A Perfect Likeness

by Sandra Heath

  She looked away. Startled? Yes, that was exactly what she was.

  He smiled a little wryly. “If you’re spirited and outspoken, Miss St. Charles, you’re also more than mistress of the eloquent silence, aren’t you?” He said nothing more then, gazing out of the window and bringing the brief conversation to a close.

  They drove on, passing beneath the battlemented gateway and then the place where the hound had been set upon her horse. She couldn’t help shivering a little as she stared toward the trees where she had seen the cloaked figure hurrying secretly away. There was no incident this time and the landau drove safely on, passing the Royal Charles Inn, where Sally’s faithless Tom Penmarrion had flirted with the innkeeper’s daughter.

  At last the landau joined the crush of other carriages turning into Tremont by the lodge. Orange lanterns had been suspended between the trees lining the drive, while out on the lake, where the tide was in, there were countless small boats, each one with a lantern at its prow and stern. Reflections shone in the still water, as if a giant hand had scattered brilliants into the depths.

  Tremont itself was ablaze with lights, and as each carriage approached the house, servants with flambeaux ran out to escort it. Bryony’s hands twisted nervously in her lap as the landau moved very slowly forward. Soon the critical eyes of Cornish society would be upon her, and she felt suddenly daunted at the prospect, especially as on top of everything she must face them all in Petra’s stronghold.

  Sebastian noticed her apprehension. “You’ve no need to worry, Miss St. Charles, for I promise you that you look everything that is excellent.”

  Excellent? Was that what he thought? No, how could it be, when the only woman who was really excellent in his eyes was his mistress?

  He sat forward. “I trust you will not remain silent throughout the evening. If it is because you are anxious about facing Petra’s guests, let me again assure you that you look quite perfect, indeed you’re all that they will hope to see.”

  “What do they hope to see, Sir Sebastian?” she asked then. “They must wonder a great deal about me, and no doubt they are as influenced by whispers and rumor as you appear to think everyone is by the wrong sort of literature.”

  He seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he smiled a little ruefully. “I perceive that you are still offended with me, and so I apologize. The last thing I wish to do is offend you, Miss St. Charles. Indeed I have never knowingly set out to upset you in any way.”

  Oh, how gently he spoke, and how believable was the concern in his eyes, but if he spoke the truth, how then could he lodge so openly with his mistress? And how could he defend that mistress, but find fault with his bride? No, Sir Sebastian Sheringham, she thought, if you’ve never wished to offend or upset me, you’ve a very strange way of going about it.

  At that moment the landau came to a standstill by the portico steps, and a Negro footman in Petra’s blue-and-silver livery stepped forward to open the door and lower the steps. Sebastian alighted and then handed Bryony down to the flower-strewn gravel. She gazed nervously up the immense flight of marble steps which stretched away between columns to brightly lit double doors.

  The sound of conversation and laughter and the strains of music drifted down toward them. She was already aware of attracting many curious glances from other guests whose carriages had arrived at almost the same time, but then Sebastian’s white-gloved fingers were warm and firm around hers as he drew her hand over his arm. Her heart began to beat more swiftly as they proceeded slowly up the steps.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The whole house had been opened up for the assembly and the reception rooms were thronged with elegant people. It was a noisy gathering, with some dancing in the ballroom and a great deal of conversation and iced champagne in the drawing room, where many card tables had been set out. More subdued female chatter could be heard in the library, where tea was being served.

  Bryony felt many eyes upon her as she and Sebastian proceeded through the house to the great ballroom. Fans were raised to hide whispers, and quizzing glasses were held up to survey her in detail as she passed. She wanted to hold her head erect and look confident, as befitted the future Lady Sheringham, but instead her eyes were lowered to the shining black-and-white-tiled floor.

  At last they reached the top of the black marble steps leading down to the ballroom. It was a magnificent chamber, its walls the palest of turquoise blues, its ceiling coffered with gilded plasterwork and painted with scenes from Greek mythology. Statues of gods and goddesses adorned white niches in the walls and tall Ionic columns of the finest pink marble edged the entire length of the floor. An orchestra was playing a minuet, and graceful dancers were moving slowly to the sedate music, the ladies’ skirts dragging on the sanded floor and disturbing the stenciled designs of stars and half-moons which had been so painstakingly applied throughout the afternoon.

  Petra was waiting at the foot of the steps, and she was not at first aware that her most important guests had arrived. She was talking with some military gentlemen and she looked very lovely in a lemon-colored tunic dress over a sheer white muslin undergown. The Greek key design edged the hems of both and was repeated in the matching turban which almost entirely concealed her dark red hair.

  A great number of gold chains adorned her throat and arms, showing up to particular advantage against her long white gloves, and the knotted ends of her long shawl trailed to the floor as if by accident, but really by careful design. Her tinkling laughter carried clearly to where Bryony stood waiting for the master of ceremonies to announce them, and the sound of that laugh grated upon her, for it was as false as Petra herself.

  The master of ceremonies struck the floor three times with his staff. “Sir Sebastian Sheringham and Miss St. Charles,” he announced. The names caused an immediate stir and a sea of faces turned expectantly toward them as they descended the steps.

  Petra smiled, looking the picture of warmth and friendliness as she held out her hands to Bryony. “My dear, how truly enchanting you look. I vow you have eclipsed us all with that gown. As for you, Sebastian, I cannot in all honesty say that you look enchanting, but you’ll do for all that.” She reached up to kiss him briefly on the cheek.

  “You, on the other hand, look as magnificent as ever,” he murmured, drawing her hand gallantly to his lips.

  Petra smiled again at Bryony. “I do hope that my little entertainment will not prove dull, Miss St. Charles. I’ve endeavored to cater for all tastes, and I am promised faithfully that the fireworks will be truly awe-inspiring.”

  “I’m sure the evening will not be dull, my lady,” replied Bryony, thinking that the fireworks were not the only awe-inspiring thing, for Petra’s display of apparent friendship was equally as wonderful.

  “Well, to be sure, I shall limit the amount of dancing tonight, for I merely wish to whet everyone’s appetite for the ball tomorrow.” Petra studied her for a moment. “Miss St. Charles, I do wish that we could be a little more informal, for I do so loathe having to say ‘Miss St. Charles’ all the time, and as I am renowned for having scant regard for many rules of etiquette, I believe I should flout one of them now by asking you again if we may address each other by our first names?”

  She smiled a little. “I have made a solemn vow never to call you Lady Sheringham, of that you may be sure.”

  Bryony said nothing, for although it had all sounded so innocent and friendly, the double meaning was there all the same. Of course Petra had vowed never to call her Lady Sheringham; she had made up her mind to prevent the marriage taking place!

  Petra seemed puzzled at the silence. “Do you not think rules are there to be flouted occasionally?” she said at last.

  “Occasionally,” replied Bryony coolly, looking deliberately away. She was suddenly aware of Sebastian’s hand tightly over hers as it rested on his arm, and she looked up quickly to see his eyes flashing with anger,

  “Miss St. Charles,” he said in a low, measured tone, “will you dance w
ith me?” He did not wait for her to reply, but turned immediately toward the floor, thus forcing her to accompany him.

  The minuet had just finished and a cotillion was about to commence. As they took up their positions in one of the sets, he spoke briefly. “What is the matter with you, madam? Do you mean always to be surly and disagreeable when the hand of friendship is extended to you, for that is most certainly how you appear to me!”

  She looked furiously at him, and there was nothing in the brightness of her green eyes which suggested even a morsel of repentance. He had spoken of never setting out to upset or offend her, but now he had deliberately done just that, showing anger because of her coolness with his mistress! Her whole body quivered and she knew that two spots of angry color were staining her cheeks. So he believed she was surly and disagreeable, did he? Well, she would prove him wrong!

  The cotillion commenced and almost immediately she found herself facing a different partner. She smiled at him, sinking into a graceful curtsy as she held out her handkerchief favor to him. He melted before such a devastating smile, beaming all over his chubby face and obviously thinking the future Lady Sheringham to be a dazzler indeed, quite a gem. She repeated the exercise with each successive partner, proceeding around the large set and being careful to acknowledge each lady whose glance she happened to meet.

  By the time Sebastian was facing her again, she knew that she had played her part with every bit as much skill as Petra played hers, for everyone she had smiled at had formed an extremely favorable impression. But as Sebastian bowed to her, his face was still angry, and he did not smile at all as he held out the handkerchief to return it.

  She took it and sank into the final curtsy, and as she rose again she smiled sweetly. “Now who’s being surly and disagreeable, sir?”

  He did not reply, drawing her hand through his arm again and leading her from the floor.

  For the next hour or more she was presented to a bewildering succession of people, the landed gentry of Cornwall, the judges and magistrates, the commanding officers of several army establishments, at least a dozen naval captains and lieutenants, a bishop, and the vicars of every parish in the neighborhood.

  She met their mothers, wives, sisters, and maiden aunts; she greeted their daughters and danced with their sons; and she carried it all off with a poise which astonished even herself. No one present could have faulted her, she was everything a prospective Lady Sheringham should have been, and she knew that her father would have been proud indeed had he seen her. But even as this happy thought entered her head, disaster struck.

  On the arm of the vicar of Polwithiel, she was proceeding into the dining room for a cold supper when a footman suddenly and unaccountably brushed against her, spilling the tray of full wineglasses he was carrying. The cerise wine splashed her white skirts, staining the silk very badly indeed. There were sympathetic gasps of dismay from the other guests who had witnessed the accident, and the footman responsible was full of abject apologies as he bent to retrieve the broken glasses and spirit the tray hastily away. As he went he momentarily came face to face with Petra, who had hurried to see what had happened.

  For the briefest of seconds it seemed to Bryony that mistress and servant exchanged glances, but then he had gone, vanishing into the crush of guests, and Petra was exclaiming in horror on seeing the damage done to the gown. A warning note sounded in Bryony’s head, for suddenly she knew that the accident with the wine had no more been an accident than had her fall from the horse.

  Petra attempted for a moment to dab the wine stains with her handkerchief, but then she straightened. “Oh, how dreadful for you! I feel quite wretched that such a thing should have happened. Perhaps you would care to change? You may have the pick of my wardrobe ...”

  Bryony gave her a frozen look, for Petra was several inches taller than she was and any of her gowns would have been far too long. If the Countess of Lowndes believed Bryony St. Charles was that much of a fool, then she was about to be corrected. “My lady, I hardly think that a sensible notion, considering our different heights.” She spoke clearly and deliberately, her glance not wavering from Petra’s face,

  Those who overheard, and there were a considerable number, exchanged surprised glances at this apparently rude response, and Petra’s face went a little pale, although her eyes were angry. “To be sure,” she murmured after a moment, “I was not thinking.”

  Bryony held her gaze for a moment longer and then turned to the waiting vicar, smiling charmingly. “Shall we proceed, sir?”

  He glanced nervously from her to Petra and then nodded, clearing his throat noisily, “Yes, yes, indeed, madam.” He inclined his head to Petra, offered Bryony his arm again, and they walked on in the direction of the dining room. Bryony was vaguely aware of the stir of whispering behind her, but she walked on, looking as calm and unconcerned as she could with the horrid stains standing out so glaringly upon her skirts.

  She had barely taken her place at one of the supper tables and the vicar had hurried away to procure for her one of the delicious cold chicken salads, when she looked up and to her dismay saw Sebastian approaching. His lips were set angrily and his whole manner suggested that he had learned of his intended wife’s latest misdemeanor where his mistress was concerned. Suddenly Bryony had no wish to confront him, and so she got up quickly, hurrying away in the opposite direction and into the adjoining card room.

  She tried to look unconcerned as she went swiftly across the crowded room, Felix was at one of the card tables, but he was so engrossed in the play that he did not notice her pass. Glancing back, she saw that Sebastian was following her, evidently still intent upon a reprimand, so she went out through the other doors and found herself in a large circular vestibule where a number of guests were admiring a fine collection of watercolors. A wide staircase led up to the floor above and she hurried quickly up it, pausing at the top to peep cautiously over the balustrade. Sebastian emerged from the drawing room, but almost immediately was called over by one of the guests to give his opinion of a seascape.

  With a sigh of relief, she drew back from the balustrade and glanced around. A long gallery led away into the almost deserted west wing, and without hesitation she went quickly along it, following the Persian carpet which led like a path toward some folding doors at the far end. It wasn’t until she had gained these doors and drawn them to behind her that she felt she had at last eluded Sebastian—at least, for the time being.

  * * *

  It was quiet in this part of the house and she was glad of it, for she needed a little time to compose herself after the dreadful business with the wine. Until then she had been going on so well, conducting herself as elegantly and gracefully as anyone could have wished, but in a split second all that had been changed. Anger and frustration swept over her, and she knew that she must be calm again before she could think of rejoining the guests.

  She went to a window and looked out toward the lake and the bobbing lights of the little boats. She could see a long line of waiting carriages drawn up along the drive, their panels shining in the orange light from the lanterns in the trees. The coachmen, postilions, and footmen were standing together in groups, no doubt exchanging gossip about their masters and mistresses. She wondered how long it would be before similar little groups were discussing the outrageous conduct of Miss St. Charles at the Countess of Lowndes’s elegant assembly.

  After several minutes she felt sufficiently recovered to rejoin the other guests, and as she descended to the circular vestibule she was relieved to see no sign of Sebastian. Deciding to avoid the dining room, she made her way to the ballroom, where some dancing was still in progress, although only a little now. The first person she saw was Delphine, her mauve skirts fluttering prettily as she danced, the amethysts at her throat and in her ears flashing deep purple whenever she turned.

  The dance ended and almost immediately a country dance was announced and sets began to form. Delphine noticed Bryony and beckoned quickly to her. “Do join
us, Bryony, I’ll find a partner for you!” A thin-faced young man was virtually dragged from his chair and before Bryony knew it she was taking her place opposite him in one of the sets. The orchestra struck up and the dance began, and to her relief it was one she knew very well.

  But it wasn’t long before something suddenly went drastically wrong. Turning to the right as she knew she should, to her horror her partner went to the left, and almost immediately there was utter chaos as everyone else in the set bumped into one another. The set came to a standstill.

  Bryony stood there for a moment, confused, but then she noticed how quickly her partner slipped around to her other side and then had the audacity to look accusingly at her! He was making out that it was her fault, not his! And he was very convincing, for now others were beginning to look reproachfully at her too!

  He gave her a cool look. “Why did you not say that you did not know the dance, madam?”

  “I do know the dance, sir, and I was not the one to make the mistake.”

  His eyes flickered. “But of course,” he murmured, “if that is what you wish to pretend, then I am too much of a gentleman to argue the point.”

  Bryony’s lips parted with anger, but at that moment Delphine hurried over to prevent further argument. She tapped him crossly on the arm with her fan. “Don’t be a disagreeable bear, Julius, it’s hardly the thing.”

  “And it ain’t the thing to go prancing around like a damned goat in the wrong direction!” he snapped, according Bryony a chill nod of his head and then stalking away.

  He left a very awkward silence behind him and Bryony lowered her eyes, suddenly embarrassed as well as angry. Her glance fell upon the wine stains on her gown, and her lips parted suddenly. Was this yet another of Petra’s ploys?

  Delphine linked her arm comfortingly through hers, leading her from the floor. “Take no notice of Julius, he’s been a notoriously disagreeable wretch ever since his wife ran off with a French dandy. He loathes all women now.”