lady Katherine with raw fear.
Standing, Blu smoothed her skirts, lifted her head, and turned to confront her future.
~ ~ ~
Midway through the meal, Blu raised her eyes to Thomas, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration and triumph. She had not committed a single error, not one. She had addressed each of the guests by their correct title, she had remembered her curtsies and a repertoire of polite chat. Her movements were graceful, her voice low and modulated, her laughter restrained. When Lady Katherine turned the table, she had made the transition smoothly and with ease. She used her fork without conscious thought, chose the proper wine glass. Lord Batten, who sat to her left, seemed enchanted by her. The evening was hers. These people had come to see her and she had conquered them. Victory blazed in her dancing eyes.
Thomas smiled across the table and raised his wine glass in a slight gesture intended for her alone. Pride darkened his gaze, and her heart swelled. Of all the praise she expected to receive, his carried the most weight. Except for Lady Katherine, and that had been long ago, the ladies of Grosvenor Square had not witnessed from whence she sprang, but Thomas had. Thomas knew the distance between this glittering table and Black Bottom’s roasting pits on the beaches of Morgan’s Mound.
Returning her attention to the conversation, she tried to follow a political discussion regarding Frederick II of Prussia, followed by speculation addressing the possibility of the Russian czarina adopting her great-nephew to make him her successor.
“What are your views on the Russian succession, Miss Morgan?” Lord Batten inquired politely, leaning his wig toward her shoulder.
“I have met but one Russian, my lord, and frankly, I thought him the greediest bastard I have had the misfortune to encounter.” Lord Batten jerked backward, blinked, then leaned toward her again, regarding her with curiosity and interest. Blu thought about Mad Ivan and the trouble he had caused on the Mound. “If there is profit in it, a Russian would wring blood from a dead cat.”
“Uniquely phrased, but my very thought!” Gesturing with his wine glass, Lord Batten leaned nearer her ear to expand on his opinions of Russians and greed.
“They’re barbaric, if you ask me,” Blu said, nodding agreement and enjoying the discourse. “A Russian would strip the hide off a hanged man.” The comment denoted the lowest of the low.
The moment Lady Katherine noticed Blu and Lord Batten head to head in intent discussion, she hastily turned the table. But neither Blu nor Lord Batten noticed. They continued to face each other, their food forgotten, each talking excitedly. As it was an embarrassing breech to ignore a table turn, conversation ceased and surprised gazes centered on Blu and His Lordship.
“And what is your opinion of King George?” the table heard Lord Batten inquire.
“Ugh! His Majesty resembles a toad! Those bulging eyes and pouty lips.” She cast a glance toward the framed portrait hung on the dining room wall, then shuddered. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the bloater croaked on occasion.”
The room went dark in front of Lady Katherine’s wide, staring eyes. So this was how it felt to drown. Her life did not pass before her eyes as she had heard told, just the last few minutes. Again and again, her dying mind replayed Blusette’s scornful tone telling Lord Batten, who owed his fortune to the King’s largess, that His Majesty resembled a toad. Who croaked.
Katherine was ruined. By this time tomorrow everyone who mattered would have heard the tale. Her “niece” had insulted the King, had referred to him as a “bloater,” and the girl lacked basic table manners. She stared at the ceiling and felt tears of helplessness sting her eyes. A distinguished social career had vanished in less than a sentence. Ahead lay an empty card plate, a paucity of invitations, cuts when she drove through Hyde Park.
Above the imagined sound of slamming doors, she heard a murmur of voices rising from the table and reluctantly returned her attention to her guests, grimly resolved to see the evening through to its definitive end.
All pretense of polite order had vanished from her table. People discoursed willy-nilly, addressing excited remarks across the table, for heaven’s sake, rebutting this statement or that. Dismay moistened Katherine’s gaze until she noticed... could it be?... She blinked heavily and looked again. Her guests were having a marvelous time. No. But they were, she saw it in flushed faces and heard it within the exchange of earnest discourse.
And Blusette formed the center of the disorganization. Pointing with her fork... oh God... Blusette leaned across the table and gestured to Lord Whitesall.
“But if you place a tax on sky blue, what do you leave the common man? If you take away cheap gin, what does a man have left?”
Lord Whitesall looked fascinated. “Wholesale drunkenness is destroying England’s social fabric, something must be done, Miss Morgan.”
“Aye. But taxing a man’s bag and bottle is not the solution. Mark me, my lord. Tax a man’s gin, and you invite a revolt!”
“The girl is correct, my lord,” Lord Batten interjected. “Indeed, public drunkenness is a problem, no one can dispute it. But raising the price above the common man’s purse will produc
e the result Miss Morgan predicts. Any increase must be gradual.” Stopping suddenly, he blinked at Blu, then leaned across her to speak to his wife. “My lady, why hasn’t your nephew, Charles, met this girl? She has more common sense than any young woman I’ve met in a decade!”
“I shall arrange an introduction, my lord,” Lady Batten agreed. Turning to Lady Katherine, she beamed. “Your niece is such a refreshing young woman, my lady. The usual run of debutantes are so bland, don’t you agree?”
“Refreshing,” Katherine repeated weakly. Raising her fan, she stirred the air before her face. Hope fluttered in her bosom. By all rights what was happening should have proven a disaster—but miraculously, it had not. Dazed, she watched Blusette’s sparkling eyes and flushed face. Clearly the girl was enjoying herself and had forgotten everything in her pleasure. Fresh fear constricted Katherine’s breast. Disaster could yet strike.
And it did.
While continuing to follow the table debate with avid interest, Blusette leaned back in her chair, pressed a hand to her belly, and released the loudest burp Katherine had ever heard. The sound was rich and full and went on and on and on.
An abrupt silence ensued and all eyes swung to Blusette, who looked back at the shocked company with a satisfied smile.
Katherine’s eyes rolled up in her head and for once in her life she prayed she would faint. Please, dear God, send a faint to rescue me. Strike me dead where I sit.
But God was not in a benevolent mood. She remained stunned as if struck by lightning, but not dead or unconscious. She was alert to see Blusette’s satisfaction melt toward confusion then comprehension. Blusette shot her a glance of apology and distress. She clapped both hands over her mouth and her eyes widened.
Then Cecile burped. Without a hint of shame or modesty in her expression, she touched her lips and smiled. Only the high color in her cheeks betrayed the effort it had cost her. The world had gone mad. Horrified, Katherine stared at her daughters and pleaded with God to open the earth and swallow her.
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