A Perfect Likeness

by Sandra Heath

  “Yes?”

  “I would be grateful if you would return to the party and inform them all that due to unforeseen circumstances the betrothal is to be delayed. Delayed, not canceled. I would also like you to tell Felix that I wish to speak to him.”

  Bryony’s eyes widened and her lips parted with dismay. Why did he want to delay the betrothal? And why did he wish to see Felix? Surely it couldn’t be that somehow he’d guessed what had happened and was wondering if she was in some way to blame? Oh, please don’t let it be that!

  Delphine was equally astonished. “The betrothal is to be delayed? But why?”

  “The explanation will be forthcoming when I’m ready. Will you do it for me, Delphine?”

  “Yes.” She picked up the last spray of roses. “I’m just to tell them that, with no reason?”

  “For the moment.”

  She searched his face for a moment and then turned to walk away.

  The moment she had gone, he turned quickly to Bryony, putting his hand briefly to her face. “Believe me, it’s no reflection on you that I wish to postpone the betrothal, for I’ve never had more faith in you than I have now.”

  A weakening surge of relief swept through her. “Then why ... ?”

  “Because I know you didn’t fall. And because I know that Felix did this to you. Admit it, Bryony.”

  “No! You’re wrong!”

  He held her gaze. “Admit it, Bryony,” he said again.

  “I don’t want to say anything,” she whispered.

  “You must. Please, Bryony, it’s very important.”

  She hardly noticed that he called her by her first name. “I want to forget it,” she pleaded, “for if I say anything, then he will accuse me of dreadful misconduct, and I could not bear that!”

  “This isn’t something which can be forgotten. Or ignored. I want you to leave Polwithiel and come to Tremont. You cannot remain in his house.”

  “No, not Tremont!” she said quickly. “Not there, it is your mistress’s house—”

  He took her by the arms. “Do you still intend to be my wife?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then I don’t want to hear anything more about Petra, is that clear? I just want you to obey ... No, that’s too strong a word. I want you to agree to my wishes in this. Will you, Bryony?”

  She stared at him. She didn’t want to go to Tremont, but there was something in his eyes which compelled her to consent. “Yes,” she said at last, “yes, I will.”

  He took out his fob watch. “How long will your maid need?”

  Her mind was suddenly blank. This was all happening so quickly, and it came so swiftly after her ordeal with Felix. “I ... I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “I just can’t think—”

  “The guests will begin arriving for the ball at eight, so I will send a carriage to take you away at seven. That will give you two hours.” He smiled a little reassuringly. “I’m sure that everything can be attended to in that time, can it not?”

  She nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “I’ll take you back to Polwithiel now. We’ll go through the woods and around the back into the stableyard—there’s a postern gate there. With luck there’ll be hardly anyone at the stables; they’ll be resting before the hard work of tonight. From the corner of the stableyard there’s a door which opens onto a little-used back staircase that leads up to the landing by the bathhouse. Do you know the one I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you go up that way you should be able to reach your apartment without anyone seeing you, and thus you will avoid any awkward questions concerning your appearance.”

  She looked up into his eyes. “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Why do you still seem surprised that I should?”

  She didn’t reply; how could she, when she still believed he had lied to her?

  “I’ve never left you in any doubt as to my intentions toward you, Bryony. I’ve always meant to marry you, and nothing has changed that. It seems there is nothing I can say which will convince you that I’ve been telling the truth, but I promise you one thing: when you are my wife you will know well enough that Petra is not my mistress, for my every night will be accounted for, and you, madam, will be the accountant! But that is in the future, and it is of the present that we must think now. There isn’t a great deal of time and I want you gone from Polwithiel before I face Felix with anything.”

  “Face him?” she gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “Bryony,” he said gently, “I know that he will say you kept an assignation with him and that you are a worthless coquette who has been warming his bed for him. I know that he will claim you are an adventuress intent upon being a duchess, and I know that his purpose all along has been revenge. Through you he has hoped to make me the laughingstock of society, just as he believes I made him when I held a better hand of cards. One thing he has not bargained for, however, and that is that the moment he laid his foul hands upon you he made certain of a confrontation with me.”

  She stared. “No! Please don’t—”

  “He has left me no choice, Bryony. I have to call him out.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  It was nearly eight o’clock and the first carriages were beginning to arrive for the ball, but still Bryony had heard nothing from Sebastian. She sat anxiously in the window seat, watching each coach as it made its slow way up the long incline to the house, but as each one drew neat, she saw that it contained guests, ladies and gentlemen dressed in all their finery for the ball.

  She toyed with the embroidered edge of her shawl. Where was the carriage he had told her would come? Why was it so late? It would be quite difficult to leave now that so many guests had begun to arrive; she could not possibly hope to slip out unnoticed.

  She raised her glance to the estuary in the distance. The water was bright beneath the evening sky, and a royal naval frigate was standing out to sea, her sails stretching before the breeze. Bryony stared at the ship without really seeing it. What if Sebastian had spoken to Felix? What if he had begun to doubt her?

  She got up agitatedly, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. She could, see her pale-faced reflection in the mirror, her hair once more done up into a neat knot, the torn yellow-and-white-striped lawn replaced by a demure light green chemise gown. The strain of all that had happened, and was still to happen, showed in her large anxious eyes and pallid cheeks.

  Sally sat waiting nearby, her little cape and bonnet lying upon the table. Bryony’s baggage was ready, every last item packed carefully away. Now it only remained for the carriage to come for them both. The maid glanced sadly at her mistress. Please, oh, please let the coach come soon, let it not be that the duke’s persuasive tongue had tipped the balance against her.

  There were light footsteps at the door and Bryony whirled hopefully about, but it was Delphine. She wore gleaming gold silk and her dark hair was entirely concealed by a matching turban. It was a severe fashion, one which Petra could have carried off with style, but it did not suit Delphine, it hardened her face and made her mouth look thin. She seemed ill-at-ease. “You ... you are expecting a carriage from Tremont?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will not be coming now. Sebastian has sent a message to say that he wishes the betrothal to take place at the ball after all.”

  Bryony was thunderstruck. “But that cannot possibly be so!”

  “The message was clear enough. I suggest that you attend to your dressing immediately, if you intend to do as Sebastian wishes, for the guests are arriving all the time now and your continued absence will soon be difficult to explain away.”

  She went out, not closing the door behind her, so that the rustle of her golden skirts could be heard long after she had passed out of sight. They heard the folding doors close and then nothing more. Now the sound of music could be heard drifting through the house from the great hall, while down in the quadrangle several more carriages arrived.

  B
ryony turned helplessly to Sally. “What shall I do?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Bryony. But if he sent that message ...”

  “Yes, I suppose I must do as he wishes.” But Bryony’s mind was racing. This was such a complete turnabout on Sebastian’s part, for earlier he had been so emphatic that on no account must she remain at Polwithiel. Now he wished her to actually attend the ball, where she was almost certain to come face to face with Felix. Reluctantly she nodded at the maid. “The silver organdy.”

  “Yes, Miss Bryony.” The maid hastened to the baggage, dragging out the trunk containing all the gowns. She looked in dismay at the crumpled silver muslin. “I’ll have to attend to it first, Miss Bryony.”

  As the maid hurried out, Bryony returned to the window seat. The shadows were lengthening across the park now and the first lanterns beginning to glimmer among the trees. As darkness fell the park would twinkle with hundreds of little colored lights, while the house itself would be visible for many miles, every window ablaze with brightness. She was trembling inside as she waited for the maid to return, and her palms were suddenly very cold. She didn’t want to go down to the ball, and she didn’t want to see Felix again. Why had Sebastian changed his mind?

  It was well gone nine when at last Sally finished dressing her hair again, pinning in the final satin ribbon and rearranging one of the little strings of pearls. Bryony’s mouth felt dry as she rose to her feet and turned for the maid to drape the shawl over her arms, and then she picked up her reticule and left the apartment.

  Glancing down into the quadrangle from the gallery, she saw a throng of carriages, their teams stamping and tossing their heads, the harness and brasswork gleaming brightly in the fading light. Everywhere there were lanterns, throwing soft pools of blue, crimson, and gold against the stern gray stone. There were even lights among the old ruins, sending shafts of brightness against the ivy-clad walls,

  The noise in the great hall was tremendous, the orchestra in the minstrel gallery sometimes barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the guests. The sofas and chairs beneath the floral arbor were all occupied, and jewels flashed constantly beneath the immense iron chandeliers suspended from the hammerbeam roof so far above. The hoops of fruit, greenery, and ribbons moved gently in the rising warmth, the ribbons twisting now one way and now the other. Clouds obscured the skies outside now, so that reflections of the ball could be seen plainly in the tall stained-glass windows. It was as if another, more ghostly ball were in progress out there.

  The orchestra was playing an allemande as she approached the master of ceremonies. Before he announced her name, she inquired if Sebastian had arrived, and was informed that he had not. She felt more vulnerable than ever then, for if he was not there, then she must face Felix entirely on her own.

  Her name was announced and immediately all eyes swung toward her. The sudden postponement of the betrothal was in every mind. Her strange conduct at the assembly was remembered, as was her odd disappearance from the water party; and now she arrived at the ball over an hour late and looking anything but relaxed. She was aware of being the center of interest, and there were discreet whispers as she made her way reluctantly toward the dais.

  Felix and Delphine stood on either side of the duchess’s crimson-and-gold sofa. The wheelchair waited nearby, but for the moment the comfort of the upholstered seat, set so impressively in the middle of the dais, allowed the duchess an unimpeded view of the floor.

  She wore a gown of stiff cream satin, embroidered all over in gold and burnt orange. There were tall ostrich plumes in her hair and magnificent diamonds at her throat. Her bandaged foot rested on a footstool and her lace-mittened hands clasped the handle of a silver cane. She looked very regal, but her rouged face was as sour as ever.

  Felix wore a coat of midnight blue and a lace-edged shirt of particular richness. There was a sapphire pin in his cravat and his long legs were encased in light gray breeches the cut of which would have made even Mr. Brummell envious. He watched Bryony as she approached, and there was a cool, confident smile on his lips, as if he found something rather amusing. She was wary of that smile, sensing that it boded ill for her in some way, and her fears were realized the moment she reached the dais, for he suddenly stepped down to meet her, drawing her hand to his lips and asking her to honor him with a dance.

  He smiled, he looked the epitome of charm and gallantry, and anyone watching would have found it impossible to believe that earlier he had attempted to force her against her will. She was distracted, uncertain of what to do, and the initiative was taken from her when he suddenly caught her hand again, his fingers very tight about hers as he determinedly led her onto the crowded floor. “Smile, my dear,” he murmured, “for you don’t wish to draw attention to yourself, do you?”

  She glanced anxiously around, hoping against hope that she would suddenly see Sebastian, but there was no sign of him. What a fool she’d been to come down before she was sure he had arrived.

  The cotillion began, the sequence taking her and Felix apart almost immediately as favors and partners were exchanged. She longed for the dance to end, so that she could hurry from the floor and escape from Felix, but as the pattern brought them together again, his arm slipped lightly around her waist and she knew that the lightness of that embrace was deceptive, for he would not allow her to leave him until he was ready.

  “Oh, my sweet Bryony,” he murmured, “how neatly you have once again fallen into my trap, for what will my damned cousin think now, hmm? This afternoon you told him that I forced myself upon you, and my cousin wanted you away from this place so that he could challenge me. Now he will arrive here and find that you have been dancing with me, that you made no protest when I asked you to partner me, and that you ended the dance by kissing me.”

  Before she could stop him, he pulled her close, kissing her fully on the lips as the last favor of the dance demanded. In the moment of silence as the music ended and before conversation broke out once more, he grinned around at those nearby, inviting laughter as he announced that he had deemed it advisable to kiss the bride while the bridegroom’s back was turned.

  Bryony felt so numb that she could only stare at him, her cheeks draining of all color. “Dear God, how I despise you,” she whispered.

  “No doubt,” he murmured, “but then, you should have shown a great deal more wisdom, should you not? I shall tell Sebastian that you invited my attentions this afternoon, and if he did not believe it earlier, he will certainly begin to wonder now, will he not? I will after all succeed in making him look a fool for ever wanting you. You’ll get nothing at all, and you’ll have lost your reputation into the bargain. Mais, c’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?”

  She felt close to tears, for she knew that every word he said was true; by her own foolishness she had walked straight into the waiting snare, and already the wire was tightening around her. If only she had waited until Sebastian had arrived, then she would have avoided it all, but she had not—

  Then suddenly she remembered something he’d said and looked up sharply into his eyes. “How do you know what Sebastian’s original plans were? How do you know he wanted me gone from here so that he could call you out?” She and Sebastian had been alone in the woods.

  He gave a cool, contemptuous smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he murmured, and then, still smiling, he bowed and walked away from her.

  For a moment she couldn’t move, but then a ländler was announced and people began to return to the floor. A young army captain approached her to dance with him, but she shook her head, suddenly unable to keep back the tears anymore. Gathering her skirts, she fled from the floor, pushing through the astonished crowds and out toward the porch. She heard the murmurs of surprise and interest behind her, but she didn’t halt.

  She emerged into the almost dark quadrangle, walking quickly past the carriages toward the ruins. She stopped only when she had found a secluded place where the lights did not illuminate everything, and then she leaned back
against the cold, unyielding stone, taking deep breaths to try to stem the flow of tears.

  She remained there for quite some time, and gradually the sobs subsided. She could not return to the ball, not now; she would return to the quiet of her apartment instead. Taking a final deep breath, she began to walk back through the ruins, intending to use the back staircase by the bathhouse again rather than the very public route through the great hall and up the grand stairs, but as she was hurrying across the end of the quadrangle, she suddenly heard another carriage arriving, the wheels echoing beneath the archway for a moment. She halted, recognizing it immediately, for it was Sebastian’s.

  It drew to a standstill by the porch and the footmen jumped down to lower the steps and open the door. Sebastian emerged, his tail figure particularly elegant tonight in a tight black velvet coat and dove-gray breeches. He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm, and although he did not seem to look toward her, she sensed that he knew she was there. Someone emerged from the porch then—it was Felix—and Sebastian turned sharply about to look at him. Bryony went hesitantly a little closer, and she heard every word which passed between them.

  Felix folded his arms, his smile almost contemptuously confident. “Word has it that you wish to speak to me, cousin,”

  “Word has it correctly, as you well know,” replied Sebastian, his voice dangerously soft.

  “Perhaps I should warn you that the lady’s honor is not worth fighting for.”

  “Indeed? And what would you know of honor?”

  Felix gave a curt laugh. “I know this much, Sheringham: the lady is particularly ambitious and has pursued me since her arrival here, she has invited my attentions on more than one occasion, and I have not been tardy in accommodating her. She has been hell-bent upon winning me, no matter what she may have said to you, and if you still do not care to believe me, then I suggest you inquire inside about a certain cotillion she and I danced together a short while ago. She made no protests about being my partner, and she did not object when I kissed her very publicly on the lips.”