Miss Westlake's Windfall

by Barbara Metzger

  Chapter Twenty

  Ada liked Lady Esther. She had not expected to, not at all. The girl was too precious, too wealthy, and too obviously intended for Viscount Ashmead. And she was a widgeon. The earl’s daughter was sweet, though, and when she was not hanging on Chas’s sleeve, Ada could appreciate the female’s finer qualities. She was pleasant to the other, less favored ladies at the Meadows, and flirted with whichever gentlemen happened to be in her sphere at the time. Why, she’d even batted her fanlike golden eyelashes at Algernon. No, Lady Esther must have had something in her angelic blue eyes, Ada decided. No woman could be that corkbrained.

  Algie had nearly fallen at the Diamond’s feet. He must have had something in his eye, too, for not even Algie could be idiot enough to think Lady Esther was interested in a spotty schoolboy with no title, fortune, or chin.

  They were upstairs in Westlake’s attics, in Tess’s studios, to be exact, getting ready for Lady Ashmead’s masquerade. Many of the house party guests had arrived without costumes of any kind, and the Meadows’ storage trunks yielded only so many Queen Elizabeths and Diana the Huntresses. The local shops were no help, but Tess’s workroom was filled with sequins and beads and feathers. Granted they were goose feathers, not egret or ostrich, but Tess was willing to dye them, to help the young ladies with their masks.

  Tess and Ada had decided on this as the way to repay Lady Ashmead’s hospitality, entertaining her ladyship’s young female guests while Chas took the gentlemen out shooting. He did not invite Algernon.

  Jane was in the parlor, conversing with the mamas and aunties and paid companions who chaperoned the marriageable misses everywhere, lest they fall into the clutches of rakes, rogues, or fortune hunters. Jane was pouring endless tea and gnashing her teeth that there were no rakes, rogues, or fortune hunters among the company. Her sap-skulled sisters-in-law had devised a party with no partis. The still-youthful widow had her eye on those Town Bucks and Beaux brought out for the viscountess’s ball. At least she’d had her eye on their backs, as they rode off with Ashmead. Surely one of those gentlemen was in the market for a wife of wit and wisdom to share his wealth. The simpering little buds upstairs paled next to her mature bloom, or so Jane firmly believed. Now if only her chin and bosom were as firm.

  As for her costume, Jane had her blue domino. She’d had to sell her diamond ear bobs to purchase the elegant item, but she considered it an investment in her future. Ada had considered it a betrayal.

  “You still had your diamond earrings?” she’d shouted, having sold all of Tess’s, her own, and their mother’s heirloom jewelry long ago, to pay Rodney’s gaming debts.

  “I set them aside for a rainy day,” Jane had declared, “and I aim to be the reigning Toast of Lady Ashmead’s gathering.”

  A mask would defeat Jane’s purpose, so she stayed below with the biddies. Who knew, one of them might have a son or a brother.

  The younger women were happy to be away from the formal atmosphere of the Meadows, where they were constantly on exhibit and on their best behavior for the viscountess and her very eligible son. The other gentlemen were to be found in Town at the usual social events, but Lord Ashmead was known to be more difficult quarry to corner. Trapping him in his own lair was too good an opportunity for the young ladies’ mothers to pass by.

  The girls were happily sewing ribbons, lace, and fabric lo their creations—once Algernon had been relieved of a Diana’s bow and arrows—but what intrigued them most were Tess’s drawings for her book. While they cut and stitched and glued, therefore, Tess told them the story of Sebastian and the Sea Goddess. They all cheered when Sebastian killed the evil kraken, and cried when he nobly let his friend, Generalissimo Markissimo, claim the hand of the princess. They stopped working altogether when Sebastian sailed into the realm of the Sea Goddess, who vengefully created a storm to swallow his entire ship. Sebastian boldly declared his love for the deity ... only to drown! He and his men—and the faint-hearted Miss Arbuthnot who had swooned into the dish of sequins—were revived in the third act, to thunderous applause from the young ladies, who begged to know the ending. Tess would not reveal it, naturally—Ada wondered if the ending were even written yet—but she did hum “The Sea Sprite’s Song,” which the orphans were busy learning.

  Lady Esther, in particular, adored amateur theatrics, and pleaded to have the drama enacted for Lady Ashmead’s company. The ballroom at the Meadows would be perfect, she insisted, and Lady Ashmead was sure to give her permission. Ada could not disappoint the eager young lady by telling her that pigs would fly sooner, unless Tess wrote Sebastian out of Sebastian and the Sea Goddess, or found a different actor for her hero. Neither was likely. Tess, though, was intrigued by the possibility.

  “I could invite that acting troupe director, yes, and the manager of Drury Lane and Mr. Murray from the print shop, and anyone else who might come. Someone would be bound to make an offer for the piece, and I would not have to depend on Leo to pay for the production and publication. I would not have to go to Leo empty-handed.”

  “Leo doesn’t care, Tess. You told me so yourself.”

  “No, but I do.”

  Ada could understand her sister’s feelings. “Perhaps Chas could convince his mother to stage Sebastian for the entertainment of her company,” she said, sounding unconvincing even to herself.

  “I’d rather put my money on the heiress,” Tess answered, nodding her head to where Lady Esther was creating the perfect mask for the perfect shepherdess. “Especially if I give her a part in the play.”

  Tess was adding gold braid to the silk scarf Leo would wear as the pirate for the play, and for the masquerade ball.

  “Are you so sure he will be back in time?” Ada asked, not wanting to express her fears for her brother’s health.

  “He’ll be back.” Tess added another loop around the eye slits.

  “You sound so sure. Are your souls in some kind of communion, then?” Ada wondered. Then she wondered if she really did love Chas, for she had no idea when he’d be back from hunting, even. Not only did his soul not communicate with hers, but he’d hardly said a word to her in private in ages. Granted he always had one or another of his guests along when he called, but Ada thought he might have made a point of visiting on his own, if he truly wished. She envied her sister, who was so much more sensitive to such things. “Do you have such rapport with Leo that you can share his thoughts?”

  “Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Ada. A messenger came from Leo this morning while you were busy welcoming the company. He’d reached Portsmouth, packed up Emery and another officer, and was on his way back. If the weather holds, they will arrive on Friday, the day before the ball.”

  “And Emery? He does well?”

  “As well as can be expected, Leo wrote, in the rat-infested, foul-aired ship that carried him. He’ll do better now. Leo promised.”

  Ada blotted at her eyes with a scrap of fabric she was supposed to be using to trim her own costume. The mask was no bother; the crown was giving her difficulties. So far she had a mass of gold-painted wires with heads strung on them, bands of sequins woven through them, and lace and silk flowers trailing off them. The blessed thing weighed so much she’d be Pitiful Princess Pinch-Neck before the first dance.

  * * * *

  Chas had his own worries. According to the men who had unloaded the boat last night, the word was that Prelieu had fled from Paris, taking with him a great deal more than valuable information. The avaricious old fool had embezzled a fortune from Napoleon’s coffers, and half that country was looking for him. Half the English smugglers were, too, to collect the reward the Frogs were offering, or to confiscate the cash in Prelieu’s cold blood.

  Damn, but the man could have slipped away quietly if he hadn’t turned greedy at the end. The British government had agreed to finance his relocation—at Viscount Ashmead’s expense, naturally. It was not as if they expected him to take up clerking at a bank. Who would hire him anyway, after he’d embezzled a fortune from th
e French army?

  Well, at least Prelieu wouldn’t be needing Ada’s windfall, if he ever made it to England. Wellington was needing the Viscount’s promised report, though, so where the deuce was the fellow? He wouldn’t be nodcock enough to think he could hide out in the French countryside, not when the people were filled with hunger and distrust. He might have decided that, with a price on his capture, the usual smugglers’ route was equally as dangerous. Prelieu would have made other, less obvious plans, although Chas still believed the exchequer administrator’s aide was headed for England, where he had friends among the émigré community. With enough money, monsieur could have bought himself a bloody boat to make the crossing.

  Thunderation, Chas swore to himself. He’d wanted to bring the French finance man to London, then shut down the smuggling operation. It was time Leo’s activities became strictly legitimate if he was to take on a wife and family—or wife and fine arts. Chas was too old to be clambering up cliffs half the night, too, especially when he had to be the gracious host at breakfast, and a hunting guide all afternoon.

  So here he was, beating the bushes with a bunch of Bond Street beaux. They were looking for birds, Chas was looking for bankers. He’d rather be at Ada’s. Gads, he’d rather be giving pony rides at the orphanage than listen to these empty-headed idlers make odds on who bagged the first bird, who shot the most birds, and when Chas would declare for Lady Esther.

  He could not tell them that he would announce a betrothal to Lady Esther Wrentham when the cowth came home, not without insulting the lady. So he smiled, as he’d been smiling for days, it seemed, smiling at the Ravenshaw heiress, smiling at all the other pretty hopefuls so no one could accuse him of singling Lady Esther out for attention. Now he was smiling at gentlemen he’d be happy to see at his clubs in London, at the races at Epsom, or at a mill, at any other time. Today he’d rather see them at the devil.

  Chas was too busy being a host to woo Ada. They never had a moment apart from the others, never a moment of privacy. Whenever he managed to slip away from his mother’s guests to call at Westlake, the orphanage as an excuse, a deuced orphan was always underfoot. Having experienced a few stolen kisses of her own, Tess Westlake suddenly developed a taste for propriety, it seemed, and made sure Sarah was on hand to play dogsberry for her sister. Just what Chas needed, more interference in his campaign to win Ada’s heart.

  At least she was aware of him as a man, now. She’d kissed him back, aye, and pressed herself against him for more. Any more and his blood would have boiled, and he’d have borrowed one of Leo’s boats to sail her away to Scotland. If he were any more aware of Ada, of her scent, her softness, the golden flecks in her eyes, he’d need two cold baths a day, perhaps three, to avoid mortifying his mother.

  They were not friends; not even Ada could make that addlepated claim now, not once they’d had those too few kisses. Chas could not answer for Ada, but he’d never wanted to rip the clothes off any of his friends. Chas wanted to spend his nights with her, yes, but he also wanted to spend his days in the warmth of Ada’s smile, caring for her, sharing a life with her, making new life with her.

  Instead he was bear leading a flock of fribbles through the forest. With firearms. Looking for a fleeing Frenchman. Faugh.

  He got to take his dog along for decent company in the woods, at least. He’d made sure that Algernon Johnstone jackanapes wasn’t there to shoot her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Leo and Emery did not arrive by Friday. A storm had whipped the coastline with winds and heavy rains. There was still no word by Saturday, not even when it was time to get ready for Lady Ashmead’s masquerade ball.

  Tess did not want to go; they’d ought to wait at home to welcome their injured brother. Ada did not want to go; Chas might announce his betrothal to Lady Esther. Jane threatened to beat both of them with a stick—with the sea goddess’s gold trident, in fact—if they did not go. Viscount Ashmead was sending his own carriage to Westlake Hall to fetch them, and Jane knew it wasn’t her own blond beauty he expected to see step out of the coach.

  “We have accepted Lady Ashmead’s invitation, and we are going. We are not going to disappoint the highest ranking woman in the neighborhood, and that is Final.”

  “Lady Ashmead has invited half the county,” Ada reminded her sister-in-law. “She would not even notice if the party from Westlake Hall did not attend. In fact, she’d likely be happier if we did not.”

  “Well, you are not going to disappoint me,” Jane ranted, “now that I am out of mourning. You might have tossed aside your chances with the viscount, Miss I’d-Rather-Stay-a-Spinster, but there are other fish in the sea, and a whole school of them will be swimming at the Meadows tonight.”

  The way her chest was puffed out, Jane obviously intended to do the breaststroke.

  “As for you,” she went on, pointing her painted finger at Tess, “there is no saying your smuggler will arrive home tonight, if he ever returns. Lud knows a moment’s reflection would frighten off the most caper-witted suitor. And Emery’s been gone from home this age and more. He cannot expect a welcoming committee at this late hour. Furthermore, you said yourself that you needed to advertise your misbegotten opera, especially after whetting the young ladies’ appetites. If you have the slightest hope that Lady Ashmead will agree to stage its premiere, you’ll be there tonight, showing off your so-called talent.”

  When they were all dressed and assembled in the hall, Ada wasn’t quite sure what talent her sister was intending to demonstrate. The talent for trouble, most likely. “Good heavens, Tess, your nipples are showing ... and they are green?”

  “No, those are the fish scales I painted on. They are all over, see?” She twirled around in a cloud of blue and green gauze that had more to do with the ocean depths than with decency. Ada could not immediately discern just what Tess had painted the scales on to, praying for a pink undergarment of some kind.

  Ada also prayed Lady Ashmead had not invited the bishop this time.

  “That’s revolting,” Jane declared when she caught a glimpse of the stately Tess, whose flowing auburn locks covered more of her than her gown did. “Immodest, immoral, and imbecilic, if you hoped for Lady Ashmead’s notice.”

  The viscountess would notice, Ada had no doubt. Her sister-in-law’s ensemble left almost as little to the imagination. Her blue domino was everything pleasing, if Jane hadn’t tossed the fabric over her shoulders to reveal that her own considerable cleavage was barely covered. If her peach-colored gown had been cut any lower, Ada thought, Jane’s navel would have been showing, not to mention her nipples.

  Ada was pleased enough with her own gown, despite its high neckline. After all, no depth of décolletage could display what nature had not endowed. She liked how the gold velvet sleeves ended in points at her wrists, and how the train could be caught up in a loop, so she would not be tripping her dancing partners—if she had any. She thought the embroidered frontispiece was lovely, if Lady Ashmead did not recognize the work, and the gold chain at her hips added the proper historic touch, if no one touched it and the gilding came off on their gloves. Her crown was another matter, redone so it weighed slightly less than a small ship’s anchor.

  “It adds inches, dear,” Tess reassured her. “Height, dignity, regality.”

  It gave Ada the headache.

  Jane’s uncle Filbert had donned a new waistcoat for the occasion, eschewing a costume. The waistcoat looked like a cow had chewed it. The thing had green and orange wiggles on an ecru background, with violets embroidered on top. Johnstone should have saved his gambling winnings, Ada thought, to pay for his London digs. Then again, he most likely had not paid his tailor, either.

  Algernon had already gone out to the carriage, his father announced, to take his seat up by the driver. He wanted to avoid crowding the ladies in the coach and crushing their skirts, according to Uncle Filbert. He most likely wanted to badger the driver into letting him take the reins, fretted Ada. Ashmead’s servants knew better,
she hoped.

  Enamored of the goddess Diana’s bow, especially when he could not find the guns Ada had hidden, Algernon had decided to dress as Robin of Sherwood, with a green tunic and a feather in his cap. Ada made him remove the points from the arrows.

  Before they could leave Tess had to make sure their butler understood his instructions, should Leo and Emery arrive. If Mr. Tobin was not too tired, he was to put on the costume Tess had laid out for him in the spare guest bedroom, figuring that Leo would come to Westlake Hall first, to deliver Emery. Then Leo was to come fetch Tess and Ada at the Meadows. After a brief appearance, which could be none too brief for Lady Ashmead, they could hurry home to Emery, leaving the others to enjoy the rest of the ball. Old Cobble rubbed his bald head. He thought he could remember, all right. Hadn’t Miss Tess repeated the orders five times over?

  They were off. Ada tried not to chew on her lip while they drove to Chas’s house, for what kind of princess had so little confidence? She prayed for enough backbone—or Tess’s trident—not to collapse if he did announce his betrothal, as the neighborhood expected.

  When they reached the door, which was opened ceremoniously by two liveried footmen, they were greeted by a host of other maids and footmen.

  “Who’s the cove in the hallway dressed like an MP?” Algernon whispered while they handed over their wraps.

  “That’s Epps, his lordship’s butler,” Ada told him, smiling at her old acquaintance and accepting his compliments on her gown. Epps kept his eyes averted from the rest of the party.

  Since this was a masked ball, Lady Ashmead had dispensed with a receiving line but, since she was still Lady Ashmead, each guest was to be announced at the entrance to the ballroom. They were not, naturally, expected to give their own names.

  “The Lady in Blue,” Epps announced, thumping his staff on the floor for attention. “Or out of it,” he muttered to himself. “And Mr. Waistcoat.”